The Outlaws of Ennor

Chapter Fifteen

David walked past the knight and the younger woman to stand at his wife’s side, taking Brosia in his arms and hugging her. He felt a smouldering rage that these two had come to bother his wife while he was not there. He faced them with the anger still apparent on his face, but although he could feel her hand wandering down to his belt and under his shirt, her fingers gently coursing down between his buttocks, he was concentrating on Baldwin. That was where the danger lay, David thought, and he must not lose his temper and harm him. If he did, it could be the end of his vill.

‘I am surprised you came to talk to my wife when I was not here,’ he said directly to Baldwin.

‘Why? There is nothing that you should be concerned about, is there?’ Baldwin said.

‘There is nothing for me to fear, no. Yet a man who comes and questions a woman may be putting her under too much pressure. My wife does not deserve to be questioned when I am not present.’

‘I am sure that she is intelligent enough to know when she should not answer, and should tell me to speak to you.’

‘That is not the point,’ David said. ‘What are you trying to learn?’

‘We were asking her what she knew of the man who has been killed, this Robert.’

David could not help shooting a look at Tedia. ‘What do you want to know of him?’

‘Only whether someone has been gossiping about him and Tedia,’ Baldwin said sharply, catching sight of David’s look. ‘You told us that you had not told Isok. Do you still say that?’

‘There are always rumours and gossip. What do you expect? Women chatter, and they tell their husbands. There is no surprise there.’

‘What rumours?’

‘You know: that Tedia has been spreading her legs for him.’

‘Why do you fear me asking your wife about him: do you have something to hide?’ Baldwin snapped, angry to see the effect that David’s words were having on Tedia. Her eyes were brimming, and her face was flushed with shame.

‘I have nothing to hide. I am a reeve, Sir Knight, not some peasant to be browbeaten,’ David said with a quiet dignity.

‘Wrong! This is a matter of murder, not mere local gossip,’ Baldwin said sharply ‘Do you know of any man who might have told Isok about Robert and Tedia?’

‘Not in particular, no. But if someone had told Isok, I would not be surprised. Isok is a quiet man, but well-respected. He is also pitied by many of the men in the vill, because he suffers from this inability of his. If a man chose to tell him that his woman was being unfaithful, would it be any surprise? I don’t think so.’

‘Did you tell him?’ Tedia blurted out.

‘Me, woman? I said before: no! Not through any loyalty to you, or kindness to him. It was purely because I do not want to see my vill damaged by your treachery!’ David said firmly. ‘You should wait until you have your divorce, before trying to snare another man. You are guilty of petty treason to your master!’

‘It was the advice of Brother Luke that I should find another.’

‘He said that? Why, he’s no better than catshit on a boot! He’s as much help as a turd in a bed, the-’

‘He may have had honourable motives,’ Baldwin interjected.

‘Let me hear them, then!’ David snarled. ‘A foreigner who comes here to molest the women in my vill — I’ll have him ballocked with my own knife!’

‘You seem very angry about this man,’ Baldwin observed. ‘More angry than you were about the gather-reeve. Or were you more angry about him before he died?’

‘What do you mean by that?’ David snapped.

‘Perhaps you felt as furious about Robert getting his tarse into one of the vill’s women as you do now about Luke. Is that true? Did you want to punish him for polluting one of the vill’s women?’

David was about to respond angrily when Baldwin saw Tedia start. ‘I saw him!’ she whispered, and a hand went to her mouth as she realised what she had said.

‘What do you mean?’ David said quickly. His temper was still up — partly because of Baldwin’s suggestion, but mostly because he hated to think that the priest could have tried to get inside Tedia’s skirts. David had seen how Luke watched his own wife. Not that it was all the lad’s fault, he thought sourly, shooting Brosia a quick look. She would have led him on if she could have, which was why David had ensured so far as he was able, that she never had an opportunity.

‘The night Robert was murdered, I saw Luke running back over the flats.’

