The Outlaws of Ennor

Chapter Thirteen

Thomas had stood as the two men left his chamber. Now he sat back and chuckled to himself. The Bailiff was so entirely predictable and easily led.

Ringing the bell that sat at his right hand, he bent his head over the Anne’s documents once more. The ship had been carrying plenty of wine, thank God. Some of it was good Cretan, too, which was that bit stronger and sweeter than the Guyennois varieties. That was good; Ranulph liked his Cretan wine.

A servant tapped at the door. ‘Ah, Oliver — go to the gaol and tell the men to bring that knight and his squire up to the chamber off the main hall and leave them there. They are to be locked inside in case they try to escape.’

The man went to do his bidding, and Thomas settled back in his seat. The poor Bailiff would be unhappy when he heard, but if he wanted men accused of treating the Lord of the islands in a cavalier manner to be released from custody completely, he would have to do more than bargain over an investigation. He would have to find a culprit.

In the meantime, it was good that the dullard had not spotted the weakness of his own position. He might now have a bright blue sword to wear, but he was one man against the castle’s garrison. Hopefully he would soon conclude that the men of the vill had been responsible for Robert’s death.

Yes, thought Thomas. All in all it had been a good morning’s work.

Where was that damn ship, he wondered yet again with a slight frown. The Faucon Dieu should have docked by now. It was one thing to deflect the Bailiff with tales of murderers so that Simon didn’t enquire too deeply about Thomas himself, but the real problem in Thomas’s mind was the missing ship.

There was a knock, and he harshly commanded the man to enter. It was the Bailiff.

‘Thomas, there is one last thing,’ Simon said mildly. ‘What were you doing out on the night Robert was murdered?’

‘Me? Who says I-’

‘Someone saw you. All I wanted to know was, what were you doing and did you see Robert?’

Thomas felt his chest tightening. ‘I was out to see others. That is all you need to know.’

‘Can I see your dagger?’

Thomas silently stared at him. Slowly he pulled his dagger from its sheath and passed it to Simon.

‘Ah. As I thought: no blood,’ Simon said, passing it back.

‘So I am to be considered innocent?’ Thomas asked sarcastically.

‘No,’ Simon said. ‘You’re bright enough to wash a weapon after committing murder.’

He left without speaking further, and now Thomas felt less comfortable about selecting Simon as his investigator. As he sat tapping his teeth once more, the two worries nagged at him: the investigation into Robert’s death and his ship.

Where was she?

Simon was tiring already and demanded the use of a staff. When Walerand had found him a decent five-foot-long stave, he followed the other man out along the trail from the main gates, and down a winding path that gradually turned across the western face of the crag on which the castle stood. Here Walerand turned right across a field.

Ahead of him Simon could see the whole of the flat-looking island. Directly before them was a low hill with gently sloping sides, but Walerand was leading him to the north of this, taking him through the marshes.

‘Sorry if you find it a bit wet here,’ Walerand said after a while.

Simon glanced down. ‘This? On Dartmoor, this would be considered quite dry,’ he said without thinking.

Walerand said nothing. The man was just ignorant, that was all. Pig ignorant, the blown-up piece of pus. He didn’t know anything about the islands or the people who lived here — that much was obvious. At least Thomas had given Walerand the job of watching him while he was here on the islands. That was something. Maybe it meant he was considering Walerand for another task. This could be Thomas’s way of telling him that he was well thought of. That would be good.

In any event, it was a good thing that this Bailiff had someone with a brain to look after him. He was blundering about like a bug-eyed pilgrim right now, staring about him like a man who’d never seen a small island before. Now that Walerand had lived here for such a long while, he felt quite an expert. This Bailiff was an embarrassment.

‘What?’ he snarled when he heard the Bailiff speak.

Simon pointed up ahead of them. ‘I want to climb that hill.’

‘Why? It’s just a-’

‘It’s this way, I think,’ Simon said, setting off.

‘That’s not the bloody way!’ Walerand called after him. The cretinous, louse-infested piece of horse dung was wandering up over Oderic’s land. ‘Oh, let him learn,’ he muttered, and waited.

Simon strode up the hill without minding the sudden quiet. Halfway up, he saw a low, thatched cottage, a place that seemed to blend into the landscape as though to allow the wind to flow over and around it rather than battling and trying to contest the right of the elements to pass by. Carrying on, he soon reached the summit.

It was only a small hill, but it was enough to give him a better view of the islands. They seemed oddly peaceful here. West lay St Nicholas, he knew, with the hilly spine on the left that reached all the way down to the twin humps that he had been told were called St Sampson. Right was another great mass, which he guessed was that place called Bechiek, while between that and St Nicholas, there were some smaller islands. Some had buildings on them, but only very few. Northwards, he could follow the line of the coast up to the plain which formed the larger part of Ennor. That was the direction in which they were heading. Behind him, he could see the castle, about a half mile or so eastwards, and beyond he could see the sea, sparkling and glinting merrily, as though it could never have risen in fury.

