The body was lying between two furze bushes, One in particular was almost as tall as a tree. From here, south and east of Nun’s Cross, near Childe’s Tomb, not far from the marked track of the Abbot’s Way, Simon could see more furze westwards, and grass, with the view extending all the way to the trees that stood on the hill above Tavistock. Before him, the path dropped down into the thickly wooded valley. Beyond, on the other side of the cleft in the ground, he could see glimpses of the moorland. Tors stood like oddly-carved statues left by the giants who had once inhabited this land. It was a harsh, bleak landscape, covered with tufts of grasses and occasional lumps of stone. The sort of land to break a man’s ankle if he wasn’t careful; or break his head:
Except this man hadn’t fallen and knocked himself out. His head was a blackened mass, his hair matted and thickened with great gouts of blood which had spattered and marked the grass all about. There was a broad slick of it on a nearby furze bush, and Simon noted it. He would have to look at that later: it didn’t look natural.
The victim had been severely beaten, from the look of him. The back of his skull was opened, with a three-inch-long gash that must have come from a heavy weapon. From what Simon could see Walwynus had tried to protect himself, for his forearms and left hand were broken, one whitened bone thrust through the skin of his right arm, and insects and flies had already begun to squirm all over the bloody flesh.
It was that which made Simon move away; the sight made his stomach churn. Truth be told, he’d have preferred to remain in the abbey and leave this job to another official, but he was the bailiff; under the abbot he was responsible for, keeping the King’s Peace out on the moors, and if there was a possibility he might learn something about this man’s murder by visiting the place, he had to make the effort.
The coroner had already been sent for. Simon knew that Sir Roger de Gidleigh, the coroner based in Exeter, would come as soon as he could, but that might mean a couple of days. There was never any shortage of suspicious deaths in the shire and this one would have to take its place in the queue. In the meantime, the body had to be protected. That was the responsibility of the people who lived near the corpse, to see that no dogs or rats got to it and damaged it. It was illegal to move the body or bury it; either was a serious offence that could only result in fines being imposed, so Simon knew that he would have to arrange for guards to look after the corpse until the coroner could arrive.
He walked away from the body, towards the splash of vivid colour on the furze bush. It looked as if someone had taken a brush and painted it a dull red in a broad swipe. Peering down beneath the bush, Simon saw something, and he reached inside, wincing as the sharp thorns deep in among old growth stabbed at his hand and wrist.
He withdrew a heavy baulk of timber, maybe a foot and a half long and three inches square. One end was darker, and there was one little greyish lump stuck to it that Simon felt unhappily sure was a piece of bone. When he studied it more closely, he could see the small round-headed nails embedded within the hardwood, turning it into a more effective weapon, a ‘morning star’. Obviously the killer had thrown his weapon aside after killing Walwynus. He would have had no use for it after that.
‘Look at this, Hal.’
The miner peered at the piece of timber. There was a curious stillness about him, but Simon noticed it only in passing. It was no surprise, he thought. Old Hal must be feeling in a state of shock, maybe close to throwing up. He left Hal there while he took another look under the bush.
Hal said, ‘It’s just an old piece of wood.’
Simon could see nothing else at the bush. He took the timber back and studied it again. There were some scratches at the base, three lines with a fourth connecting them, like a set of vertical stones topped by another one.
‘What’s this?’
Hal glanced at it. ‘Just some marks, nothing more. Could be a child did it. Let’s see whether there’s anything nearer him. Come on!’
Simon scrutinised it a short while longer, but there was nothing more to be learned. He dropped the club beside the bush and rejoined Hal, who was poking hopefully around another bush. Simon asked, ‘Where was his smallholding?’
‘Over towards Skir Ford. There was a deserted farm there and he took the house and began working the land. Not that he did very well. Too much rain. Nothing grows well here in the moors.’
‘That’s no more than a mile from here,’ Simon considered, gazing north as though he might be able to see the place. ‘What was he doing here?’ He snatched the wineskin back from Hugh as he saw it being upended again.
‘Coming back from the coining, probably,’ Hal said, gratefully accepting a drink.
‘Was he there?’
‘Yes. I saw him at the market.’
‘I see. You’re sure he had no money?’
The miner shook his head and spat, glancing back at the corpse for a moment. ‘No. He had nothing – nothing saved, nothing to spend, nothing worth stealing.’
‘He had something’ Simon said shortly as he thrust his foot into his stirrup and sprang up. ‘Otherwise, why should someone kill him?’
Chapter Four
What was the motive for Wally’s death? That was the thought which nagged at Simon as he and Hugh rode over to the dead man’s home.