Baldwin was unsure what she meant. ‘Robert’s body was found on the next island, Ennor, was he not? Do you mean you saw this Luke running back from a boat?’

‘Yes,’ David said hurriedly. ‘There are some boats out on the flats. You saw him running back from there, Tedia?’

She saw his look and understood what he meant. ‘Yes. He was hurrying. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, because I was waiting for Robert, but what if …’ A hand went to her mouth at the thought that she might have witnessed the escape of the man who had killed her lover.

‘It means nothing,’ Baldwin said. ‘The most important thing is, not to tell people. Otherwise, this Brother Luke might be caught and hanged on the spot. The worst crime in the world must be the hanging of a priest without a fair trial.’

‘We all know what a “fair trial” means for a priest,’ David said scathingly. ‘It means a boat to England and a day in the Bishop’s court, before he’s sent away to serve a penance. And what was he doing here in the first place, eh? Serving penance for some crime committed elsewhere! What if we’re just sending a criminal away to kill another?’

‘There’s not even the faintest hint that he would have a reason to kill the tax-man,’ Baldwin said, but his voice was losing its force. He was in truth very tired.

‘You say so? I think you’ve already heard the reason, Sir Knight! Jealousy. It will eat at a man, won’t it? And here you have a fellow who lusted after all the women in the vill, and then spoke to one whom he thought he could have as his own little “priest’s mare”, this lovely little wench here. Except he learned from gossips that she was already settled with Robert, and so the priest took a knife to Robert’s throat.’

‘He had his throat cut?’ Baldwin asked.

‘I don’t know,’ David shrugged. ‘But this priest must have been the killer. He ran out there, killed the man and came back.’

‘Where he was seen by Tedia,’ Baldwin murmured. It made some sense. ‘And if not, it was surely Tedia’s husband.’

‘Unlikely, I should think,’ David said. ‘Isok is a sad, embittered man, but no murderer.’

There was a note of conviction in his voice which surprised Baldwin, but then he reflected that men living close together on an island must have an intimate knowledge of each other. The inability to escape unwelcome company must lead to men either learning to control their tempers, or to lose their tempers ever more swiftly and violently. There was little alternative.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Then we must speak to this priest and learn what he has to say for himself.’ Aye, and to the husband of Tedia, too, he told himself with a sidelong look at her. Isok was still one of the most obvious suspects, although he was beginning to think that David came a close second.

However, the conversations with them would have to be conducted more cautiously; Baldwin had no wish to see Tedia hurt any more.

Isok dropped the heavy stone at the end of the rope and watched as the cable unrolled itself through the v-shaped notch it had worn in the upper edge of the boat’s hull. At least here he was himself. On the seas which he had known since his childhood, he felt at peace. The troubles of the island seemed to fade a little. He was alone, and alone he was able to cope. No one could hurt him here.

He was well enough, he supposed. There was only this lassitude that seemed odd. It was out of place for him. Beforehand he had always been an energetic man. Now, nothing touched him. At least when he first married, while they were trying, he and Tedia, to consummate their vows, there had been the pride of ownership. He had the woman whom all the men in the vill desired, partly because of her bright eye and quick humour, partly because the lithe and supple body which lay beneath that tunic was so tempting, but also because she was apparently so eager for lovemaking. Others had enjoyed her body, of course, but that was of no concern to Isok. He, after all, had won her heart.

So he believed. Now he sighed. The cable was stopped, and the boat began to swing about. Here he knew that the fishing was usually good. The first end of the line had been fixed to a point on the beach, and he had rowed out here, paying out the long net, and now he must row back to shore. Once there he could pull in the net and see what catch he had won.

It was more usual to do this with another man. One would row while the other paid out the net, and then both hauled on it. It was certainly efficient fishing that way, but Isok had grown sick of hearing men whispering behind his back. If he came out here with another man, he knew he must be observed the whole time, as though he was a curious form of cod which was washed up to be studied in the shallows.

‘I am no fish!’ he growled to himself.

