The Outlaws of Ennor

Chapter Twelve

Baldwin was at last forced to confess defeat. They had walked all the way along the flats while the tide retreated, resolutely ignoring Mariota’s smutty innuendo, until at last Tedia pointed.

‘Look. Now you can see the sands all the way to Ennor.’

‘It appears as though a man could walk all the way,’ Baldwin observed.

‘Yes, it does. At the lowest tide, a man might think of it,’ she explained, ‘but not now, though. The sea can always be treacherous. Sometimes a wave will come in, and then anyone out there would be washed away in moments. Then again, although it may appear that there is a solid path from here to Penn Trathen, appearances are deceptive. The water is a great deal deeper than you might expect.’

‘I have little interest in the sea for now,’ Baldwin admitted with a slight shiver. His body felt very feeble still, and after his walk about this sandy bar, he felt ready to fall to his knees, not that he would let himself do so in front of this woman. That would be a source of shame to him. He was still a knight, as he told himself.

Tedia walked on a short way while he watched her. She was still studying the ground, keenly seeking his blade. They had turned back and were wandering roughly southwards, and the sun, lower this late in the summer, reflected off the water. For a moment, as she passed before it, the light shone through her threadbare tunic, and Baldwin was captivated.

She was a slim, dark-haired girl. Her dress hinted at the soft curves of her breasts, her legs were long and firm, while her belly was rounded enough to look like a pillow fit for a king to rest his head on. As he watched her, feeling the breath catch in his throat, she lifted a hand to ease a long tress of hair behind an ear, and he caught a glimpse of the woman as a whole: she was as unspoiled as the beaches, as beautiful as the islands, as calm as the seas. Her neck was long and elegant, her face in profile was as gentle as that of the Madonna herself.

He saw her glance towards him. ‘Are you quite well?’

‘I …’

‘So this is the stranger, Tedia? How are you now, Sir Knight?’

To his intense annoyance, aware of a furtive sense of guilt, Baldwin found himself confronted by a man some six to eight years younger than himself, a man with a thick shock of unruly black hair and eyes that were a clear blue like a sky glimpsed through clouds on a chilly winter’s day. His face was strong, with an angled jaw that dropped to a narrow chin. The nose was broken, and he had at some time won a great scar on his cheek that had sliced deep and almost reached his ear.

There was something about him that appealed to Baldwin. This man, he felt instinctively, was no brute. The reflection somewhat abated his desire to hit him.

Tedia was at Baldwin’s side in a moment. ‘Sir Baldwin, this is David, the reeve.’

Reeve David studied the knight cheerfully. ‘I am glad to see you looking happier than you did, Sir Knight. Last time I saw you, you were snoring fit to wake folks on the mainland.’

‘I think even my snores would not reach so far,’ Baldwin said with some sharpness.

‘It’s not too far,’ David said, glancing southwards.

Baldwin realised that he was referring not to England, but to the main island, Ennor, and the idea struck him as quaint. It was endearing how people who lived so far from the shores of England could look upon Ennor as the nearest place of any meaning. What, he wondered, did the people of Ennor look to? Was it the next wave-tossed island to the east? When he looked towards the south-west he could see some rocks projecting beyond the westernmost shore of Ennor, and he wondered whether they were the beginning of another island which was only visible from Ennor itself. He wondered, too, how many islands made up this little scattering of land in the vast sea. It was unsettling to think how far it might be to another place. There was nothing to the west, of course, but eastwards, how far would it be to the Cornish coast? Many miles, he guessed.

‘What are you doing here, Tedia? Helping your guest to recover?’

‘He has lost his belongings and wondered if they might be here.’

‘Have you found any of them?’ David asked.

‘No. But I have given him some air, which is good. And shown him Ennor in the daylight — the good knight had a desire to see for himself how close the island is.’

‘Did he?’ David said, looking at Baldwin, who managed to fit a suitable expression of bland disinterest on his face. ‘And what does he think of the place?’

‘It is a strangely attractive little land: rocky, but green. It looks fertile,’ Baldwin answered honestly. ‘It appears a pleasant enough place.’

‘Yes. That’s a fair summary,’ David said. ‘The islands all have their own atmosphere. Here on St Nicholas, we have more variety, with our western hills and the eastern rocks. North we have a wild sea, while here in the south, is this gentle landscape. Ennor has soft sandy beaches all around, apart from that odd spur there, west from La Val. There the sea can be violent.’

‘The seas all about here can be violent,’ Baldwin said. He touched his hip, and was about to mention his sword again, but decided not to. His face was still sore, as was his shoulder, where he had been pounded against a rock, or perhaps a piece of wood had been hurled at him while he lay in the water. Either way, it was a proof of the viciousness of the sea when roused, and yet there was a curious lack of any damage where his sword had hung. He’d had a good strong scabbard, with a belt that was more than up to the task of holding it in place, so it seemed most peculiar that the entire thing should have disappeared. As he recalled, there had been no weaknesses in the leather of his belt.

