For the first two hours, the proceedings were a dull catalogue of routine tinners’ business and de Wolfe regretted getting up so early to ride from the barn at Dartmeet for the start of the Great Court. As one issue was settled or referred for further investigation, another jurator would stand forward and give the next problem an airing, having brought it from some complainant in the district he served. Occasionally, tempers became frayed, when one side of an argument blamed the other. Richard de Revelle contributed virtually nothing to the debates, and de Wolfe soon realised that he had little knowledge of — or apparent interest in — the tinners’ concerns.
It was Knapman who conducted most of the arbitration and informed discussion, sometimes helped, but more often hindered, by Acland. When the jurates became over-excited and began to yell abuse at each other, it was Knapman who controlled the outburst with a combination of firmness and fairness. The coroner could easily see why the majority of tinners wanted him to administer the system, rather than an indifferent sheriff whose only concern was the amount he could squeeze from them in taxes.
Most arguments arose over the claiming of new sites for exploitation. De Wolfe learned that this was called ‘bounding’, and when a tinner wished to commence operations on a chosen site, he had to mark the limits of his claim by placing a turf at each corner and six stones along the edges. It seemed that sharp practice occurred, with rivals moving or removing these markers, when different claimants were competing for ore-rich locations along the many streams that drained down from Dartmoor.
It also became clear that, in the district of which Chagford was the Stannary town, there was tension between the jurates who worked for Walter Knapman and those who had Stephen Acland as master. Some heated exchanges took place between the two men across the few yards of faded winter grass that separated them.
However, it seemed that jurates, officials and background audience were used to this, and the proceedings rolled on as everyone waited for more urgent matters to surface.
After a couple of hours, the sheriff-cum-Lord Warden declared a break for the morning meal, and everyone sat or squatted on the ground to consume whatever they could produce from capacious scrips and saddle-bags. Afterwards, de Wolfe and Gwyn wandered around for a time, looking curiously at the column of rock at the end of the long outcrop. Sculpted by aeons of wind and rain, it marked the prominence of Crockern Tor, standing sentinel above the track across the moor.
When the Court resumed, the first item was a report on the new Stannary gaol in Lydford, given by Geoffrey Fitz-Peters, the lord of that manor. He was one of those sitting further down the stone wall, alongside William de Wrotham, another manorial lord who, like Fitz-Peters, had tin interests on the western side of the moor. A bystander had identified them to de Wolfe. Fitz-Peters was a gaunt, almost skeletal man with a vaguely sinister aspect, in keeping with the reputation of the Stannary prison. He advanced to the centre of the grassy court and, in clipped, terse words, gave a short account of the new building. ‘It is now finished and occupied since February. A square stone tower now replaces the old wooden keep that was built fifty years ago at the upper end of the bailey of the first castle, which has long been ruined. The new tower has three floors, the lowest of which is the prison, reached only by a trap in the floor above. On that floor, we hold our Stannary court each fortnight.’
He glared around at the throng like an avenging angel. ‘The law of Lydford is just, but strict. Already we have twelve prisoners, convicted for infringements of the tinners’ code. Go back to your districts and let it be widely known that, unlike at many a burgess or shire prison, there is no escape from Lydford. The walls are three yards thick and the gaolers are incorruptible.’
With a quick backward glance at the sheriff, as if to emphasise the difference between his gaol and those in Exeter, Fitz-Peters turned and strode back to his seat.
Then Walter Knapman took a few paces forward and turned to face the jurates and the crowd. ‘Now we must face a serious matter,’ he shouted. ‘We all know that one of my senior overmen, Henry of Tunnaford, was foully slain a few days past. He was killed on one of my own stream-workings in a most brutal fashion. He had no personal enemies, and there can be no doubt that the evil act was committed in connection with our trade.’
A collective growl of concern rolled over the assembly, and Knapman held up both hands for quiet. ‘I am offering a bounty of twenty marks to anyone who can give information that leads to the capture of whatever foul villain committed this atrocity. If anyone knows anything — anything at all — he can tell me or the coroner, who is with us here today.’
‘The first to be told should be me!’ snapped de Revelle, reacting to the snub from Knapman. ‘I am both your Lord Warden and the sheriff of this county.’
Without so much as looking behind him, Knapman ignored the interruption and carried on. ‘I can only think that this slaying of one of my most valued workers was meant to be a direct threat to my tinning interests — and I can only assume that someone is trying to destroy my business. I have had stream-works damaged before and now one of my best men is beheaded!’
He was answered by another growl from the crowd, many of whom had known and respected the dead Henry.
But another reaction came from closer at hand. Stephen Acland, his face red with anger, pushed nearer to Knapman, though the latter’s supporters still formed a barrier. ‘Are you accusing me yet again, damn you?’ he yelled.
Walter looked stonily at the younger man. ‘Did I accuse anyone?’
‘We all know what you’re insinuating! You did at the crowner’s inquest, now you’re repeating it.’
‘If the cap fits, Acland, wear it!’ roared Knapman, his anger getting the better of his tongue.
One of Knapman’s jurates made an obscene sign to the Acland supporter in front of him and received a violent push in the chest for his trouble. Immediately, an affray developed between the rival jurates, with pushing and fists flying. The spectators in the outer ring surged forward ready to join in.
Gabriel leapt down from the stony ledge, waving his men to follow, and set about the fighting tinners with his stave. The men-at-arms had not come to Crockern Tor in battle array, so wore leather jerkins rather than chain-mail hauberks. Though swords hung from their baldrics, they had exchanged their lances for stout sticks, and with these they laid about the dozen jurates who were fighting. Within minutes, the squabble had subsided, and Gabriel and his men had pushed apart the warring factions, who stood nursing their bruises and muttering abuse at their rivals and the soldiers.
All through the skirmish Richard de Revelle had been yelling ineffectually for order and now admonished the jurates for their unseemly behaviour. It seemed to de Wolfe that the tough band of tinners found nothing unusual about a brawl during the Great Court and it had subsided as rapidly as it had arisen — though Knapman and Acland continued to glower at each other over the heads of their supporters. Before the proceedings started again, de Wolfe took advantage of the lull to stride out to the spot from which Knapman had addressed the throng and barked at the assembly in commanding tones. ‘You have heard Walter Knapman offer a reward for information about the death of his man, and that he recommends anyone to bring such information to me — or to the sheriff,’ he added, as a conciliatory afterthought. ‘But I have no reward for you, save that of reminding you that you help to keep the peace of our sovereign King Richard. One suspect is said to be the madman of the moors, this Aethelfrith. He cannot be found, so if anyone knows of his whereabouts, let him speak, now or later.’
Suddenly, as the tall, hunched figure in black was casting his baleful glare over the congregated tinners, a smaller figure advanced towards him from the outer ring of men. ‘Crowner, I have something you may wish to see.’