The Outlaws of Ennor

Chapter Nine

Ranulph de Blancminster climbed down the rope-ladder from the Anne with an agility that belied his weight and age. Soon he was in the boat beneath, and he gazed back at the ship with a measuring eye as he was rowed ashore.

It was certainly a good prize. Fully laden, with only a few tuns damaged where the rocks had started to breach the hull, for the master had been a clever and skilful sailor. He had ordered his men to plug the hole with bales of woollen clothing, tugging them into the gap in the wood by means of a rope running from the bales to the capstan. Held there firmly, the ship was more or less plugged, although it could only last a short while without serious repairs. Well, she wouldn’t get them here. Ranulph had already seen the familiar faces on the hills about the Porth, and he knew that the scavengers would descend as soon as his men left the ship. They’d rip off any decent timbers for lintels in their cottages, or for new doors, or for rafters. On islands which had no trees to speak of, the people depended in large part on the charity of the sea.

In any case, there was no guarantee that even the best shipwrights in England could save this poor beast. She had suffered so terribly that there was little point in dreaming of rescue. No, the sensible thing to do was to remove all valuables from her, and then break her. Her constituent elements could then be sold to Ranulph’s peasants.

When they reached the shore, he jumped down into the sand, splashing a great mass of water. He cared not a whit, but lumbered heavily to dry land, and then scowled as he saw Walerand waiting for him.

Walerand was not one of his favourite servants. There were many whom he distrusted, but that was a sad fact of life in the modern era. Men-at-arms used to be faithful retainers in whom a man could place all his trust, but those days were long past. Now a man like Ranulph had to take the dregs of society. It had been noticeable when the King’s Coroner, William le Poer, had been most enraged by Ranulph, that the most serious allegation which could be brought against Ranulph was that he habitually recruited outlaws and felons. So he did; and he would continue so to do. These islands needed defending, God knew, and the best men to defend them were those who were utterly reliant on the islands for their lives and had nowhere else to run. Who better than men who could not return to their homes on pain of death?

Some, of course, were more enthusiastic about violence than others, which was a cause for concern when their heavy-handedness upset too many locals. Yes, a man had to keep the population cowed, else they might take it into their heads to seize power for themselves. Still, there were some who scared everyone, thank God. When the locals had grown restive recently, Thomas had carefully let slip the tale of how he met Robert. Most people said that the gather-reeve was the worst of all the men on the island, because for all his apparently mild manners, the story of a crazed murder in a tavern had spread like a wild fire over the moors. None of the local peasants dared so much as answer him back when Robert went to collect the rents. He was the best man Ranulph had employed as a gather-reeve.

Walerand was a different matter altogether. The fool seemed to think that he was intelligent — which in itself was a proof of his dull-wittedness. When Ranulph had been his age, he wasn’t nearly so gormless. He’d been bold enough to come here, for a start, and offer the old King his three hundred puffins or six shillings and eight pence each year for the use of the islands, and he’d made them work for him. This place had been falling apart when he arrived, in 1306, but since then he’d made the peasants realise that they had to work to live, and they must all work for him. If they didn’t, they suffered.

If he had wandered about the place idly like this Walerand, he’d no longer be here. The old King, Edward I, didn’t suffer fools gladly. Not that he was about for long. His son soon took over, and although Ranulph despised him as a weakling who was unable to control even the Welsh Marcher Lords, let alone the Scots, Ranulph was glad that Edward II was King. While a weak King ruled in England, swayed by each gust of discontent in his realm, Ranulph could maintain his iron grip on his own little fiefdom.

‘My lord?’

Ranulph did not so much as look in Walerand’s direction. ‘What?’

‘I’m feared Robert has been murdered.’

Cryspyn remained in his seat as the man rescued from the shipwreck entered: with him were Isok and Tedia. The sight of the couple was enough to make the Prior feel the acid bubbling in his belly again. There was a pain there whenever he felt the pressure of his responsibilities, and Tedia, as he knew, had applied for a divorce on the basis of her husband’s impotence. Why it was, Cryspyn didn’t understand. He himself was not driven by lusts as once he had been, not since killing Sara’s lover; that had destroyed something in him. No, he was safe from the carnal desires, but that was different from being immune to the attractions of a young woman who was still in the flush of youth, and whose beauty had not faded from exhaustion, malnutrition and childbirth. Considering her objectively, he was sure that if Tedia had been his wife, he would have found it hard to keep his hands from her.