Even now he was convinced that someone was watching him, although here, up at the northern tip of St Theona, there were fewer people. No matter. Damn any man who wanted to stare at him. Isok had suffered enough. For a while now, he would be idle. His net was set, and he could pull it in at any time. He was happy to just sit here in his boat and listen to the waves kissing the strakes.

If he could have had his time again, he’d still have married her. There was no disgust or hatred for her in his heart. He was extremely fond of her. Tedia was so pretty, no man could think of disliking her. A divorce would be hurtful and embarrassing, but he knew that he must go through with it, if only for her sake. He loved her enough to want her to have another husband, if he could make her happy. If he, Isok, was not man enough to bed her, it was not his right, he felt, to keep her from another man who could.

He had tried everything, as had she, but nothing seemed to make his damned prickle work. Even now, staring down at his loins, he couldn’t begin to understand why. It was terrible that he should be so punished. Somehow he must have greatly offended God to have been inflicted with this.

The Prior had spoken to him and explained what would happen. When the Bishop heard the details of the case, he would write to the Prior and ask that he arrange for a suitable test to be made. That meant that certain ‘wise women’ in the vill would be asked to see whether they could make his prickle work. If they could put it in semen, the divorce would fail because it was simply a lack of success on Tedia’s part, and she would be exhorted to redouble her efforts; but if they failed, the wise women would have to give a report to the Prior, and he would have to recommend that the marriage be dissolved. There was no justice in leaving Tedia bound to a man who was clearly, according to God’s apparent will, not suited to that particular wife.

Cryspyn had been kind about it. He had spoken gently, as though to a child, explaining that if God saw fit to deny them the ability to consummate their marriage, He must not be challenged. The Prior’s face was filled with sympathy, and he had offered to listen if Isok had anything he wished to discuss, but what was there for Isok to say?

It was a terrible thought, that Tedia might be taken from him. He had grown accustomed to her presence. She was a cheery bedmate — or had been. Always warm and craving a cuddle when he returned from the sea, welcoming him with a kiss and hug even when he was wet through and frozen. She was all that he had hoped for in a wife.

All that would remain, when she left him, was shame. Everyone in the vill would know why she had gone. They would know that he was only half a man.

He sniffed. The sadness and despair he had known ever since he first realised that she was serious about finding another husband had abated a little, and he was growing accustomed to the prospect of losing her. She had sworn to be his own wife, and if she now decided she needed another man, he could forgive her — but he wasn’t sure he could forgive whoever took her from him.

There were rumours. Always rumours. Some he discounted immediately, but others were more insidious. Some men would do anything to bed her, his Tedia, and there was nothing they wouldn’t try.

This was torture, he told himself with a shake. The air was cooler, and when he looked up, he saw that the sun was well past its high point. He had only a few hours left. Picking up the oars, he set them ready, then started hauling up the anchor stone. Soon it was moving steadily upwards, and he carefully stowed the cable in a neat bundle so that it wouldn’t twist or snag. Then he sat and began to row back to the island and home.

There was still that nagging feeling that someone was watching him, but he put it down to his own grim knowledge that everyone was watching him. Everybody knew his problems.

Soon they would become more clear as the church broadcast the results of his awful test, he thought to himself.

In the natural harbour between the rocks, Jean de Conket felt he had every reason to be proud of his men and his own efforts.

True, he could do little about lifting heavy baulks of timber or splicing the ropes which had snapped when the mast fell into the sea, but at least his mental capacity had not been affected so badly as his arm. It was growing fatter now, and it was hard to bend the elbow, as well as gut-wrenchingly painful. He had a suspicion that he might be forced to have it cut off, but he was not going to rush into a decision on that score. It could wait until they reached home again. It shouldn’t take too long to make that journey. It would be good to be home again, and he was sure that his woman would be delighted to see him back.