A lump returned to his throat as he recalled seeing Baldwin taken by that massive wave and washed away, like a piece of jetsam on the tide. One moment there: the next gone, as though he had never existed.

He wiped his eye and began to make his way towards the trail a little farther up than where Walerand waited. There was no path, and he must walk through the fields. With his upbringing, and appreciating the value of crops, he didn’t walk through the middle as Walerand had done, but stayed at the edge by a wall topped with thin, straggling bushes, so that he would do as little damage as possible.

There was a snarl, and he looked over his shoulder to see a pair of black dogs racing towards him. These were mere farm dogs, not vicious hounds like that monster of Hamadus’s, and Simon felt little fear of them. At the first sound, he almost reached for his sword, but when he saw the dogs approaching, he thought better of it, and instead readied himself, holding his staff towards them. As they came closer, one received a sharp tap on the muzzle, while the other was prodded twice in the breast. Both chose to reconsider their attack, and retired out of reach, making a deal of noise but not trying to close with him.

‘What are you doing here? Leave me dogs alone!’

‘My friend, I am merely a stranger in this land,’ Simon called. ‘I didn’t realise I was going to cause you any trouble by coming here, and I apologise. Please call your dogs off. I don’t want to harm them, but if they attack I’ll have to draw my sword.’

There was a short but piercing whistle, and one dog gave Simon a withering look before springing up and over the wall, disappearing from sight. The other was already gone.

Soon thereafter, a man appeared. He was skinny and bent, with thinning grey hair that was blown by the wind until it stood in all different directions. His mouth was sunken, and Simon could see that he had already lost most of his teeth. Not an uncommon sight since the famine, he knew, but it was an interesting comparison with the men at the castle. None of them had suffered scurvy, so far as he had seen.

‘Who are you?’ the man asked suspiciously. He was about ten years older than Simon, the Bailiff reckoned, maybe five and forty summers. The face was browned by the wind and sun, with wrinkles that would have looked good on a walnut, but his eyes were a clear, watery blue, and showed intelligence.

‘I am called Simon Puttock. I am the Bailiff of Lydford in Dartmoor, and was shipwrecked here in the storm.’

‘What are you doing on my hill?’

Simon looked about him at the view one last time. ‘I didn’t realise it was anyone’s hill. I was here with a man from …’

‘La Val. I should have guessed.’ The older man peered down the road. ‘Oh, it was that little turd, was it? I know him well enough.’

‘He is named Walerand.’

‘Wally would be about right. He thinks he owns the islands. Thieving shit!’

‘What is your name?’

‘Oderic.’

‘Thank you, Oderic. Tell me: how do you find the men at the castle? Are they looked upon as fair masters?’

‘You asking me? Why?’

‘You’re the only man up here I can speak to. All the rest of the time I’m going to be in the company of men like him,’ Simon said reasonably, pointing with his chin towards Walerand.

‘Why should I trust you? You’ll probably take anything I say and report it straight back to Ranulph Blancminster.’

Simon turned to the south. It was just possible to see William’s church and the carts loading bales of cloth. ‘See that? That was my ship, and all my goods on it have been impounded. My friends, those who were living, were taken and thrown into a cell. Do you think I can trust Ranulph, or that he can trust me?’

The man studied Simon for a moment in silence, then stared out towards the ship. ‘If there was a chance, the men here would rise up and throw Blancminster into the sea. He’s a thief. Everything we make or farm, he takes. He leaves us little enough. Look at me! Even during the famine, I grew enough to feed my family. Blancminster took all my produce, and my family starved. My children died, my wife killed herself in grief … Who wouldn’t want to rid the islands of him? He sucks our blood! The two worst men were Thomas and his gather-reeve, that devil Robert. They don’t care for us any more than they care about ants. That’s all we are to them — creatures to be used and then destroyed when the whim takes them.’

Simon sighed. ‘I see. What can you tell me about the men who live on St Nicholas?’

‘A small group. They are hardy men there, and dispute Blancminster’s right to command them, yet he still tries to tax them. Anything they want to buy from Ennor, they pay him customs; anything they import which passes through Ennor, they pay for. He daren’t impose all the taxes he forces on us, because he would get a bloody nose, so he is cautious. He looks to have bits and pieces from them, while he milks us, who cannot defend ourselves.’

‘Why so careful about the men on St Nicholas?’

Oderic shrugged. ‘They are the Prior’s men. For now, Blancminster and his murderous Sergeant, that evil, rapacious whelp Thomas, take what they want from us here on Ennor, but soon their greed will take them up to St Nicholas too.’

