clearly at the foot of the steps, his thumbs in his belt as he cast a sullen glance over the milling people. Sir William spoke to him, then looked around for Simon. A moment later he strode over to the bailiff’s side.
“Bailiff, I want John to join us today.”
“I don’t think we’ll need him,” Simon said, gesturing at the men-at-arms all round. “I think we have a strong enough force.”
“That’s not the point and you know it,” said the old knight firmly. “Robert is his brother. John has a right to aid us in freeing him.”
“Perhaps. Wouldn’t it be better to leave him here, though? He can see to the Manor’s defenses.”
“My wife is more than capable of doing that. No, his place is with us.”
Simon paused for a moment. Both were aware that there was no need for Sir William to ask – if he wished, he could have the bailiff bound and kept under guard while he took his men. “If you tell me why, I will agree.”
Sir William gave a terse nod. “Very well. The two of them argued this morning. John thinks that it was because of their quarrel that Robert rode into the ambush in such a headstrong manner. If they had not fallen out Robert would have been more careful, and at the very least would not have ridden so far in front of the hunting- party and thus have been captured so easily. John feels very bad about it, bailiff. He wants to help free Robert.”
Simon shrugged, then nodded. “That is just cause. Bring him.”
All the men were ready now. Baldwin was up on his heavy rounsey, and their servants were mounted too, Edgar still wearing his excited air. The courtyard went quiet as Sir William and his son climbed on to their horses, and then the mounted men rode out through the gates and off up the slope before the fort. Others would follow on foot.
At the trees on top of the hill they were met by a messenger, red-faced and panting after his mad dash over the moors.
“Thank God I caught you, Sir William! The miners who hold your son are at the tin workers’ camp out on the moors.”
“Good. Get a fresh horse and follow.”
Sir William kicked his horse and rode on, vaguely aware of Simon and Baldwin behind. At his side was his son and Sir Ralph, but the old knight kept his eyes fixed ahead, in case his face betrayed his doubts and fears. He simply could not understand what Thomas Smyth hoped to achieve by taking Robert.
It was not as if they had constantly argued and fought. The Manor had long accepted the unpalatable fact that the miners had rights on the moors, and had not molested them like many other landowners. Some men took a tax on all tin mined on their estates, but Sir William had early come to the opinion that it would be better to leave them to their work. There were other ways to make money that would not involve upsetting the King’s officials and bringing ruin on the family. By and large the miners and he had managed to coexist. That was what made this hostage-taking so incomprehensible. If there had been a long-established grievance, he would have been able to understand, but as far as he knew there was no reason.
He cast a surreptitious glance at his other son. John rode hunched up, as if nursing a private grief. Sir William would not be surprised if his younger son were responsible somehow for this debacle. He clenched his jaw angrily as he enumerated the problems caused by the squire: his constant bickering with Robert, his arrogance and rudeness, his stupidity in robbing that man over toward Chagford, all now seemed to have led to this latest disaster. Somehow, the old knight felt, it was all John’s fault.
That led him to wonder what the bailiff thought of his son. Simon had made it more than clear that he doubted John’s word, and considered him at best unreliable. Sir William would not have been surprised if the bailiff thought that the lad had killed Bruther – and probably stabbed the two men-at-arms as well. There was no clear motive for him to have committed the three murders but John simply appeared to have a lust for mischief and crime – he himself had confirmed that when he confessed to the robbery. And again, that was an offense with no good reason. If John had needed money, he could have asked his father for it. There was no need to take to the road. His only saving grace, Sir William knew, was in his youth. Many men, he acknowledged ruefully, took to the robber bands, to the marauding companies which roamed widely wherever the rule of law had fallen down. John’s crimes, whatever they might have been while he was a shavaldore in the north, were surely not so heinous compared with some others.
There was only one thing that mattered right now, though, and that was gaining Robert’s release. He must free his older son, no matter what.
Baldwin was still thinking about the two dead men. So much had happened already this morning that he felt as exhausted as if he had been up all night. The fire, then the deaths, the ambush and taking of Sir Robert… all merged and blurred together in his mind, and he was trying to set them into a logical sequence. It was offensive, he knew, to drop the murder investigation like this, but while Robert was alive it was the duty of anyone who could help to try to get him freed. And if it was possible, the bailiff must attempt to stop any fighting, though after Sir William’s speech that would be harder. Now all the men from the Manor were anticipating a battle. The blood of a western man was always slow to be warmed, God knew, but once stirred, he would fight to the death for what he thought was right.
Baldwin thought again about the two dead men, his mind casting around for a logical explanation. Who could have wanted them dead? It was a mystery, for both seemed pleasant-enough men. True, fights often broke out among garrison troops who were bored when posted far from the nearest town, that was why modern castles were built with separate quarters for loyal men compared with hirelings: so that arguments among the troops could be contained, and the lord and his loyal men could bar their doors and keep out any fighting. In such cases, the fighting was commonly due to gambling arguments. Perhaps that was what had caused the murders here, too. Somebody could have been in the room with Samuel playing at dice, and an argument might have developed. Whoever it was might have walked from the room into the stores, knocked over the barrels to make a disturbance, and when Samuel followed to find out what was the matter, stabbed him in the back. Ronald could have heard the scuffle and woken, so he too was killed…
Baldwin frowned. No, that did not feel right. There were too many little details which niggled at him. Such as, when the barrels were knocked over, why had Baldwin himself not heard it? Any soldier would know to put a hand over his victim’s mouth when stabbing him in the back – that would be common sense to prevent any hue and cry – but the row of the barrels falling must surely have been loud. Why was it not heard in the hall above? Baldwin and Edgar were both light sleepers after so many years of living as travellers and soldiers, and any such sudden noise during the night must have awakened them.
No, such a row could not have happened while they were asleep; it must have occurred while they were outside the hall. What is more, both bodies were still warm, which meant that the men had died later in the morning, probably while he and Simon were awake and in the yard… With all the noise of the bell and the fire- fighting, nobody would have noticed the dull thud of barrels falling. Nor could it have been connected with a gambling argument. Soldiers would play dice at any time of day, but so early in the morning?
“There it is!”
The call from the rider in front woke him from his reverie. Time enough later to go through the details again. Right now, there was a boy to rescue and, if possible, a fight to avoid. Sighing, he felt for his sword and loosened it in the scabbard, praying that there might be no more deaths this day.
Before them, the camp had an air of calm sleepiness. The little cottages lay dotted with smoke rising from their hearths like a peaceful village, and the lack of a stockade gave it an aura of confidence and stolidity, as if it had no need to fear nature or other men – and indeed, few would attempt to rob a miners’ camp. Anyone so foolhardy as to try would discover how attached a tinner was to his profit. There had been an occasion Baldwin had heard about down in Cornwall, when an abbot had decided to levy his own tax on the metal mined in his lands and had sent a force to demand payment. The abbot had soon learned that under provocation, men can swarm like bees and sting – and he was forced to reduce his demands.
A few paces away, Sir Ralph was half-expecting Sir William to ride in like a warrior of old, razing the place to the ground in a wild orgy of destruction, horses thundering down the plain, the men reaching out with their swords and lances, slashing and stabbing at all in their path. That was the old way, the chevauchee, the riding out of chivalry.
But Sir William had learned his warfare among men like these miners and he disdained a mad rush. From what he had heard, his adversaries understood how to site archers, the same as the Welsh, against whom he had
