The Outlaws of Ennor

Chapter Twenty-Four

William crossed himself. ‘Hamadus, what have you done?’ he demanded, his face a pale disc in the dark room.

‘Nowt, Priest. My dog’s done a bit to help a man’s bowels, though.’

‘Your dog’s bloody killed him, you vicious son of a Sutton Water whore!’ William exploded.

Baldwin was more sanguine. ‘Shall we see what has happened to the fellow?’

He walked out with Hamadus, and it took them little time to find the figure, lying recumbent beneath the form of the great hound.

‘My Christ in Heaven!’ William whispered. ‘The brute’s eaten his throat! The poor devil’s dead.’

There was a whimpering gasp, followed instantly by a rasping snarl, and Baldwin found it difficult to control his delight. ‘I think not. The good Uther has simply caught a felon in the act of attempting an attack on Hamadus’s life, and has held him ready for us to capture.’

‘Of course,’ Hamadus agreed blandly. ‘I wouldn’t teach a dog to harm a man unnecessarily. He’s taught to hold a thief until I arrive.’ He whistled sharply. ‘Uther, here!’

Baldwin stepped forward to stand at the side of the petrified Walerand. ‘What do you want here? Who are you?’

‘He’s Walerand, the new tax-gatherer, if his master’s to be believed,’ William said, repugnance making his voice harsher than a steel rasp.

‘What were you doing here?’ Baldwin asked. ‘Were you spying on this fellow?’

‘No. I wasn’t,’ Walerand declared. ‘I wouldn’t spy on him!’

His voice was very positive on that score, Baldwin noted, and told himself that he would have to consider William’s allegations in a more careful light. ‘Then who were you following? The Brother here? Or me?’

‘No one! I just saw you all here, and, and …’

‘And thought that we might be getting up to no good, eh?’ Hamadus grated. ‘I ought to call my dog back.’

‘No!’ Walerand cried, and made an effort to get up. That hound was a beast fresh from Hell! The thing had appeared from nowhere, and before he knew what was happening, it had slammed into him, just as he was about to listen at the open window. His legs collapsed, his feet slipping on the pebbles as he went, and he was bleating in fear as he wondered what the monster was which had knocked him to the ground; his fearful wonderings were soon to be answered. As he lay on his back, before he could rise to his elbows preparatory to climbing back onto his feet, there was a low rumbling snarl, and then a massive weight hit his breast.

Stunned and now winded, Walerand could only gaze in horror at the jaws that opened just below his chin. He was held in place by the monster’s weight, and when he attempted to move a hand to grasp his dagger, the lips drew back and the fangs moved perceptibly nearer his throat, the rumbling snarl echoing in the hound’s ribcage … and Walerand let his hand fall back.

Now, the mere thought of the dog returning to him was enough to make him try to clamber to his feet. Before he could, Uther, who looked upon him as a threat to his master, growled warningly, and Walerand’s hand whipped to his dagger. Baldwin kicked his hand away, reached down and snatched the weapon before Walerand could try to regain it, and held it.

‘That’s my dagger!’

‘You don’t need a weapon among friends, Friend,’ Baldwin said calmly as he turned the knife in the dimming twilight. As far as he could see, the blade was clean. Although it was only six inches long, the blade had only one edge. Baldwin recalled the body and shook his head. To his knowledge the knife which killed Robert must have had two edges.

Not that it let Walerand off the hook necessarily. He could have a second knife.

Walerand sank back on his elbows as Baldwin leaned down, smiling pleasantly in a manner that scared Walerand somehow more than the hound. ‘And you are among friends, aren’t you? Now, friends don’t spy on each other, so you weren’t spying, were you? No. You were just interested in us. Tell me, who was so interested in us that he sent you to find out what we discussed?’

‘I don’t know what you mean. I just wondered-’

‘I know what you wondered,’ William said. ‘You wanted to know what the Keeper and I were doing here with Ham, weren’t you?’

‘I just came down here to see whether this was where you’d gone.’

His sulky voice irritated Baldwin. ‘I think he needs to meet your hound again, Hamadus.’

‘No! No, I’ll tell you. I was told to come here by Ranulph. He wanted to know where you were going, what you were doing. That’s all.’

‘And why should he send a child like you when all he had to do was ask me?’ Baldwin wondered aloud.

‘You haven’t presented yourself to him, have you? He doesn’t like strangers on his island when they don’t ask permission to be here. Why should he trust a man who comes here like a draw-latch in the night?’