He could have understood his sword falling from the scabbard and being lost in the sea, but to lose the scabbard and belt at the same time was quite impossible: of that he was sure. Yet he was equally certain that the thing dangled at his hip all the while he was on board the ship. In fact, even as he thought of pirates and the attack, he had a feeling, no more than that, of being washed over the side of the ship.

While he was engaged in his thoughts, the other two were talking.

‘Yes, there’s a ship in the harbour,’ he heard David say. Tedia smiled and chuckled to herself, and Baldwin wondered why.

‘What sort of ship?’

‘A great cog. One of those which travels between Guyenne and London. Probably got blown this way by the same storm which blew you here.’

‘I hope that there are some survivors, then.’ Baldwin felt choked up at the memory of all those good men who had been aboard the Anne when they had set sail, in particular Simon: the honest, bluff Bailiff who had been Baldwin’s first friend when he arrived home at Furnshill after so many years of travelling. It seemed that his entire life had been composed of losses: first all his friends and comrades in the Knights Templar, and now Simon. With that thought, he wondered whether he would ever recover his ease of spirit. In large part he knew that it had been caused by his friendship with Simon. He was the counterbalance to Baldwin’s depression. At least he still had his wife and daughter. They must be his consolation — and yet a man who had been a member of a warrior band would always regret the loss of his comrades. There were bonds between men who had fought side by side in battles and survived which were stronger even than those which held a man to his woman.

‘There are some, I daresay,’ David said, more seriously. ‘If a whole ship is saved, there must usually be some folk who are kept hale and hearty.’

‘I shall pray so,’ Baldwin said fervently. The sea was a cruel mistress, he thought. A sudden hope sprang into his heart. ‘This ship … I do not suppose it could be mine?’

David gave him a look of surprise. ‘But surely yours broke up? That was how you came to be in the water.’

‘I suppose so, but I cannot recall what happened, nor how I came to be thrown into the sea.’ Baldwin frowned. There was something that niggled at his memory: what, he wondered, if the ship had not been thrown upon the rocks? Could he have somehow been separated from it?

‘Anyway, there is something else to occupy minds on the mainland today, from what I’ve heard,’ David said. ‘Oliver from La Val rowed over earlier with some puffins for the Prior, and he told me: a man was murdered during the night of the storm.’

‘Who?’ Tedia asked, but she already knew the answer and a deathly chill flowed from the roots of her hair down to the tips of her toes.

‘The tax-gatherer. That pox-marked, bile-infested son of a heathen, Robert.’

Baldwin was shocked to see how the woman was affected by this news, but assumed that it was another proof of her softness and femininity. Any decent woman would be upset to hear of a senseless killing, he reasoned. From a professional interest, he enquired, ‘How do they know it was murder?’

‘He was stabbed. It’s easy to guess he didn’t die at his own hand.’

Hearing a sudden intake of breath, Baldwin glanced at the woman. ‘Tedia?’

She could say nothing. She only stood and stared at David in incomprehension, her mouth open, her eyes filled with terror and remorse.

At the same time that Baldwin heard of Robert’s death, Simon, too, heard some news. He had returned to the castle to speak to Thomas after his conversation with Hamadus, and when he entered Thomas’s chamber, was amazed to find himself confronted by the sight of Baldwin’s sword. It lay, unsheathed, on Thomas’s table. A tall, slightly stooped lad was standing beside it, an unpleasant smile on his face.

‘So, Bailiff — returning so soon?’ Thomas asked. ‘And I thought you would be with your companions in the gaol for a good long while.’

That, Simon realised, was a veiled warning. As soon as he had bribed the gaoler, Thomas got to know. ‘I wished to think.’ He couldn’t keep his eyes from the bright blue blade on the table.

‘You recognise this sword?’ Thomas enquired gently. ‘It is a lovely piece of work, isn’t it? It was well covered in grease when we found it, as though it had been prepared for a voyage.’

‘Should I know it?’ Simon asked warily.

‘I don’t know. This was found in the dunes, not far from the body of Ranulph de Blancminster’s tax-gatherer.’

‘And who found it?’

‘Walerand here. He stumbled over it after the body was taken away.’

‘You seem to make a habit of finding things,’ Simon said, eyeing Walerand with distaste. ‘First a corpse, now a sword.’

‘I am lucky, maybe. Or maybe I’m just competent. I know how to find things and please my master.’

‘Perhaps you do!’ Simon agreed, struck with the comment. It made him think afresh about the man in front of him. He didn’t like his thoughts.

‘So, are you sure you haven’t seen this sword before?’