She was a good woman. Tall, slender as a birch, with an almond-shaped face and slanted green eyes that laughed at him all the time; he was content with her. She rarely whined at him like some men’s women. If she did, he’d have whipped her, but there was no need. She seemed happy with him. The thought of her man dead would probably scare her, and his delay in returning would have left her anxious. She’d be glad to have him home, with or without his arm. At least he still had the other. He could wield a sword happily enough with one good arm.

The boys were good fellows, too, apart from Raoulet, the oldest; he had already been enough of a disrespectful shit to have been punched out twice by Jean. If he wasn’t careful, the bastard would try to take his place at the head of the family. He would be delighted to command his brothers and mother. There was no doubt in Jean’s mind that little Raoulet would even consider removing his father, were his father to have the bad manners to return alive.

It was good to think of them, all sitting at the table to celebrate his return, even if Raoulet’s thankfulness would more than likely be feigned.

That homecoming was bound to be a little while coming, though. First Jean had to get this vessel back to his port. That would require careful sailing, and taking no risks. Before they could even think of stepping the mast, they would have to wait until dark. There was no one on the island who could see them, so that was one less risk, but there was still the problem of the journey about the island. The ship could be badly trimmed with the shorter mast, and Jean did not want to risk being seen as he left port. Other ships might be able to overhaul him. Better that they should wait until dark, and then make their way around the islands. Jean would have a pair of men in front in the little boat to check the soundings and ensure that the ship couldn’t run across a spine of rock that might hole her hull.

Yes. They would wait until night, and then make their slow progress out to sea before finding their way home.

A shame, though. They had come all this way without a sight of their original target. Sometimes the sea was like that. She would throw a choice vessel at you one week, and give you a fleeting glimpse of a still more tempting morsel the next, without letting you near either, and then let you at a small boat.

It would be sad to return home without a decent prize, especially since Raoulet would make fun of him. His son could well see this failure to take the ship as proof that Jean was too old to lead the men any more. That would mean a fight with Raoulet. Hardly an even-balanced fight, if Jean was about to lose his arm, but Jean could shrug mildly enough. It was the natural order of things.

After all, it was how Jean himself had managed to win his first command, by killing his own father in full view of the whole crew and throwing his body over the side for the gulls.

After seeing William, Simon knew he must go and visit the body. The inquest had been too brief for any discovery. The thought repelled him.

It was Baldwin who was always keenest to seek out corpses and study them. Simon was happy to leave him to it, while he himself hung around nearby, listening to the descriptions of the wounds and drawing his own inferences from them, but generally trying to avoid going near enough to smell the sour odours of urine and faeces, the sweet stink of blood. He loathed seeing the wounds generally, too. The sight of the cuts made him feel the full dread of his own mortality.

Robert’s body had been housed in William’s church, and Simon walked there trailing behind Walerand, his head down as he went.

He needed Baldwin. Trying to learn how a man might have died was beyond him. There was no point in his trying to do so, and it was ridiculous to expect him to find out much. It would be better if Ranulph and Thomas were to instruct one of their own men to speak to the reeves on the islands, and ask all of them who might have caused Robert’s death. They would certainly be a damned sight more help than Simon with his meagre knowledge and understanding of the islands.

Yet he had sworn to do his best, in return for the release of Sir Charles and Paul, and right now Simon felt the need of a companion. If he could have remained with William, that cheery fellow might have proved enough to keep Simon’s equilibrium, but William had to leave to seek his fishes. That left Simon once more with the morose Walerand as company; the latter had a limited stock of stories and conversation, but the commonest theme was one of contempt for the world and disgust for the people of the islands, while attempting to persuade Simon of his own intelligence and shrewdness.

When Simon had heard his opinion of the farmers and fishermen of the islands, and how all their women were desperate for ‘it’ and how Walerand would go about all the houses now that Robert was gone, ‘seeing to’ the wives, Simon tried to stop his ears and think of something else, and yet the dirge-like voice droned on, spewing out expletives and incoherent bigotries.

The idea of being stuck with Walerand was so appalling, Simon glanced at the sea several times — with a view to pushing Walerand off a cliff, rather than jumping himself.

