Free A Moorland Hanging by Michael Jecks Page B

had no wish for his master to think that he was becoming used to riding, so he maintained his glower of disgust as he released his feet from the stirrups and dropped heavily from the saddle, standing rubbing his backside with both hands.
    While a lad, Hugh had been sent out with the sheep, protecting the flock from thieves on either two or four legs. Much of his suspicion of people came from those days, and now, as he turned and stared at the walls of the Manor, his face set hard. All around them men bustled, some coming to take the horses, others pulling their bags from the saddles. The pair standing and talking to his master and Sir Baldwin were, he learned, Sir William Beauscyr and his son Sir Robert. Beyond more men stood watching idly, common soldiers who could have been outlaws the week before, leaning against posts or lounging with thumbs hooked into sword-belts. To Hugh they looked like executioners gauging their prisoners, and he gave a quick shudder at the thought.
    The aging knight and his son greeted Simon and Baldwin, then led the way to the hall, Hugh trailing along behind. Edgar, Baldwin’s man, kept as close to his master as a shadow.
    “Sir William,” Simon said as they entered the hall,
    “as I understand it, Peter Bruther’s death was no accident.”
    The man gave a wry smile. “No, bailiff. It was no accident.”
    “Why are you so sure?” asked Baldwin.
    “Because he was hanged—that’s why! Two of my men found him swinging from a tree,” he said curtly.
    Simon and Baldwin exchanged a look. Both were troubled by the news, the bailiff most of all. With all the existing problems between the tinners and landowners, it only needed one small spark to start a conflagration which could engulf all the lands under his authority. This death could easily be that spark.
    Sir William plainly did not hold the same fear. He was reserved but not fearful as he strode to the fireplace where his wife sat quietly stitching at a tapestry. She smiled up at him as he touched her shoulder. When she returned to her work he said, “Certainly, it’s a nuisance. But it’s a problem solved as well.” Baldwin was not surprised at his words. It would have been strange for the old knight to feel otherwise. After all, he reasoned, the death of Bruther must have been a relief to Sir William, and the man was no hypocrite.
    Seating himself at a bench near the fire, Simon gazed at the old knight thoughtfully. Robert wandered to the dais and leaned back on the table, listening carefully. Simon glanced at him, then back at the knight. “Solved?” he prompted.
    “Yes.” Sir William dropped heavily into a chair.
    “Solved. Bruther is dead. He was a sore problem to me and my family while he lived, but now he’s dead, the example he set to my peasants has been killed with him. If any other villeins had ideas about running away, they’ll think again now.”
    Baldwin had seated himself beside Simon, and now leaned forward. “Do you have any idea who might have killed him?” he said. He was surprised when Matillida Beauscyr answered, her eyes on her stitching at first, but then rising to meet Baldwin’s gaze.
    “Yes. He did.” Her voice carried certainty. “He killed himself as surely as if he had put the rope round his own neck.”
    “I’m sorry?” said Baldwin, frowning. “How did he do that?”
    “The miners hereabouts are a tough group, Sir Baldwin, and they have their own kind of justice. They rely on all tinners holding to certain principles. If a man makes a claim to some piece of land, it is his. This fool Bruther went on to a plot and began tinning there. I have no doubt you will find that he was on someone else’s land. To the tinners, that would be as good as theft. I rather expect you will find that he was trespassing and the real miners decided to punish him.”
    Sir Robert frowned, unsure of her point, but then it came to him and he almost gasped. In a few short words, Matillida had put the blame firmly