Simon was about to answer when a caution sprang into his mind. This was Baldwin’s sword, as he knew perfectly well, but it also bore the signs of the Templar Order. If he were to declare that it was Baldwin’s, his friend’s memory would be poisoned. Jeanne, Lady Baldwin, could become the target of vindictive comment, and that was not a position in which Simon would willingly put her.

‘Why should I have?’

‘It was found here as you arrived. No one on the island owns a weapon like this. I would know.’ Thomas shrugged, but he had already lost interest. ‘I am sorry. It seems ridiculous to ask you, but sometimes a man who is responsible for affairs of the law must ask foolish things. It’s all a matter of form, you understand. It is a curious weapon, though, don’t you think? And it appeared here, with what looked like blood on the grease used to protect it, as though it had stabbed a man recently. Surely that would prove its use in Robert’s death.’

‘He should have guarded himself,’ the man at the table said harshly.

‘Perhaps, Walerand,’ Thomas said with a hint of weariness in his voice. ‘And perhaps not. Maybe it was my fault for not insisting that he took a guard with him. We can’t afford to lose men like him. He was a good fellow.’

Simon looked at Walerand. He was an unprepossessing sight, scruffy, with the pale skin and eyes of a man who needed more exercise, to Simon’s mind. Then he dismissed him from his mind.

‘Your tax-man would no doubt have had many enemies.’

‘Don’t all tax-collectors?’ Thomas said mildly. ‘Nobody particularly enjoys giving up his money to his lord, no matter who he is.’

‘Perhaps not, but not many take up a sword and murder the gatherer,’ Walerand said. He had noticed the Bailiff’s cursory look, and felt insulted by it. He knew he was better than this Bailiff, and he didn’t care to be snubbed. It was a calculated insult, that’s what it was. He’d show him.

But Simon barely registered that he’d spoken — he scarcely noticed Walerand at all. ‘This man who was killed,’ he said. ‘Perhaps I can help you? I have investigated many murders in Dartmoor, where I deal with such matters for Abbot Champeaux.’

‘It is kind of you to offer,’ Thomas said, eyeing him thoughtfully. ‘Another man’s eye can sometimes see the obvious which is hidden to others.’

‘Do you have any idea when he might have been killed?’ Simon asked.

‘He was alive at the time of the meal here on the day of the storm. I rather think that he went out after eating, and as it grew dark, he was caught, attacked, and then left to die.’

‘And this sword was beside him?’ Simon said after a moment.

Thomas nodded to the man standing at the table. ‘Walerand? Where was it exactly?’

‘About five or six yards from the body. I found it on my way back.’

‘The killer must have attacked Robert, then hurled this away,’ Thomas said.

‘Why? The sword isn’t going to point anyone in the direction of the murderer since no one here knows it,’ Simon observed. ‘He could as well have kept it. If he wanted to conceal it, surely he’d have thrown it in the sea.’

‘Maybe he did. A waterspout is very powerful,’ Thomas said. ‘I have seen one gather up a boat from the sea and hurl it many yards. The men in it were killed, of course. The storm of that night could have plucked the sword from the sea and thrown it back to show us who killed Robert. God works in odd ways.’

‘That’s true,’ Simon agreed, thinking how violent the sea could be. ‘But if the murderer left it there, why should he do that?’

‘Perhaps he was appalled at having killed a man,’ Thomas said solemnly.

There was a moment’s silence. Simon and Walerand both knew that this was a forlorn hope. It was Walerand who finally said, ‘What — a gather-reeve?’

Thomas frowned, but had to accept the validity of the comment. ‘Yes — not many would feel guilt at executing one such as him.’

‘How are the islanders?’ Simon asked. ‘Most peasants and farmers are docile enough even though they dislike paying taxes.’

‘These are different, Bailiff,’ Thomas said heavily; in truth, he believed what he said. ‘The folks of these islands are self-supporting and self-reliant. They don’t realise that they depend upon us to maintain them, they think that they can go their own way. It is ridiculous, of course. They need the castle here at La Val to protect them. Where would they be without the men whom Ranulph supports here? Dead, that is where. They do not realise how dangerous the world can be. If it wasn’t for us, they’d be raided by pirates from the wild north, or Bretons from the mad south. The people feel safe here, so they don’t accept the need to support us. Ridiculous, but there it is.’

‘They are no better than pirates themselves,’ Walerand grunted. ‘Cut-throats and draw-latches, the lot of them. Pox on them, I say. Make them pay more and sooner, so they realise their place!’

So these two thought the same as Hamadus, Simon noted — except these appeared to be talking about Ennor; Hamadus talked of pirates on St Nicholas. He saw Thomas wince.

‘Yes, yes, Walerand, I know your views, but don’t forget that you’re not the only one who has an opinion. So does our Lord, and he says it’s better to maintain them without antagonising them too much. Bear that in mind.’

‘The peasants here are rebellious?’ Simon said.