‘When they do, they will have to answer to the Abbot of Tavistock,’ Simon said firmly, appalled that someone might dare infringe the liberty of the Abbey.

‘And who’s going to report them to the Abbot?’ Oderic asked. ‘Someone like me? I’d be killed as soon as I thought of it. In any case, if there was a fight, it would be over months before anyone could come here to sort out the matter.’

‘I could report him myself,’ Simon said.

‘You, eh? And what makes you think that your hide can withstand Thomas’s knife or an arrow?’

‘Would you have killed Robert? You sound bitter enough.’

‘Did I want to? Yes. Would I have dared? No. I’m not scared of Blancminster, but what purpose would it serve me to kill one rent-collector? They’d just get a new one. They will! And what then? I’ve risked my life all for nothing. There’s another man in place, demanding the same money from me. All I’ve done is promote a new bloodsucker.’

‘Then you won’t mind telling me where you were on the day of the storm and afterwards?’

‘Not much. Before the storm I was with my old friend Hamadus, but when the storm hit us, I went to my fields to make sure that my property was safe while he said he was going to the church. I stayed there until the storm was done.’

‘I suppose no one was with you there?’ Simon asked hopefully.

‘In a storm?’ Oderic asked pointedly. ‘I am sorry, Bailiff. I’d like to help, but sometimes life isn’t so clean and easy. If you need to confirm where I was, you’ll have your work cut out.’

‘All I want to do is make sure you aren’t pestered in the future,’ Simon protested.

‘Good. That makes two of us.’

Simon grinned at that. Then he turned and frowned at the sight of St Nicholas.

Oderic saw the direction of his gaze, and cleared his throat. From his many years of dealing with reluctant miners on Dartmoor, Simon knew when to stay silent. He knew all too well that a countryman when pressed would close his mouth with as much determination and stubbornness as a mule. Better by far to let the fellow have his moment of choice and hope that his choice was helpful. It was.

‘Sir, I don’t know … I dislike to say that there was someone … It could mean him suffering, after all, and I don’t …’

Simon continued to say nothing, but turned upon Oderic a face so bland and apparently unconcerned that Oderic felt an urge to blurt out his story. ‘I saw two men while in my field, you see — one was David, the reeve from the vill on St Nicholas, and the other was Thomas himself, the Sergeant at the castle. They were both out here on the evening of the storm. I saw them.’

‘I see. I thank you.’

Simon left him soon afterwards, and walked back to the track sunk deep in thought. He could hear the barking of the dogs as he reached Walerand, but he said nothing, merely trudged off up the roadway towards the beach.

She had suddenly burst into tears, and as Tedia wrapped her arms about herself and sank to her knees in the sand, Baldwin was left feeling incompetent and confused. He had no idea what had led to her breakdown, unless it was something to do with this man who had been found dead.

David said hastily, ‘Tedia? I’m sorry, maid. I didn’t think.’

Baldwin threw him a baffled look. ‘Tedia, what is the matter?’ He stepped closer, and then he could see the tears streaming down her cheeks. ‘Tell me what is wrong.’

She couldn’t speak for a while. The shock of hearing that Robert had been murdered had knocked all the stuffing out of her. She took hold of Baldwin’s tunic, and began weeping furiously.

‘It was him!’ she sobbed. ‘He killed Robert to keep me from him! It’s my fault that Robert is dead. How could he! I didn’t want to upset him, but what else could I do? I couldn’t help loving Robert! Oh, it’s all my fault! I couldn’t love Isok any more!’

There was a great deal more, but Baldwin was unable to hear her pitiful protestations. He stood stock still, a hand on her head, stroking her hair gently until her worst sobs began to subside, and then he spoke softly. ‘Come, Tedia. Don’t blame yourself. If you did not order a death, if you did not commit the killing, then it is nothing to do with you. Someone else is responsible.’

‘That’s the point!’ she spat, leaning back within the compass of his arms and staring at him with anger. ‘I did it — unintentionally, but I did it! He killed Robert to keep me! He couldn’t face losing me!’

Baldwin felt the familiar stirrings of excitement. This woman was beautiful even in her distress, and her warm body was a sore distraction after so many weeks from his wife. He tried to put thoughts of her attractions from him and concentrate. ‘Perhaps he did not. It is possible that you are wrong.’

‘You are wrong, Tedia!’ David said forcefully. ‘Isok would never kill like this.’

Tedia ignored him. ‘It was Isok. I should have guessed. He was going to be out when the storm hit the islands, and then suddenly he was back here. He must have found Robert and murdered him so that I couldn’t meet my lover. My God! What have I done!’

‘You have done nothing!’ Baldwin said gently. ‘In any case, Tedia, you have no proof to suggest that your husband did this.’

‘He was out and-’

‘What actually happened?’ Sir Baldwin asked softly, but David intervened.

