The Outlaws of Ennor

Chapter Nineteen

It was a good day, a beautiful day. No such day had been so good in all his life. Good wasn’t the word. It was brilliant. Excellent. Walerand was on top of the world.

He walked down the road to the harbour with a whistle on his lips. Seeing a servant from the castle glance at him in surprise, Walerand sneered at him. The fool didn’t matter. Walerand was higher than him. He’d arrived. He was the new gather-reeve.

Thomas had drawn him aside early this morning to let him know. He said that he needed a man he could trust, and that he’d like to have someone like Walerand take over after Robert. The latter had been too nice, too gentle and kindly. What the islands needed was a someone who would squeeze the peasants until they shrieked. And Walerand was that man, Thomas said. He and Ranulph had been watching him, and Walerand was just the man for the job.

He reached the harbour and stared out at the ship. There was little left of the hogged vessel which had limped into port so recently. The upperworks had already been snatched away. Ranulph was happy with the immense beam which was going to form the bressemer of his new fireplace, and other pieces of wood were allocated to shipwrights and builders throughout the islands, provided they could afford to pay for them.

Thomas was Walerand’s role model. A man who had made himself into the person he wanted to become, without any help from another soul. He had arrived here when Ranulph had won his licence to crenellate the castle, and from that day forth had not looked back, from what Walerand had heard. A powerful man in his own right, Thomas was happy to serve someone like Ranulph, because it meant that his own authority was increased. And Walerand had been chosen by him to be his right-hand man! That made Walerand one of the most important men on the islands.

He reached the port, and collected the records of the items sold from the ship. Some were personal effects of the sailors who had lived on her, while others were items of equipment which were listed for sale. So far as Thomas was concerned, the ship could be sold for the profit of the master of the islands. He might make a little himself, too, of course.

William was at the harbour, pushing his little flock away from his church with a bellowing laugh. ‘Go on, clear off! I want my breakfast. Where can I go for my ale this fine morning?’ When he saw Walerand, he stiffened noticeably. ‘What do you want?’

‘None of your business,’ Walerand said haughtily. ‘I’m engaged on business for my master.’

‘Glad to hear it. Wouldn’t want to think you were here just to steal odds and sods from the ship,’ the priest said.

‘You shouldn’t joke about things like that. Some of us have important work to do.’

‘Imp-? You don’t mean they’ve put you in charge of the pigs at last?’ William said, goggle-eyed.

Walerand’s face darkened. ‘You watch your tongue, Priest; you’re not so important that I can’t take you apart. Learn respect, or others’ll beat it into you.’

‘You’ll not hurt me?’ William said with a tremulous voice, a hand on his heart. ‘You wouldn’t hit me, would you?’

‘Take that leer off your face, you fat bastard.’

He had stepped forward, a fist clenching, but William’s expression hardened as his own hand dropped away to lie at his side, leaving him apparently defenceless.

Walerand realised that the man wanted him to thump him, and the thought was confusing. The piss-pot priest should have retreated in fear, but he stood his ground, waiting, like a man who was happy to be clobbered.

As William had said to Simon, the thought of Walerand as gather-reeve was appalling. The fool was always swinging his fists whenever he thought that his victim was weaker than himself, and woe betide any woman who agreed to share his bed, because all too often she’d end up with a black eye or worse. William had often had cause to curse him, when he was helping some poor girl from one of the taverns who had been beaten up by the youth. An arrogant man was always a problem, William reflected, but a fool with power was worse.

Which was why he was determined to show Walerand to be a liability before he could do any real damage to William’s flock — and the easiest way to do that was by provoking him. If the cretin attempted to lash out, he’d get what was coming to him. William knew that, out of the two of them, he was the stronger, the faster, and the heavier: and once he’d ground Walerand’s face into the dirt, he would parade him along the streets of La Val, so that the vill’s population could laugh at him and see that he wasn’t so dangerous, after all. It would take a braver man than Walerand to remain, after that. It would take a more foolish man than Ranulph to try to impose his will through such a broken reed, or to try to punish William for defending himself. Any man setting hands upon a priest was on very dangerous ground. The Bishop would have Ranulph excommunicated.

Sadly, though, he could see that his wish had become clear to the new gather-reeve — or maybe Walerand was less stupid than he thought.

