“What?” asked Simon after a minute, irritated by the pause.
“Hmm? Oh, I was just thinking: if John really wanted to annoy Bruther, surely the best way would have been to say that he was going to bed the miner’s woman. There would be nothing he could do about it, after all. Except maybe… offer a challenge!”
Simon stared at him open-mouthed. “He could have, couldn’t he?”
“It would explain the facts: Sir Ralph and John see the miner, words are exchanged, the squire threatens to go and see Molly, the miner promises a fight if he does, the knight and his man go to the inn, meet the girl, the miner returns in their wake, sees her going with the knight and waits outside. A little later the squire goes out, they agree to fight, meet out on the moors, fight to the death, and…”
“And the boy dies. John takes the body to Wistman’s Wood and hangs it, then…”
“Yes, that’s the trouble, isn’t it?” said Baldwin as Simon faltered.
Hugh stared from one to the other. “Surely that explains it, doesn’t it?”
“No, Hugh,” sighed Baldwin. “It doesn’t. Firstly, John would not be afraid to admit it. The challenge issued in front of the miners would give him witnesses and make it self-defense, clearing him from a charge of murder. Secondly, the whole inn would have been aware that there was going to be a fight. And thirdly…”
Simon leapt in, “And thirdly, since when did men fight to the death with only thin cords to strangle each other?”
Glaring at the ground truculently, Hugh said, “Maybe they fought with knives or swords and you didn’t see his wounds?”
Baldwin glanced at him. “No, Hugh. There was no stab – I would have seen it. Bruther died from the cord round his neck. It bruised, and bruises only appear on a live body. The mark was thin, and the cord which killed cannot have been any thicker. If someone lives, their bruises smudge and diminish with time. The more clear the outline, the more recent the wound; but if someone dies shortly after a blow or, in this case, strangling, then the changes in the marks don’t happen. It is as if they are frozen. I was told it was God’s way of helping us to find how a man died.”
The servant looked amazed. “How can that be?” he frowned. “Are you sure?”
“I have seen many dead men, Hugh,” said Baldwin, and his voice was sober. “Too many, maybe. But I have lived through wars and seen their effects on the victims. That is how I know.”
They were all silent for a moment. Simon could see that his friend was sunk into a gloomy reverie, but could not think of a way of pulling him back. To his relief, Edgar did it for him. The servant contemplated his master quickly, then, with a motion as if of disinterest, said, “So, where did these miners go to?”
Simon suppressed a grin as Baldwin turned distractedly to look at his servant. “Eh?”
“I was just thinking – there were miners with Bruther on his way back from the inn that night, but they can’t have been with him when he died. Where did they go?”
Baldwin mused, “We only have the word of John and Sir Ralph that there were any men there at all.”
“If you’re right,” Hugh broke in suddenly, his face still holding his doubtful scowl, “couldn’t John have offered a fight anyway?”
“What?” sighed Simon, throwing his servant a look of long-suffering exasperation.
“Well, if John agreed to meet Bruther alone and fight, maybe he went out early, before Bruther expected him, and got him by the neck. That would explain it, wouldn’t it?”
Simon stared, then turned to Baldwin. The knight nodded. “If, as you say, John had agreed to fight him, had left for the inn and then sneaked off to ambush Bruther, it would make sense. It could also explain why Sir Ralph would keep his silence, for the knight could feel that blame could attach to him, after the way that Bruther had insulted him before. And he might feel guilt for the behavior of his squire, because it would be bound to reflect poorly on him. But,” he sighed, “I find it hard to believe that Bruther or John would have trusted the other enough to agree to meet alone.”
Edgar poured more ale, then topped up the other pots. Setting the jug down, he said, “One moment. Surely there are no other witnesses to say that there were any miners there, only Sir Ralph and John? What if the whole roadside meeting was an invention? Could it not be that the two came across Bruther, throttled him and hid his body, and then went on to the inn for an alibi? Afterward John slipped out, took the body again and rode over to Wistman’s, where he hanged it?”
