trouble. I shall be as careful as I may be, I swear. But I want to know who it was killed those people. I
cannot have travellers slaughtered as they come past here, can I? Even the coroner wants to find these men. I’ve never heard
of a coroner so keen to do his job.’
She could not laugh with him. There had never been a murder like this before in their little parish. ‘You are only to be bailiff
until Michaelmas, Bill. Don’t go getting yourself killed between now and then just to find justice for people you never even
met!’
‘I won’t. Now, is there any bread? I want something to eat. I have to walk to Hoppon’s.’
‘Why won’t you listen to me? You are to wander about the place trying to find these men, but if you do, what then? If you
get them all, do you think they’ll see you walking up to them and greet you politely? Bill, you’re likely to be killed!’
‘I will be safe, don’t worry.’
‘Are you really so stubborn and stupid that you believe that?’ she had demanded, her eyes streaming.
It was an angry Bill Lark who left later. She had made him feel inadequate, as though he didn’t care about her and Ant, and
that wasn’t true. He adored them both. However, he had responsibilities to the vill as well. And nineteen people had been
killed here. He wasn’t happy to let that rest. If there was a possibility that he could help track them down, he should. In
a strange way, he felt that the coroner’s dedication to the truth had sparked his own.
The distance to Hoppon’s little holding was short enough. Bill walked there chewing his bread with a dry mouth.
His wife was right in one thing: for most crimes there was no need to find the actual guilty party. The most important thing
was that justice was seen to be exercised. In a little hamlet like this one, it was easy to find someone. Bill had heard at
the court at Oakhampton that a full third of all the men accused of crimes were strangers to the area. Some reckoned that
this was mere proof of the fact that strangers were unreliable, dangerous folk, and it was better that all foreigners should
be watched carefully. Others, like Bill, thought that it was more proof of the fact that when there was a harvest or the need
of a sturdy fellow to help with the ploughing, only a fool would seek to determine that the man best suited to the job was
sadly the one who must hang forthe felony he committed a while ago. If a good worker got drunk and accidentally killed a fellow in hot blood, it was better
that he remained for the good of the community than that he was arrested and slain. Better to find some other likely fellow
who was not so valuable to the hundred.
There was logic to this process. Logic and hard-headed rational thinking. It was the common sense of a small community that
still remembered the years of famine. Yet there was still a part of Bill’s soul that rebelled at the idea.
However, in this matter, he had a calm heart and a cool head. The men who waylaid that group of travellers were not from his
vill. Of that he was quite sure. There were not the people there who were capable of killing so many, and not enough who would
have been prepared to see children slaughtered. No, this was no local gang.
‘Hoppon! God give you a good day.’
‘God speed, Bailiff.’
‘The weather seems to have warmed a little.’
‘Aye. Could you drink a pot of ale?’
‘A cider would warm the heart more, I think.’
‘Ah! I have some just inside.’
Bill sat on a log near the door. Hoppon was lame. His leg was very badly crippled, but that did not affect his strength. He
tended to drag trunks whole to his door. Here he would slash the branches away, taking them indoors immediately, while the
trunks were left under the eaves to dry. Bill had seen seven here in a heap before now. When they were a full year old, they
would be inspected and roughly shaped, if they were needed for building, or hauled inside,
cannot have travellers slaughtered as they come past here, can I? Even the coroner wants to find these men. I’ve never heard
of a coroner so keen to do his job.’
She could not laugh with him. There had never been a murder like this before in their little parish. ‘You are only to be bailiff
until Michaelmas, Bill. Don’t go getting yourself killed between now and then just to find justice for people you never even
met!’
‘I won’t. Now, is there any bread? I want something to eat. I have to walk to Hoppon’s.’
‘Why won’t you listen to me? You are to wander about the place trying to find these men, but if you do, what then? If you
get them all, do you think they’ll see you walking up to them and greet you politely? Bill, you’re likely to be killed!’
‘I will be safe, don’t worry.’
‘Are you really so stubborn and stupid that you believe that?’ she had demanded, her eyes streaming.
It was an angry Bill Lark who left later. She had made him feel inadequate, as though he didn’t care about her and Ant, and
that wasn’t true. He adored them both. However, he had responsibilities to the vill as well. And nineteen people had been
killed here. He wasn’t happy to let that rest. If there was a possibility that he could help track them down, he should. In
a strange way, he felt that the coroner’s dedication to the truth had sparked his own.
The distance to Hoppon’s little holding was short enough. Bill walked there chewing his bread with a dry mouth.
His wife was right in one thing: for most crimes there was no need to find the actual guilty party. The most important thing
was that justice was seen to be exercised. In a little hamlet like this one, it was easy to find someone. Bill had heard at
the court at Oakhampton that a full third of all the men accused of crimes were strangers to the area. Some reckoned that
this was mere proof of the fact that strangers were unreliable, dangerous folk, and it was better that all foreigners should
be watched carefully. Others, like Bill, thought that it was more proof of the fact that when there was a harvest or the need
of a sturdy fellow to help with the ploughing, only a fool would seek to determine that the man best suited to the job was
sadly the one who must hang forthe felony he committed a while ago. If a good worker got drunk and accidentally killed a fellow in hot blood, it was better
that he remained for the good of the community than that he was arrested and slain. Better to find some other likely fellow
who was not so valuable to the hundred.
There was logic to this process. Logic and hard-headed rational thinking. It was the common sense of a small community that
still remembered the years of famine. Yet there was still a part of Bill’s soul that rebelled at the idea.
However, in this matter, he had a calm heart and a cool head. The men who waylaid that group of travellers were not from his
vill. Of that he was quite sure. There were not the people there who were capable of killing so many, and not enough who would
have been prepared to see children slaughtered. No, this was no local gang.
‘Hoppon! God give you a good day.’
‘God speed, Bailiff.’
‘The weather seems to have warmed a little.’
‘Aye. Could you drink a pot of ale?’
‘A cider would warm the heart more, I think.’
‘Ah! I have some just inside.’
Bill sat on a log near the door. Hoppon was lame. His leg was very badly crippled, but that did not affect his strength. He
tended to drag trunks whole to his door. Here he would slash the branches away, taking them indoors immediately, while the
trunks were left under the eaves to dry. Bill had seen seven here in a heap before now. When they were a full year old, they
would be inspected and roughly shaped, if they were needed for building, or hauled inside,
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