“Because no one who knows the moors wants to tempt him,” Hugh muttered, and the guard nodded sagely.

“Tempt who? What are you on about?”

“Look,” Hugh said, “this area, it’s Crockern’s, all of it. The spirit of the moors. He doesn’t like people trying to take from him. Even the miners know that, that’s why they all stick together, more or less. They keep to their villages, and leave most of the moors to the old man. Otherwise…” His voice trailed off as he caught sight of the cynical, raised eyebrow.

“Come on, Hugh. Otherwise what?”

“There was a farmer, not far from here. He had a good living, earned enough to feed himself and his family, but he got greedy. He wanted more. So he started increasing his land, taking more and more from the moors. Well, Crockern doesn’t mind people living here as long as they don’t hurt his country, but as for taking over bits they don’t really need, he doesn’t like that. So he stopped anything from growing on the new fields – thought that would stop the farmer. But it didn’t. The fool kept trying to increase his lands, draining and hedging and ditching, planting more and more all the time, until Crockern had had enough and decided to put a stop to it. The farmer found his animals died, all his plants withered, not just the ones on the new land, but on his old fields too, and then his house burned down…”

Samuel interrupted. “House? No, it was his barn.”

“House or barn,” Hugh amended diplomatically. “Anyway, he lost everything, and he was ruined. And that is Crockern. If you upset Crockern here on his own territory, you see, you’ll be destroyed by him.”

“And that’s what happened to this miner, you think?” Edgar was amused. Having spent most of his life in great cities he felt able to treat the superstitions of country folk with scorn. “He tried to take too much from the land, so the old man of the moors killed him?”

Offended by the bantering tone, Hugh was silent, but the man-at-arms stared at Edgar, his dark eyes pensive. “I wouldn’t laugh if I’s you. Crockern may not like it, not here on his land. Who’s to say why Bruther died? For all I know he might have killed himself, but I’ll tell you this: as far as I’m concerned, that boy’s as likely to be Crockern’s corpse as the victim of the miners hereabouts.”

“If that was the case, why were no other miners hurt? Surely Crockern wouldn’t want to differentiate between them, would he?”

The man-at-arms studied his face carefully, then motioned southward. “You know what that hill’s called?”

Edgar glanced round, back the way they had come. There was a hill, but from where they sat it was impossible to see more than the flanks. He shook his head.

“That’s Crockern Tor down there, where the miners all meet for their parliament,” Samuel said slowly. “And Bruther, well, he lived close. Too close, maybe. Crockern doesn’t like his bones being disturbed.”

“You can’t believe that!” Edgar scoffed, but the man ignored him and, kicking his horse, meandered a short distance away. When Edgar turned to Hugh, he noticed a speculative expression on the servant’s face. Hugh looked almost as if he was wondering whether a bolt of lightning might strike Edgar down at any moment.

The knight had finished his study of the ground and remounted his horse, frowning thoughtfully. “Simon,” he said softly, “I think this will be an interesting matter before we’re done.” He swung his leg and settled, grasping his reins, staring back at the tree. “There’s something strange about this death.”

“What’s that?”

“First, the land hereabouts. What was Bruther doing over here – fetching wood or something? There’s no axe. Then there’s his body…” He lapsed, glowering at the tree as if expecting it to answer his thoughts.

“His body?” Simon prompted after a few moments.

“Yes. If you were going to lynch someone, what would you do to him first?”

“I don’t know – gag him, I suppose.”

“And?”

“Well, it would depend on how many men were with me, how powerful the man was, lots of things.”

Baldwin shot him a look. “One of the first things you’d do would be to tie him up, surely?”

“Yes, of course.”

“So why wasn’t Bruther tied?”

“I suppose the men who cut him down must have unbound him…”

“No, Simon. He was not bound. If he had been, his wrists would have been bruised. They weren’t. I checked.”

“Could he have been unconscious? Maybe he was knocked out before they strung him up?”

“Possibly.” His voice was noncommittal.

“There you are then. He was attacked and knocked cold, then someone threw the rope over that branch, tied one end to his throat, hauled him up, and fastened the other end to the tree to hold him there.”

“I suppose so,” Baldwin said dubiously. He still wondered about the thin mark on the dead man’s neck, but did not want to discuss it in front of the man-at-arms. He wheeled his horse to face the others.

“Hey, you!” Simon called out, and their guide came forward. “You found this body with another man from the Manor, is that right?”

He nodded. “Yes, I was with Ronald Taverner.”

“Why were you all the way up here? It’s miles from Thomas Smyth’s place, and I understand you went there with Sir William.”

Samuel explained about their decision to go for a drink, and about their circuitous route homeward after seeing the two miners on the road. Baldwin listened carefully as the man spoke. His story rang true, but he seemed reticent on one point.

“I don’t understand why you came all the way out here,” Baldwin probed. “Isn’t there a nearer tavern or inn? Surely there’s one on the way to Chagford?”

“John and his knight went there. I didn’t want to be with them.”

“Why not?” asked Simon.

“Because…” He stopped and stared at the ground.

“Come on, Samuel. It will go no further,” said Simon reassuringly.

“John can be a hard man,” he muttered.

Baldwin nodded. From what he had observed he felt sure that the young squire could be a cruel master. After all, he was being tutored by Sir Ralph of Warton. Mercenary knights like Sir Ralph were all too common, and none were noted for kindness or generosity of spirit.

“So you went all the way out to the alehouse near the Dart and drank there,” Simon stated. “And on the way back you left the road because of some miners. What were they like?”

“One was tall, both were young. They were cloaked and hooded.” His face took on a pensive frown.

Simon had the same thought. “It’s rare for miners to own horses; they usually ride ponies if anything, don’t they? And you say they were cloaked… Wasn’t it a warm night? Why would they have been cloaked?”

“I don’t know. At the time I just assumed they must be miners. Who else would be out on the moors at that time of day? Farmers would all be bedding down their animals, and there’s no merchant would want to travel at that hour. I just thought…”

“Could it have been a knight, a man riding with his squire?”

Again Samuel frowned. There had been something odd about the two, now he came to think of it. “I don’t know… One could have been well-born, but the other…” He stumbled into silence.

After some moments, Simon cleared his throat. “All right, Samuel,” he said kindly, “tell us if anything comes to you. For now, do you know where this man Bruther used to live?”

“Yes, over beyond the Smalhobbes’ place.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

“Good, so it’s not too far out of our way, then. Take us there.”

Simon and Baldwin followed as he led them past the rock where the two servants waited. Simon saw Edgar give Hugh a patronizing sneer and overheard him mutter, “Crockern’s corpse!” The bailiff made a mental note to ask his man what the comment meant.

They toiled up the bank of the hill. Within a short distance they found they had left the boulders behind; rocks only seemed to lie in the valley around the wood. Toward the top of the hill the land was firm, undulating grassland for as far as the eye could see, with small yellow and white flowers lying among the grasses. The ubiquitous gray tors towered over the skyline in all directions. At the sight of the emptiness, Simon gave an inward groan. By now he was longing to get down from his saddle, but that pleasure was obviously some way off.