This reflection was unsettling, and the pain in his belly increased. It was always the same. Whenever he had a matter to decide, it would affect his digestion. To distract himself from the pain he studied the man before him.

‘I am Prior Cryspyn,’ he said. ‘I understand that you are a shipwreck. Is this true?’

‘I believe so,’ Baldwin said. ‘I cannot remember what happened. I know that my ship was attacked by pirates, but I thought we survived that.’

‘Your ship broke up?’

‘I assume so, Prior, but I can remember little about it,’ Baldwin said reluctantly. There was an edge of eagerness to the Prior’s voice which he found unsettling.

Cryspyn was wondering where the bulk of the vessel might have fallen. Although Ranulph disputed every claim, and now that he was also the Coroner on the island, he made it more and more difficult for the priory, but Cryspyn knew that the rights to the wreck were his. All the parts of any ship which broke up at sea were to be collected and sold to the benefit of the priory. Usually it was too difficult to rescue bits and pieces before the peasants ‘liberated’ them all, but perhaps this time the priory could get there first. Sadly, if a ship didn’t break up, he had no rights; if someone saved a sinking ship, they were entitled to half its value under the new law of salvage, but surely this was a ship ruined by the storm. Any new injection of money would be welcome, of course, but Cryspyn hoped he didn’t sound too greedy, for that might make him appear ghoulish, grateful for the deaths of this man’s friends.

‘How do you come to be here?’ Cryspyn asked.

Baldwin shrugged apologetically. ‘I do not know,’ he said simply. ‘I hope I shall remember before long.’

‘Very well. Where were you travelling when you were blown upon our shore?’

‘I was returning from pilgrimage to Compostela,’ Baldwin said. There was a catch in his throat when he next spoke. ‘My friend Simon … I assume no others have been washed up on your shores?’

‘I do not know of any, no.’ Cryspyn shrugged.

‘Prior, I do not understand your tone. I do not wish to be an unwelcome guest, and I should be glad to know why you seem so unhappy to find me here on your island.’

Cryspyn glanced at Tedia and Isok. ‘It is simple. We know of pirates here. Raiders have attacked our priory many times before, and I have no doubt that they will do so again.’

‘You think me a pirate?’ Baldwin said disbelievingly. The man was a fool.

‘I think many people could be pirates,’ Cryspyn said, and was pleased to see Isok stiffen. ‘Some attack us here, others attack ships at sea. You say you were boarded by pirates, and I suppose that should be enough for me, but it is difficult to accept a man’s word on such a matter. Pirates are never far from these islands. A hundred years ago the Prior ordered the deaths of a hundred and twenty foul sea-raiders. I should be surprised if some among my flock here were not guilty of the same crimes. And I should be glad to command the same penalty as my predecessor!’

Baldwin gave a dry smile. ‘Were our positions reversed, Prior, I suppose I could even find it in my heart to suspect you. Yet I swear that I am no pirate, and if there are any monks here who know of Abbot Robert of Tavistock, I may be able to give some credentials. I know the good Abbot quite well. My friend, Simon, who I fear has been drowned …’ Merely saying those words made a lump rise in his throat and his eyes watered. He had to swallow and wipe them before he could continue. ‘Simon was the Bailiff of Lydford, one of Abbot Robert’s men. I can give you assurances that I know your Abbot and convince you I am no pirate.’

‘That is good,’ Cryspyn said, and questioned Baldwin on a few matters which he knew only a man who had eaten at Abbot Robert’s table could know, such as the Abbot’s tastes in hunting and in his board.

Baldwin answered as fully as he could, then asked whether he could sit down. He still felt terribly weak. Isok and Tedia remained standing.

‘My apologies, Sir Baldwin. You will understand that here, in so remote a situation, we must be cautious,’ Cryspyn said.

Baldwin nodded. ‘I can readily understand it,’ he said. ‘I feel the need for caution myself.’ He slapped his left thigh where his sword should have hung. The sadness of losing Simon was still heavy upon his soul, but so was the feeling of danger at being unarmed in a strange country. It felt like being undressed. ‘I have the most curious sense that I have come here clad in the garb of a beggar, Prior,’ he told Cryspyn. ‘It is peculiar, but the mere fact that I have lost my sword makes me feel like a man without britches.’

