Free A Moorland Hanging by Michael Jecks

talk, you ran from the room like a maid scared of losing her virginity!”
    “I suppose it would have been better for me to stay and challenge him. You’d have liked that,” he said bitterly.
    “Don’t be even more of a fool!” Abruptly she stood and stared at him with her hands clasped. “When your father dies, you will be responsible for the Manor, and for me. This man Smyth must not perceive any weakness in you, because he will use it against you. If he thinks that each time he comes here to negotiate with you, all he need do is enrage you, he will know he can control you.”
    “But he wants us to pay him not to come on to our lands!”
    “I know that. For now, as you say, he wants us to pay him to protect our Manor. If we refuse, he will claim there is tin here, or he will demand that he be allowed to divert the waters from our stream for his workings, or he will cut down our trees to make charcoal for his furnaces—anything. And we know there is nothing we can do to stop him. But soon there might be something we can use against him. For now we must calm him, remain on friendly terms with him, try not to insult or demean him, and persuade him to stay away from the Manor. That is what your father and brother are doing now, trying to keep him happy. After your outburst, it was necessary. Now we will pay. We will mollify the man, befriend him, make sure he is content. Later, maybe, we will gain the advantage and make him regret his presumption!”
    “How can we? He’s only a common peasant, no better than Peter Bruther, a runaway villein. Would you negotiate with him ?”
    “I would negotiate with the Devil himself if it would keep this Manor together!”
    The words sank in slowly. For his own mother to spit out such a blasphemy stunned him, but there was no mistake. There could be no misunderstanding her words or her commitment, and suddenly he was not sure that he had ever understood her. Mumbling another apology, he took himself out of the room.
    Alone again, Matillida let her breath escape slowly; her rage had dissipated. Surely the boy must understand. He had responsibilities, not merely to the land and the Manor, but to the family. Today, his behavior had endangered all that—and it was unforgivable. She was filled with a sense of approaching danger, suddenly fearful for the safety of this place and her family.
    In the yard Sir Robert dragged his feet on the cobbles. He was confused, unsure of himself and even more of his mother. At least soon she would have to treat him better—like a man, not a brainless child. He paused by the stables and watched a groom assiduously rubbing sweat from his horse’s flanks with a handful of straw. Today, with luck, a new life had begun for him. Sir Robert climbed the staircase in the corner which led up to the walkway on the wall.
    He was still there, out by the main gate, when two riders came into view. With dull uninterested eyes he watched them canter down the hill. They were men-at-arms, he noticed, from the Manor.
    “Open the gates!” one yelled as they came closer.
    “Is Sir William here yet?”
    As the bolts were hauled back and the gate unbarred, Sir Robert could hear the surly response from the doorkeeper. “You should know—you were out with him. Of course he’s not back!”
    “God!”
    Sir Robert watched the man jump down from his horse and lead it through the second gate to the courtyard, the second trailing after, both exhausted after their ride, their mounts tired and flecked with sweat. Soon they were surrounded by a milling crowd of ostlers and guards. Something in the hushed anxiety of the scene made him hurry to the inner wall and shout down: “You! What is it? What’s the matter?”
    His voice stilled the hubbub below, and he found himself peering down at a group of pale faces. One stood out. It was one of the men, who now stared back with a mixture of nervousness and suspicion. “Sir, it’s the runaway, Peter Bruther. He’s dead!”

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