‘Tedia! You don’t have to prove Isok’s guilt — not to a stranger!’

She sniffed a little, and then pulled away from Baldwin, holding his eyes with grim determination, as though daring him to judge her behaviour. ‘I was to go and meet Robert. I had already met him before, and we had spoken, but we had never lain together. That night, we were going to. He had arranged to meet me at my home, and we were going to spend the night together. I agreed because I was so lonely. My husband was to be away, so I felt us to be safe.’ She turned and stared at David as though daring him to comment. He dropped his gaze; if she was determined to put the responsibility on Isok, there was little he could do to stop her.

‘You waited for him at your house?’ Baldwin asked.

‘No. I knew where he would arrive at the island, and I was so excited, I had to go to the shore to see him as he came.’

Baldwin could imagine her there, standing at the shoreline, staring out towards the island of Ennor, her heart fluttering with hope and desire, thinking that at any moment she would catch a sight of her lover rowing towards her.

‘But he didn’t come,’ she said brokenly. ‘I was there until late afternoon, and by then the storm was brewing. I thought he must have seen it coming and thought better of making the crossing. As it was, I thought it was fortunate, because I was back at the house only a short while, when my husband arrived home again. He had seen the weather and decided to remain in port.’

‘He stayed with you that night?’

‘No,’ she said more quietly, ashamed of how she had behaved. ‘He saw me, we argued, and then he left. He slept that night at Mariota’s — my aunt’s. But I fear that he came to know of my intention to meet Robert, and he went to Ennor and murdered him there, before I could even … could even …’

As she burst into wracking sobs, Baldwin stared out over her head towards Ennor. It looked calm and quiet in the early afternoon light and he found it hard to imagine that there could have been a murder there so recently. ‘Perhaps it was someone else,’ he suggested. ‘How could your man have learned about this Robert?’

‘There are people who would have told him,’ she said coldly, facing David.

‘I told him nothing,’ David said.

‘What of your wife, though? She knew, didn’t she?’

David shrugged. ‘Brosia may have known, but that means nothing. Others may have known too. You didn’t hide your desperation or your lust, did you?’

Tedia’s tears were stilled, and she stood, dusting her skirts with both hands. When she looked up again, Baldwin was chilled to see how composed she was. There was a core of steel in her soul, he thought.

‘Brosia would have told him if she’d known,’ she asserted. ‘She always wanted to compete with other women for men’s attention. Perhaps she told Isok just to shame me. It is just the sort of thing she’d do.’

David flushed with anger. ‘You should watch your tongue! My wife is a good woman. She’d not lower herself to that level.’

‘You think so?’ Tedia spat. ‘She lies in the gutter with the other rats!’

David stepped forward and his hand rose to slap her face, but before he could do so, Baldwin was between them. With ease, David removed his hand from Baldwin’s grip. ‘Don’t pick fights until you’re back to your full strength, Sir Baldwin,’ he said, but calmer again now. ‘Tedia: watch what you say. Next time I may not be so lenient. I won’t stand here to listen to my wife being insulted.’

‘Wait, Reeve,’ Baldwin said as David made to walk away.

‘What?’

‘Where were you on the night that this man died?’

‘The night of the storm? I was with my boat, making sure that it was secure.’

‘Did you see anyone else?’

‘You doubt my word? I had no reason to kill that son of a whore.’

‘Perhaps so, but if you saw another man, that man might himself be the murderer.’

‘I only saw the priest: Luke from St Elidius. If you want to question someone, question him,’ David said, and marched away.

With a sudden clarity, Tedia saw Luke’s face again, that day when they had spoken about seeking another lover. His eyes had been so kind and understanding, but then, when she had said that she knew a man who could service her, his expression had frozen, like ice settling in a pond. ‘The Brother!’ she gasped.

‘Which brother?’

‘Luke, the man at St Elidius. I spoke to him, and he said to me that I should find another man, but now — I think he was jealous. He wanted me for himself!’

Baldwin gave an understanding grunt. It was easy to see how a man could become infatuated with this woman, he told himself.

‘It could have been Luke … but what if it was Isok? What can I do? I can’t live with a man whom I suspect of killing my love!’ she exclaimed, and slumped in despair, her hands covering her face. Turning, she threw herself back into Baldwin’s embrace, and he found his hands reaching out to go about her body, then hesitated. Somehow he was sure that if he were to cradle this woman again, he might not be able to save himself from lusting after her. He paused, arms near her, but not touching. A delicious scent rose to his nostrils, the fresh, sweet smell of a young woman.

She snuggled herself into the crook of his shoulder, and Baldwin could feel his heart thundering like a smith’s hammer. ‘If you want to know who killed Robert, leave it to me,’ he said, and put both arms about her, pulling her into a tight embrace, staring challengingly at David.