Cryspyn smiled. ‘If you wish for another, I am sure that I could find you one somewhere on the island,’ he said, adding with a burst of honesty, ‘although whether you would want such a weapon is another matter. They tend to rust quickly here, and swords are used like any other tool, for most of the year, for hedging and chopping wood.’

‘I think I can live without that, but perhaps if my …’ Baldwin had been about to say ‘beautiful rescuer’, but omitted the adjective when he caught sight of Isok at her side. ‘If my rescuer could guide me, I could return to the place where she discovered me, and seek it there. Surely it would not have strayed far from me?’

Cryspyn pulled a face. ‘There is no telling where the seas might deposit a man or his belongings. It is entirely in God’s hands. You may find that your sword fell from you at the same moment you lost your ship and comrades. It is likely to be at the bottom of the sea.’

‘I believe you could likely be correct,’ Baldwin said doubtfully. He was thinking of his sword-belt. It seemed odd to him that it should have untied itself in the water. It was perfectly understandable that the sword itself could have fallen from the scabbard, but it niggled at him, the fact that a perfectly good belt had become untied. It was a point to consider later. ‘Yet the thing has sentimental value to me. I would like to confirm for myself that it is not there. I do not suppose that it was removed from me when I was found?’

Tedia found that he had turned in his seat and was subjecting her to a steady scrutiny. She reddened, and shook her head with the stirrings of anger. ‘What would I want with a sword! You accuse me of stealing it?’

‘No, my saviour, I do not. I merely wondered … it was heavy, and so someone could have untied my belt and let it fall rather than carry it and me. The belt was strong, so I would be surprised if it could have been ripped from me without leaving me bruised about the hips. It’s easier by far to believe that someone removed it.’

Cryspyn stood. ‘I am sure Tedia will be happy to take you to the beach where she found you. In the meantime, I have many other problems to deal with. After such a storm, I have to see to the repairs to the priory, but also to the chapels. I am sure you will excuse me.’

Thomas had expected to hear from the bailiff before long, but this was much faster than he had expected.

‘Please be seated,’ he said suavely. ‘How may I serve you?’

Simon entered the little room panting slightly. The gate-keeper had pointed him away from the castle’s keep and down here to a separate chamber in the northern wall. A brazier kept it warm, for it was set in the shadow of the keep and in all but the warmest summer day, the thick walls would be cool. Behind Thomas hung the large tapestry, while the other walls were bare. One contained a small wooden door covering a hole in the mortar and stone, a private locking cabinet for valuables. The door was open, and inside Simon could see a number of rolls of parchment.

Thomas was sitting at his trestle-table, a fine cloth lying over it, reading from notes. In his hand he held a reed, with which he occasionally marked the lists on the parchment. As Simon burst in, he settled back in his chair and smiled welcomingly, the reed twirling slowly in his delicate, agile fingers. It seemed odd to Simon, used to the ways of lords and knights in England. He knew that most would insist that their stewards and sergeants conducted all their business in public in the main hall — but then the hall here was a very much smaller one than most. It would have been difficult for a man to concentrate in there. Perhaps it was necessary for Thomas to have this little chamber to himself.

Simon blurted out, ‘My ship! It’s been saved! I have to see it and learn who survived!’

‘Ah!’ Thomas smiled and carefully set his reed down. He steepled his fingers. ‘There is no one aboard now. All have left.’

‘What? The ship was empty when you found it?’ Simon asked, astonished. He had expected that at least one or two sailors might have survived.

‘Not quite empty, no,’ Thomas said, glancing indifferently at the table before him. ‘Some men were there. They threatened my lord Blancminster, so they will be kept in his gaol until they can pay for their freedom.’

‘Who is among them?’ Simon asked eagerly.

‘There are some sailors, a man calling himself Sir Charles, and another who professes to be his squire.’

‘My Gracious God! That is indeed good news,’ Simon burst out delightedly. ‘You may release them, they are honourable men.’

Thomas’s eyes took on a steely look. ‘I am afraid I cannot, Bailiff. This “Sir Charles” actually drew a weapon and threatened the Lord of the Manor. He is being held until my master decides what to do with him. It is a serious business, threatening a man in his own manor.’