Walerand stood back, his lip curling with contempt, and then he spat viciously at the ground by William’s foot.

‘Yes, Priest, I’m in charge now, and don’t think people will get away with what Robert used to allow,’ Walerand said curtly.

‘Then we’ll have to see to it that you’re not in charge for long, Master Walerand,’ William said under his breath as he made his way back to the church, all thoughts of ale and food gone.

Initially, hearing that she was Tedia’s aunt, Baldwin was delighted to be introduced to Mariota. He was less than happy to see how she glanced at him, as though he was a small but poisonous insect which had crawled out from beneath a stone.

‘I want to talk to my niece,’ she said as soon as she arrived.

Tedia said, ‘I am pleased to-’

‘Not here. What if your husband should arrive? Come with me. You stay here, Sir Knight.’

Baldwin was nothing loath to remain. Here, he could see the whole sweep of the great pool of water which lay between the islands, and the sight of it all, with occasional craft sailing by, was delightful. He lay back, his hands behind his head. These islands, he told himself, were captivating.

He was still there when a monk appeared, trotting along the sands. His sandals were too small, his robes too large, for him to have been anything other than a novice, and Baldwin gave him a tolerant smile as he drew closer. ‘A pleasant day, Brother. Godspeed!’

‘My friend, are you the shipwrecked knight?’

‘I am. How may I serve you?’

‘It is not me, but my Prior. I understand that you are experienced in dealing with the dead? There is a body my Prior should appreciate your advice on. It’s the body of a priest, a man who was apparently murdered recently. Could you help us?’

‘Of course,’ Baldwin said, his eyes going to the two women. Tedia was animated, her hands and arms moving, while Mariota appeared more calm and unruffled. ‘Where is this body?’

‘It is over on the mainland. You must come now … there is a boat waiting for you.’

‘I must give my farewell to the lady who saved my life,’ Baldwin said, quietly but firmly.

‘If you are sure,’ the monk said, but the look he gave Tedia told Baldwin that he held islanders in scant regard.

That disrespect annoyed Baldwin considerably. He made a point of hurrying up the sands to the two women. To his surprise, he saw that Tedia had been weeping afresh. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, concerned.

‘Yes, yes. It’s just scandal and slander, that’s all. People can be such arses!’

‘That is certainly true,’ Baldwin said with a chuckle. ‘Tell them where to go. Tedia, I have to leave for a while. There is a body found on another island, and the Prior has asked me to view it. If I go now, I should be back here before dark. I will return as soon as I can.’

She nodded dumbly, and only as he saw Mariota’s dark eyes turn to him did he realise that he had sounded more like a husband or lover than grateful shipwreck. The quick guilt made him flush; he had shamed Tedia before her aunt, and he had also abused the memory of his own wife. Jeanne might be many miles from here, but he had caused her an affront, whether she would ever know it or not. By taking this woman he had insulted his wife. He had forever altered the relationship that he had with her. A concealed line had been crossed, and he could never return over it.

What made the guilt still more poignant was the shame on Tedia’s face as she dropped her eyes. He had managed, with a few thoughtless words, to remind himself of his own dishonour as well as the treachery Tedia had shown to her own husband, and he had done so publicly in front of Tedia’s aunt. At that moment he swore to himself that he would never again cause her to be shown up. Nor would he perform another action which could lead to the humiliation of his wife. He couldn’t do that to either woman.

He loved them both.

With a feeling of sadness, he took his leave of the two women and walked back down to where the priest stood waiting.

Later, as he stood in the small boat as it was rowed the short distance to Ennor, he glanced back, sure that he could see Tedia, standing on a projecting rock and watching him as he went.

Cryspyn sighed as he read the document again. He closed his eyes, tapped his forehead with the parchment, and then tossed the annoying thing on to his table, and walked over to the window.

He had known that this would have to happen at some time. The problems with Tedia and Isok were so well-known that it was essential to get the issue sorted out as soon as possible. The question was, if the normal measures failed, what then?

Picking up his little bell, he rang it loudly. Soon a novice appeared in the doorway and Cryspyn commanded him to seek David. It would take a while, he reflected as the lad fled to do his bidding, and that was no bad thing. In the meantime, he would have to think about the wiser women in the vill. Usually a Prior had the advantage of a whore or two, but in a place like this, there was no such luck. All he could do was pick on some women who were experienced in the ways of the flesh.