When they reached the church in which the body was kept, Walerand walked straight in and stood over the corpse, staring down at it. ‘Pathetic little sod, wasn’t he? Weak bastard. If it’d been me, I’d have got them myself. You won’t catch me napping. I’m on my guard, me. Some bastard tries to stab me, they’ll find themselves swallowing the end of my sword. Tossers. That’s the trouble with the people here. They don’t know how to respect their betters.’

Simon commanded him to silence.

Robert was lying on a large door before the altar, propped on trestles and covered with a linen cloth. Someone had at least had the goodness to wipe away much of the sand, excrement and blood, but there were still dark whorls and circles where the blood had congealed and dried hardest. His clothes were gone, probably kept by the First Finder, Simon guessed, glancing sideways at Walerand. There was no cut in the breast of his jacket, corresponding to the cut on Robert’s chest, but Simon was sure that Walerand would not have allowed anyone else to take what he would have viewed as his perk for discovering the body.

Robert was a well-formed lad, Simon thought, surveying the naked body. His arms and legs were quite well-muscled, his belly flat, and the face looked ruggedly attractive. He would have been tall, and his square chin must have made him appealing to women, he thought.

The wound was obvious enough. It was a broad slit in his flesh, just under his left nipple, maybe an inch across. About the wound were other marks, and Simon contemplated them for some while, trying desperately to ignore the odour of decomposition. It was only when he got very close that he could see that the marks looked like scratches, and he rocked back on his heels, thinking about them. After a few minutes, Simon had Walerand help him roll the corpse over. As he thought, the blade had not penetrated the back. Only a short dagger could have inflicted this wound — unless it was a blade which had been inserted only a short distance, but the scratches at the entry point seemed to indicate something different. Simon reckoned that they were made by the quillons of a knife. As the killer stabbed, he rocked the knife a little in the wound, and that led to the scratches in the flesh. It seemed to make sense. So this man had been stabbed by someone armed with a short-bladed knife. Surely this was a case of a planned ambush.

When he took a careful look at the man’s hands, Simon saw that they were clear of defensive wounds. Often, as he knew, a man who was attacked would grab at the sword or knife to try to deflect it, cutting the palms or fingers of both hands. The attack must have come as a complete surprise, he deduced — perhaps from a friend, or someone who was not viewed as a threat.

‘I think I’ve seen enough,’ he said at last, letting the cloth drop back over the corpse. ‘We should be getting back to the castle, I suppose.’

‘Yes,’ Walerand said.

There was something in his tone which made Simon prick up his ears, but then another matter struck him and he glanced back at the huddled form beneath the winding sheet. ‘That man — did he have a sword on him when he was killed?’

‘Oh, I expect so.’

‘Does that mean he did, and therefore you have it now? Or that you think he did and can’t quite remember finding it there?’

‘There was one on him. It’s back at the castle.’

‘In the armoury?’

‘Perhaps.’

‘I want to see it. You will fetch it to me,’ Simon said. He was certain that Walerand had stolen it for himself. He led the way out of the church.

The sun was almost over the hill behind them, lighting the castle with a pink glow as they set off towards it. Simon walked with little attention for the views or the landscape about him, but before long some instinct made him glance around at Walerand; the man was gripping his sword, his knuckles white with tension.

‘What is the matter with you, man? Are you fearful of ghosts?’

‘Not ghosts, no. But these islands are filled with pirates and murderers. If they dare kill a tax-gatherer, who wouldn’t they dare to murder?’

Simon shrugged. ‘The folk here seem pleasant enough when treated like humans.’

‘You don’t know the mad people on the off-islands.’

‘What of them?’ Simon asked, but then he saw the real anxiety in Walerand’s face.

As they walked back, the sun sinking lower in the sky and the twilight gloom taking over from the bright daylight, Simon found that the islands appeared cloaked in a more menacing aspect, and he too kept his hand close to his sword hilt.