A Moorland Hanging by Michael Jecks Page B

are prepared to do when we make only a little trouble for them…”
    Simon cocked his head. “What do you mean by ‘a little trouble’? What have you done to deserve this beating?” he asked.
    She stared at him for a moment, then her eyes dropped, flitting nervously, or so Simon thought, to her husband.
    “Henry?” he prompted, and was sure that the man started nervously.
    “When we came here, we did all legally, bounding our plot, marking it out and registering it. All we wanted was to be left alone to make some kind of living, and so far we have. But some tinners, all they want is to keep people off the land.”
    “Tinners? Surely you mean the landowners? It is they who wish the miners to leave,” said Baldwin.
    “No, sir. The landowners want us to leave them alone, it is true. Some miners damage their lands and pasture, but no, I did mean miners want us off this part.”

    “Is it very wealthy, then? There is a lot of tin here and others want you to leave so that they can take it?”
    To the knight’s surprise, the wounded man gave a harsh laugh. “Hardly! There might be enough for me and Sarah to live off, but not enough to become wealthy. No, it’s because another man has paid miners not to work this land so that he can keep it for his own pasture, and they are enforcing the agreement.”
    “So these men, they beat you because they were paid to keep the land empty?”
    “Yes, sir. They work for a powerful man, for Thomas Smyth, and he is paid not to mine this far into the moors. So he has told them to get rid of the likes of us.”
    “Did you know of this, Simon?” asked Baldwin, glancing at his friend in astonishment.
    “I’ve heard of it,” he admitted. “It’s hard to stop. When the Devon miners divided from the Cornishmen thirteen years ago and formed their own stannary parliament here in Dartmoor, they became more powerful locally, and this type of thing has happened a few times. But,” he stood and nodded to the Smalhobbes, “I’ll do what I can to stop it, now I know who’s responsible.”
    Simon was quiet during their return to the Manor, and Baldwin too was content to hold his peace. Although the bailiff had warned him about the troubles caused by the tinners, he had not realized how the bands of men affected the people in the moors, terrorizing some in return for money from others. He was still frowning thoughtfully when they arrived at Beauscyr Manor. Dusk was approaching, and they were all relieved to drop from their saddles. Samuel Hankyn went off to the kitchen, while the two men and their servants made their way to the hall. Here Baldwin was pleased to see that food was laid out for them on a table before the fire, and he had filled a trencher and was eating before the others had seated themselves. But for them, the hall was empty.
    After some minutes, Sir Robert Beauscyr twitched the curtains aside and strode in. He marched across the rush-covered floor to a bench opposite Simon and sat, staring at the bailiff. “Well? Have you discovered anything?” he demanded.
    Simon regarded him silently while he chewed on some tough, dry beef. He had disliked the older of the two brothers since their first meeting. His arrogance was insulting, and Simon was unused to such treatment. Swallowing, he leaned back on his bench and picked up his pewter mug. Ignoring the question, he said, “How long has the Manor been paying money to Thomas Smyth to keep off the Manor’s lands?” and drank.
    Robert Beauscyr was dumbfounded. The whole affair had only blown up over the last few days. Before that, even he had not known of the arrangement. He regained his composure with an effort and tried to pass the matter off with a shrug, aware that his shock had been visible. “What has that to do with this murder?” he snapped. “It is irrelevant.”
    “No, not irrelevant. If, for example, you had paid a man to protect lands which were yours, and he tried to do that by killing a man, it would be the