And now Luke’s body had been found.

Another murder. Another sin.

Baldwin found the vessel’s rocking motion a little unsettling. It was a long time since he had been in such a small craft, and there was something about the way that it moved as the oarsman moved, rowing regularly with many a snort, involuntary kick of his heel and shiver, that did not instil confidence.

The great island grew. It was a strange shape, Baldwin thought. There was a large lump on his left, all bounded by sheltered sandy beaches, then a lower, curiously shallow space, before a second, smaller hill on the right. This was very different, a rockier space with plenty of black stone tumbled about the water’s edge.

It was the lower area between the two hills to which the oarsman was conducting Baldwin. This, apparently, was near the place where the body was being kept, and it was here where Baldwin must be disembarked.

‘It’s very difficult, of course,’ Cryspyn had said. Baldwin had been taken to meet him by the novice, and they were walking in the little cloister of the priory on St Nicholas. ‘A priest dying, and the suggestion is that there was some kind of foul play … My God, I wish I had never seen the day … So if you could please go and look into it, Sir Baldwin? There is no one here who is remotely qualified. I certainly couldn’t do it. And there are so many other things for me to see to. My priory may be small, but the trials it can generate …’

‘Of course I shall go there, if you wish it,’ Baldwin said soothingly. ‘Shall I bring a report back to you here?’

‘If it is possible, yes. Poor Luke. Poor unhappy fellow. He was sent here as a punishment, but I doubt whether even Bishop Walter would have been so cruel, had he but realised …’

Baldwin remembered another Luke, but that man had been sent to Ireland, he recalled. ‘You have many pressing troubles, Prior Cryspyn?’

‘I most certainly have. This death is merely the latest one.’ Cryspyn stood and stared at the priory church. ‘I wish God would remove me from this place,’ he said quietly.

‘But it is beautiful, surely?’ Baldwin said, surprised.

‘They say that the most treacherous and deadly things in the world are the most beautiful,’ Cryspyn said.

‘I have heard similar comments,’ Baldwin acknowledged.

‘A woman is always at the root of it,’ the Prior stated.

Baldwin smiled thinly. Such misogyny from a priest was not unusual, but today of all days Baldwin did not wish to hear such a theme. He maintained a dignified silence, thinking to himself how his outspoken wife would respond, were she to hear Cryspyn talk. Jeanne was sometimes roused to anger by men who denigrated women — but only once the perpetrator was gone. She was not foolish enough to embarrass her husband with her disrespectful outbursts.

His smile faded. Baldwin adored his wife, and now he was confronted with the thought of her reaction, should she discover that he had been sleeping with Tedia. He was tempted to speak to the Prior, but instinct told him that this man was not an ideal confidant.

‘Perhaps that is true,’ he ventured.

‘It is! An unattached woman is a sore temptation to any man, God knows, but still worse is a married woman who is dissatisfied with her lot!’

Baldwin felt the prick of guilt again. ‘You mean Tedia?’

‘You know her already, of course. You may feel loyalty to her, for she saved your life, but I see the other side of her. She is a distraction for so many men in the area, and if she wins her divorce from her husband, she will be a still more troublesome source of discontent.’

‘You mean that other men will desire her?’

‘They do so now, and they will in future. You perhaps do not understand how so attractive a young woman can disrupt a community alienated from the mainland. Here, she can wreak terrible damage. She has upset her husband, caused other women to vie with her for the attention of their husbands, and so disturbed a priest that he-’

‘You mean Luke?’

‘Yes. I think he was infatuated with her. I also think it was because he was … desirous of her … that he recommended her to seek divorce, hoping that her affections would be won by the man who showed her the way out of her marriage.’

‘You think he told her how to divorce in order that he might take her for himself?’

‘We have had another priest here recently who also revelled in the carnal desires.’

‘The chaplain from St Mary’s?’

‘Yes. Peter Visconte, the idiot! He thought no one would spot the fact that he’d brought his woman with him. Mabilla was pleasant enough, I admit, and she was content with him as her man; she bore him many children. But that does not make his sins legal. He was ordered back to Bishop Walter’s court and, I believe, moved to a new church in the north-east somewhere.’