Simon had been about to leap for the door and seek out his friend. Now he felt as though he had been punched about the head. It was terrible to think that he had lost his oldest friend, Baldwin, and now that he had found that a more recent acquaintance was still living, he wanted to rush to see him. To find that although he was alive, Sir Charles was to remain a prisoner, was appalling. ‘Surely there is some mistake. Perhaps I could speak to him and-’

‘I hardly think that will be necessary. In any case, there are other matters which are more important right now.’ Thomas smiled again and indicated the papers before him.

‘My friends are locked in gaol, and you say there are more important issues?’

‘Yes. There was a murder on the night of the storm, Bailiff. Robert, our gather-reeve, was attacked out on the sands. Until we learn who was responsible and see him pay for his offence, there will be little enough interest in any other issue.’

Thomas picked up his reed again, and dipped it into a pot of ink before scratching a note on a list of taxes paid. Simon watched him with a slight frown. ‘You clearly know that the men on board the ship must be innocent of anything to do with that. They were trapped at sea, man!’

‘All I know, Bailiff, is that a man was killed at the same time as a ship appears.’

‘You aren’t suggesting that my companions could have had anything to do with it, surely?’

‘I’m not suggesting anything, Bailiff. For all I know, it could have been you yourself.’ When Thomas saw the bailiff’s face flush with a quick anger, it was hard to control his amusement. Thank goodness for men who were so easy to read, he thought. It made his job so much simpler.

‘You seriously suggest that I or my companions might have killed this man?’ Simon snarled. He moved forward slowly, a figure of menace. ‘You are mad — or a fool!’

Thomas set his reed on his table once more and studied him. ‘I am an officer, Bailiff. What of you? If strangers appeared suddenly and a man was murdered, what would you think?’

‘I’d think of who might have a reason to desire his death. I wouldn’t instantly accuse a stranger,’ Simon rasped.

Thomas let his hand fall into his lap. In front of him, under the table, was a small dagger. He had on occasion found that a small knife could help during more intense business negotiations — or, indeed, the usual discussions with the staff of the castle. ‘Bailiff, perhaps we could come to an arrangement. Why do we not go to witness the Coroner’s inquest? That might prove useful. It could even prove that your friends are innocent. And you, of course!’

‘Very well,’ Simon said coldly. ‘And in the meantime, I should like to visit my companions.’

‘Perhaps after the inquest,’ Thomas said smoothly. Then, as the door shut behind a glowering Simon, he was taken with considering the discovery of Robert’s body. Simon could be useful, he thought. The bailiff could investigate the murder and his testimony would be accepted. He must find the murderer, and leave others in peace. Thank God that most people were so easy to manipulate, he thought contentedly. He had no desire to be personally suspected himself.

The thought soon faded and he tapped his teeth with the reed as it was replaced with his overriding concern: where the devil was his ship?

Baldwin found the island of St Nicholas quite extraordinary. The first thing that struck him was how flat it was. To the western end of the island was a large part which was called, so Tedia told him, Breyer, or the ‘place of hills’ in her tongue. It was connected to the rest of St Nicholas by a low-lying strip of land which could be smothered by water when the tides rose more highly than normal, he learned, just as was the narrower sand bar between St Nicholas and St Sampson.

‘There are stories that the whole of this was once one large island,’ she said as they stood at the tip of the finger of land that pointed towards Ennor.

‘What of all that water?’ Baldwin said with a smile, nodding towards the great expanse of sea between the islands.

‘Perhaps it was the flood? Luke was speaking about that last year. He said that the waters covered all the earth.’

‘Yes,’ Baldwin agreed. All knew of Noah. The thought of being here when the seas rose was chilling. He could hardly imagine what it must have been like for the islanders so long ago. So far from the mainland, there would have been no chance of escape.

Standing here, on a slightly higher spot, he had a curious view of the rest of the islands. They were, today, quite beautiful. The sea was a glorious blue, graduated from paleness nearer the shores, to a deep dark blue farther away, and the sun was making the wave-tops sparkle as though each held a tiny mirror. The breeze was cool, but not unpleasant, bringing with it the odour of the kelp-pits where seaweed was dried for burning.

Here, in the midst of this peaceful water, lay the low shapes of the islands. Baldwin asked Isok what they were all called, but the man spat at the ground and ignored him. If he had his sword, Baldwin could have been tempted to reach for it, but instead he turned to Tedia again.