‘Not exactly,’ Thomas sighed, ‘but certainly they won’t take a bridle with a short rein. They need to have their own head — otherwise you find that they are trying to ride you, rather than the other way about! The islands earn their living from the sea.’

‘I would have expected the men to make their livings from the sea,’ Simon said jokingly.

‘Yes, one expects seamen to make money from farming the fish, and sometimes to earn a little from salvaged goods or wrecks, no matter how legal it may be,’ Thomas said, and he was now fiddling with a reed. He paused and met Simon’s eyes. ‘The trouble is, sometimes they will decide to make wrecks for themselves. There are men here who would not hesitate to lead a ship onto the rocks so that they could steal her cargo; or they might attack and destroy a ship, taking all they can before sinking her — or take their ships to a rival town or port, and steal and burn and rape. This is the sort of man who lives here. They were moderate enough in their needs, I believe, but the famine changed that. Now they are more … unstable.’

Simon knew what he meant. The great famine of 1315 and 1316 had caused untold horrors, and few men were free of the fear of a recurrence. ‘What did you mean, they might decide to make wrecks?’ he questioned.

‘A wreck is only a wreck if all on board are dead,’ Thomas said, and he watched as the words sank in. ‘Not all men are honourable.’

Simon nodded. ‘Even in Dartmoor there are people who have been driven to murder,’ he said quietly. Pirates were no different from felons who preyed on travellers on a road. Both stole and killed. In Devon Simon had met enough killers to know that even his pleasant county had its own madmen and outlaws.

‘That is why we have to treat them with caution, Bailiff. Some of these folks are a little wild. There is a vill on St Nicholas which … Well, I shall merely say that I should not wish for a friend of mine to be left there.’

‘I understand. So you think that one of those men could have been responsible for the murder of the tax-man?’

‘It is likely. Those idiots think that all we do here is live in luxury on the money we prise from them. As if the amount we collect in customs from them for using our port or market could pay for a castle like this and all the staff we need! It is ridiculous. But it goes to show what sort of people we are dealing with here.’

‘Quite.’ Simon glanced at Walerand, who hawked and spat noisily before casting a contemptuous look in Simon’s direction. There was so much hostility in that look that it put Simon on his guard. When he returned his attention to Thomas, his expression remained bland, but his mind was whirling.

‘That, Bailiff, is why I would be grateful if you could investigate this matter on our behalf,’ Thomas said.

‘Why do I feel you had decided to ask me to help before I entered this room and offered?’

‘You heard Ranulph. He wishes to learn who killed his gather-reeve. You are independent; you are unknown. You will create fewer problems than if I were to ask another man to do this task.’

Simon was somehow certain that the man who would otherwise be asked to perform this duty was also in the room with him; he felt just as certain that Walerand was perfectly capable of igniting a full-scale war if diplomacy were required. He had the sort of brutish face that spoke of ignorance and bigotry. ‘I would be pleased to help,’ Simon said, ‘but I would first have to ensure that my friends were released from their gaol.’

‘That is difficult,’ Thomas countered. ‘They drew weapons against my master.’

‘In a confused situation,’ Simon said firmly. ‘They had recently all but succumbed to a pirates’ attack, and then a storm, and when your Lord appeared, they had no idea who he was.’

Thomas nodded slowly. Then he took a deep breath. ‘Very well. But I shall have to confirm my decision with my Lord. I shall ask him at the very first opportunity.’

Simon had seen such prevarication before in his dealings with clerks. ‘When would that likely be?’

‘Very soon,’ Thomas said smoothly.

‘Excellent.’ Simon rose. ‘Let me know, and as soon as my friends are released, I shall begin my investigation.’

‘I would prefer you to begin now, Bailiff,’ Thomas said politely.

‘And so I shall … as soon as my companions are free,’ Simon said with equal civility.

Thomas eyed him bleakly. ‘You are a hard man to bargain with. Very well. You may count on it that they will be released immediately. Now please go and investigate this crime. Walerand here will go with you and ensure the compliance of the population with your inquest.’

Simon grunted and stood. ‘It is a bargain. I shall also need a sword. I left my own on the ship. Perhaps your men have already found it?’

Thomas smiled at the sarcasm in his voice. ‘Walerand will lead you to the armoury. Choose what you wish.’

‘There is no need. This sword will be fine.’

‘You cannot have that. It may be the murder weapon.’

‘What, to kill the gather-reeve?’

‘Of course.’

‘It couldn’t. The stab wound in Robert’s back was too shallow.’

‘There is blood on the blade.’

‘Where?’

Thomas pointed to a large dark stain near the quillons.

‘To have blood there the sword must have run through the man,’ Simon said reasonably. ‘Robert was killed by a dagger, not a sword.’

‘You seem very certain,’ Thomas observed.

‘I am. And I need a sword.’