‘Luke came here after that?’

‘Yes. He arrived to look after St Elidius. Better for all concerned if he had stayed away. It’s too remote for a man like him.’

‘I once knew a priest called Luke who was sent to Ireland,’ Baldwin remarked.

‘Really? This man came to us from Ireland.’ The Prior was strolling still, but now he stopped and shot a look at Baldwin.

Baldwin was already staring at him. ‘The man I knew was sent to Ireland because of his … over-interested attitude to his flock. The suffragan Bishop of Exeter asked me to investigate the murder of a nun …’

‘It was him,’ the Prior declared. ‘For his crimes, he was sent to Ireland, but even there he betrayed his trust. It was only a short time before he was removed from that church and sent here. It was felt there was little harm he could do. Nobody thought he could be so crass as to persuade a woman to leave her husband! What sort of a priest would make it his job to ask a woman to break her holy vows?’

‘I understand,’ Baldwin said slowly, ‘that her man cannot give her children. Surely there are precedents for divorces under those terms?’

The Prior nodded. ‘Let’s not beat about the bush: he can’t raise his tarse and insert it. She is therefore, not unnaturally, frustrated. In such a position, any woman might be. They are more salacious by nature than we men. We all know that.’

Another discussion Baldwin preferred to avoid. He asked, ‘So what is your concern with this divorce? If her man is prevented from paying her the dues expected from a husband, she is justified in seeking divorce, surely?’

‘Yes, but Luke actively promoted the idea to her. Beforehand she was not content, but realised that it was her lot, and she must be satisfied. She could have remained so. But when Luke persuaded her to ask me for a divorce, I had no choice but to seek advice, and now I have been told to arrange for poor Isok to be diagnosed by any wise women I can find.’

‘Whom will you set to the task?’

‘Ah! Perhaps Brosia. She is more worldly than I could wish, and she would be delighted to make him rise, if only to upset and diminish Tedia in the eyes of all living here. They have ever been enemies, those two. Mariota, too, could help. She is older, and she may know more … um … tricks.’

‘I cannot imagine,’ Baldwin said. It was a curious case, and the thought of two women manhandling his private parts was oddly repellent.

‘If this man Luke was killed,’ Baldwin continued, keen to change the subject, ‘do you know who was last to see him, and where? Tedia told me that he was out on the night of the storm. Did you see him?’

‘Where did she say she saw him?’ Prior Cryspyn asked.

‘I think she said on the flats,’ Baldwin said, frowning. ‘But there are none about here, are there?’

‘There are many, but the people try to conceal them,’ Cryspyn said. ‘Most of the time they hide them so that there is less risk of a man arriving unexpectedly from La Val.’

‘Such as the gather-reeve,’ Baldwin commented.

‘Correct. Yet most of us know of the flats. When there is a low tide, it is quite possible to walk from Bechiek to Ennor, for example. Just as it is easy enough to wander from here to Bechiek. Thus on a low tide, I could walk from here to Ennor.’

‘Could Luke have learned of such a path?’

‘Someone could have told him. On the other hand, he may have merely seen someone making their way from one island to another.’

‘When was Luke last seen? That is the question we need to answer. Could you ask about the island to see whether anyone saw him after the night of the storm?’

‘I shall try, yes. I know that he was alive at noon on the day after the storm. One of my novices was sent to check on him, and he reported that Luke was alive, but hideously drunk, besotten with wine and snoring like a hog.’

‘So it was some time after that. Someone went to him and stabbed him to death after the storm.’

Now Baldwin and his oarsman were almost on the island of Ennor. The boat was rocking more gently here in the great sweeping beach.

‘Porth Mellon,’ the man said as the bow scraped on sand, and Baldwin waited while the fellow sprang into the water, expecting him to haul the boat up the sands so that Baldwin could leap in safety onto dry land, but the boatman stood in the knee-deep water and waited for Baldwin to jump.

With a muttered curse, Baldwin stepped forward and ran at the bow, gaining as much distance as he could when he vaulted forward, and landed with a splash in shallow water. He barely glanced at the boatman, but made his way towards a figure he could see ahead.