“His guards were there – or so Molly said,” Baldwin insisted.
“And yet they must have gone before Bruther was killed.”
“Yes,” said Simon. “Where did they go? And why?”
“And when?” muttered Baldwin.
Hearing a door slam, Simon glanced up to see John and his father standing at the top of the stairs. Sir William half-raised a hand as if to beckon him, but then grimaced and let his hand fall.
“Baldwin,” the bailiff said softly, “unless I am much mistaken, our young friend has been persuaded to give us more information.” He stood, finished his ale and set his pot down, and Baldwin rose to join him. They strode together over the yard to the steps and stood at the bottom, gazing up expectantly.
John’s eyes were downcast, but the flaming color of his face showed more humiliation than anger. It was his father, Baldwin noticed, who wore the cloak of absolute rage, his eyes unblinking in the white face. When he spoke, it was with a strangled voice, as if the very act of speaking was intensely difficult.
“Come with us, please, bailiff. And you too, Sir Baldwin. My son has much to tell you. Much! Come on, you cretin!” This was to John, and as he spoke the old man knocked his son on the back. John looked up and met Simon’s steady gaze. There was no fear there, the bailiff saw, just defiance. Walking jerkily, like a prisoner going to the gallows, John descended the stairs, went past the stables and made for the flight of steps that gave on to the wall. These he climbed with every appearance of infinite tiredness.
Simon was astonished at the sight. He trailed after the boy in a state of confusion, glancing every now and again at the lad’s father, who seemed consumed by his temper. If it was full night, the bailiff thought, Sir William would be incandescent.
Up at the wall, Sir William motioned curtly to the guard, and ordered him to leave them alone. Then he led the way to the barbican. “This is the most private place in the Manor. Anywhere in the hall we could be overheard, and this wastrel has done enough already to bring shame on our house.” He cast a bitter eye over his son. “Tell them.”
John had his hands on the wall, staring out over the land before him with a kind of wonder, as though he had not seen the view before. “We did see Bruther,” he said. “And he was with his friends, like I said. They jeered and catcalled, insulting us both and holding up Sir Ralph’s rope, but we could do nothing against so many, not while we were on our riding horses. We had to swallow our pride and carry on.”
“Tell them the rest! Tell them what sort of son I’ve raised – tell them how you have dishonored my name! Go on! ” As Sir William shouted, the spittle flew from his mouth, and the boy flinched at the white face so close to his own.
“I have been a soldier for years now, up in the north. We never suffered such humiliation there; if a man gave us offense, he died. That was the rule – and why not?” His eyes met Baldwin’s, and challenged him. “That’s the way of a soldier, after all. When we fought for Sir Gilbert, we would think nothing of killing, for that was our duty – until Sir Ralph forgot his honor when he heard about robbing the cardinals. He decided we must leave Sir Gilbert’s service, just when Sir Gilbert needed our help. We had to scurry down here like rats running from a burning house, to our shame. Well, it seemed to me that being insulted by Bruther was as bad. The villeins here have forgotten their duty of service and respect to their betters, that is clear. I was ashamed when we got to the inn that night. Sir Gilbert would not have allowed such rabble to escape unpunished. But Sir Ralph said we should forget it, said we should leave them, leave Bruther, and carry on with our plan to run from the country. I said to him, ‘But they will think they can insult a knight and escape justice!’ but he just gave that dry little smirk of his and said we would be alive, though. Honor means nothing to him!”
“So what did you do?” prompted Simon quietly.
“I had a pot or two of wine, but the air smelled foul to me in there. Everyone was trying to enjoy themselves, but no one took any notice of me. Sir Ralph went off with a girl, and I was alone. I decided to go out and clear my head. It was a still evening, and I wanted to avoid any trouble, like Sir Ralph had told me, so I headed away from the moors and the mines and went off toward Chagford. I don’t know exactly which way I went, but after some time I found myself near a wagon. There was a man on it, and when I ordered him to tell me where I was, he made