She was keen to help. Her pleasure in showing off her islands was like that of a child who prattles on about a favourite toy. There could be no doubt that Tedia was entirely happy here, and her pleasure was delightful. With her parted lips and bright eyes, she was perfect. A beautiful face, slim and strong body, elegant in movement as an Arab horse, she had the carriage of a lady. If only Baldwin was a few years younger and unmarried, he would be tempted to try to tumble her, he thought, forgetting the presence of her husband for a moment, as he also forgot the lack of a sword on his hip.

‘That one, that’s Bechiek, then there’s St Theona, that small hill there, and up there is St Elidius, where Luke preaches, and between us and them is Arwothel, that long island. This is St Nicholas, of course, and that’s Ennor, where the Lord of the Islands has his castle.’

‘That pile of cow dung!’

‘Isok!’

‘I am not afraid to speak my mind, woman!’ Isok spat.

‘He is a hard master?’ Baldwin enquired.

Isok answered him. ‘A brute. On Ennor the taxes are paid to support him and his idle men-at-arms. They sit about and slurp wines and ales we couldn’t afford, and then demand customs from us when we take food to Ennor’s market or offload our fish there. We bleed to death, but they don’t care. When the terrible rains came, we starved. Many died. Not the Lord, though, nor his men. They lived like kings up there in their keep, while the mothers wailed and buried their children. Blancminster is a devil, as is his gather-reeve. All they want is more, more, more! They aren’t our masters, but they still take our money, the thieves!

Baldwin nodded, but unsympathetically. He couldn’t like this man. His manners were gross, especially towards his little wife. ‘It is the way. A taxman is always unpopular,’ he said, gazing out to sea, musing on the remoteness of the islands once more. He would find it intolerably restricting here, he thought. No space for a decent ride, every day the same limiting landscape. Never a new sight. It was a strange idea.

‘Unpopular? The gather-reeve is evil!’ the other man spluttered. ‘He demands all our money and food just because they are too lazy to grow their own on Ennor. They live in luxury while we starve. And then he wants other things, too.’

Baldwin heard a catch in his voice, but when he glanced around, he saw that the more affected of the two was Tedia. She stood haughtily, chin raised, and met her husband’s stare with defiance.

Here, Baldwin told himself, there is something I have missed.

‘Shall we seek my sword, then?’ he asked aloud, and saw the woman’s husband turn away with a curse.

Without looking at either the knight or his wife, Isok said in Cornish, ‘I’ll wait for you at the house. Try to remember you’re still my wife.’

‘It would be easier,’ she said sharply, ‘if you would make me feel like your wife.’

Isok felt the warm waves of shame wash over him. It was like a tide of self-pity, rolling up and back, removing the few remaining sand-particles of pride. He could do or say nothing. His head hanging, he walked up the dunes towards the track that led to their home.

Baldwin watched him go without regret. As far as he was concerned, the man was a boor and a brute, lacking any politeness or respect.

Rudeness was a fault in any man, by Baldwin’s reasoning. It was simple commonsense. If a man was arrogant enough to think that he could insult all those whom he met, he would soon find a man who was bold enough to offer a challenge, and that could mean, even to a competent warrior, that he could die. For a mere peasant, rudeness was unforgivable. In some it could be caused by the humours, something which was beyond their control, he knew, but in many people it was no more than the proof of ignorance, and especially when the target of their ire was a man from so different a station as Baldwin. No, the man deserved no sympathy. He was a mere fool. At any other time, Baldwin could have taught him a lesson, he thought with a grim smile.

As he thought this, he automatically slapped his waist, where his sword normally hung, and at once his attitude altered.

He had no right to be so dismissive of the man. Baldwin was without his signs of honour and rank, he was a mere drifter on the tides. If it was not for Isok’s wife, he might be dead by now. If he had been left out here on the shore for any time, he would have died — that much was certain. He had no sword: he was a nothing. A person in a strange land, who had wished to take issue with a woman’s husband just because that husband was a glowering, mean-spirited churl. Well, Baldwin knew plenty of men who were similar in temperament. Quite possibly this Isok was no worse than any other, and it was certainly the case that many men would grow irritable when they saw their wives bending over backwards to help another man. At least this Isok had not tried to remove his woman, but instead had left her with Baldwin.

He must, Baldwin thought, trust her a great deal.