It was that of an old man, who turned suspiciously when he heard Baldwin approach. Suddenly a great dog with amber-coloured eyes appeared at his side.

As soon as he heard the low rumbling begin in the hound’s throat, Baldwin turned his attention to it. He had never in his life been fearful of dogs, and had never been bitten by one. This was a large creature, but still a dog, and he looked down at its breast without confronting its eyes, crouching and holding out a hand gently, moving slowly as he snapped finger and thumb beckoningly.

To the old man, he said, ‘Master, I am seeking the church of St Mary’s. There is a dead priest there, and I have been asked by the Prior to view the body and report on the man’s death. Could you direct me there?’

‘Perhaps I could. Be careful of my hound. He’s vicious.’

Baldwin smiled, and looked up into the hound’s face. The dog had his head turned to one side, and was studying Baldwin quizzically. ‘I do not think he is vicious,’ he said. ‘He’s just very wary of strangers, and that is a good thing in a guard, is it not?’

‘Not many would put themselves in so insecure a position with him,’ the old man said with grudging respect as the hound stalked forward, at last sniffing Baldwin’s fingers. When Baldwin lifted his hand, the dog ducked his head with a sharp rumbling deep in his throat, but when Baldwin remained still, smiling, the hound gradually, and with distrust, raised his head until Baldwin was touching the coarse fur. He stroked the animal gently, then tickled behind his ears, and was rewarded with a subtle lessening of tension.

‘I think some men are understood by hounds; others aren’t,’ Baldwin said.

‘Perhaps. I am called Hamadus, master. I am sexton of St Mary’s. The church is over there, the other side of the island.’

‘I thank you. I am Sir Baldwin, of Furnshill in Devon. The church, is it hard to find?’

‘No. The island’s only small, and there’s a big sandy beach over there …’

Baldwin could see it. It was the next beach along the coast.

‘… when you get there, you can cross over the waist, and then follow the road towards the town. Soon you’ll come to another beach with a natural bay, with the town on the opposite side from you. That’s the place called Ennor.’

‘I thought the island was called Ennor, and the town was La Val.’

‘La Val is what the churchmen call it. We folk who live here know it as Ennor, which means “the land”. Others can call it what they like; we know what it really is. The church is over on the right side of the beach, under the western hill. It’s easy to find.’

Baldwin smiled. ‘I thank you. Even I should be able to find that.’

He gave the dog a last tickle behind the ear, and slowly rose from his crouch. Bidding farewell to the man, he set off. The tide was low, and he could march around from Porth Mellon to the other side of the island. Soon after arriving at the larger beach, he strolled up and over the waist of the land, and found himself gazing down into another broad harbour. Nearby was a roadway, and when he set off along this, the town soon appeared, a clump of small peasants’ cottages set a way up from the shoreline with the grey and intimidating keep of the castle showing behind.

Walking along, Baldwin noticed at last the church where it stood opposite the town. He was about to make his way to it, when he stopped dead in his tracks and stood staring at the sea, dumbfounded. A shiver convulsed his body and he was overwhelmed with feebleness, falling to his knees.

From what Baldwin could see, he was convinced that this vessel was the one in which he had travelled, and although he had thought her foundered, and believed that his friend was drowned, now he could see she was afloat, he was almost scared to approach the Anne in case Simon’s death was confirmed. The vessel had been terribly pulled apart, he saw. The mast and much of the stern had gone, and there was a rent in her side. Much of her deck was empty, but she was still recognisable. She must be the Anne!

Suddenly he felt sure he remembered a massive wave, a crash as the yard fell, and then a jolt as he tumbled through a gap in the ship’s side. He had struggled, swimming hard, but the ship was gone, and he was all alone. Had he untied his sword? It was a dead weight, he recalled that, but no, he was sure that the sword had remained on his hip. Curious.

Baldwin knelt for what felt like an age, unable to rise and go to ask, terrified that he would learn Simon was truly dead. At last he heard a friendly voice.

‘Well, master, it’s a fine day to pray, but I’ve never seen a man drop like that at the sight of my church before! Hello! What’s this?’

Baldwin looked up and saw a thick-necked priest with a gleaming tonsure staring at him. Then the priest shot a look at the harbour and, following his gaze, Baldwin saw another ship entering the harbour.