‘You call me a draw-latch?’ Baldwin asked silkily, leaning closer. ‘I am worse than a draw-latch, boy; I am a King’s Officer. I can arrest felons no matter where they are. Do you understand me? I can come here and deal with people like you.’

‘I’ve done nothing.’

‘That I doubt. Where were you on the night of the storm? The night that Robert was killed?’

‘I was in the castle. I’m no fool, I wasn’t going to stay out in that weather.’

‘Someone else was out of the castle, though. Who was it?’

As the hound rumbled deep in his throat, Walerand said hastily, ‘The castle’s Sergeant — he was out. But I don’t know what he was doing.’

‘Luke too is dead. Did Sergeant Thomas hate the priest on the island as well?’

‘I …’

Hamadus hissed and his dog began to growl, his head dropping lower again as though preparing to pounce.

Walerand spoke quickly. ‘Luke had learned about Thomas’s ship and demanded a ride to Cornwall the next time his ship sailed.’

‘What ship?’ Baldwin asked with a frown. It seemed too coincidental, if William was right: Thomas had murdered Robert because the gather-reeve had threatened to talk of his business. Now Walerand alleged that Luke died because he tried a similar blackmail.

‘The Faucon Dieu, the ship in the harbour.’

Baldwin glanced at William, who was now nodding with satisfaction. ‘Sir Baldwin, I wanted you to hear that from Ham here, but Walerand is a more informed expert, isn’t he? That was what I was telling you: Thomas is involved in stealing the customs for himself. He arranges for his own cargoes to be brought here, then pays himself the customs, without a penny going to Ranulph or the earldom.’

‘He does better than that, doesn’t he?’ Hamadus cackled at Walerand. ‘He steals parts of cargoes which Ranulph himself owns.’

‘I know nothing about that.’

‘Oh yes, you do,’ Hamadus said, facing Baldwin. ‘Thomas takes part of the cargoes like yours off the Anne, and puts them in his own little storehouse. Then, when his ship arrives, he puts the bits and pieces onto his own ship and smuggles it to the mainland. It all lines his purse.’

‘So he had to kill Robert to prevent him from reporting this to Ranulph?’ Baldwin asked. He assumed this was William’s belief, but wanted Hamadus to confirm it.

‘That’s what I think, yes.’

‘And what of this sword which was found nearby?’

‘I expect he just thought that was a gift. He used it and threw it away.’

Baldwin nodded, but he was unconvinced. He was suddenly aware of a hunted feeling, as though someone was cautiously making their way towards him in order to accuse him. The loss of his sword was itself suspicious: it was extraordinary, too, that it should turn up near a corpse on a different island. Had someone found him and stolen his sword? They had not used the sword to kill Robert, which was peculiar, but the fact that the sword was there, near his body, was incriminating. Especially since the sword had that emblem on the blade: the mark of the Templars.

There was no point in holding on to Walerand, so Baldwin told him to go.

‘What of my knife? I want it back!’ the youth said truculently.

‘You have no need of a weapon,’ Baldwin said smoothly. ‘And if you do, you can ask your master for a new one.’

‘I want it back!’

Hamadus muttered a low instruction and his dog stalked forward. Immediately Walerand blenched and bolted.

As he scurried off, Baldwin wondered again why Ranulph had bothered to send a spy after him and had not merely sent for him to respond to his questions. It would have been faster, and easier. And it was his man, Thomas, who had been out on the night of the storm. He had been in the same area as Robert.

Baldwin sighed. There were too many problems and not enough solutions.

Now he had another problem. He made it clear to William that he wished to leave, and before long the two men were walking along the roadway which led north from Hamadus’s house to the top of the island.

‘William, I should not have allowed that fellow to go before I had joined Isok. The way he will tell the story is bound to reflect badly upon us — me in particular. If they have any sense, they will see to it that Isok’s boat is prevented from sailing until they are sure that I am not on it.’

‘I think you could be right. Whether it’s because of the ship and the salvage, or simply the discovery of your sword, I don’t know. The fact that your sword was found near the dead man’s body certainly seems to imply that you had a part in his death.’

‘Do you really believe that a murderer could be so stupid as to leave the weapon like that? Just throw it away casually after using it to kill a man? The idea is nonsensical.’

‘Perhaps it is, but the fact that they sent a man to follow you shows that you are under suspicion.’

‘Unless they were seeking to have you followed, William,’ Baldwin noted.

‘Me!’ William laughed, and then his smile froze.

‘Yes. If they thought that I was a potential killer of the local taxman, then they would naturally consider you askance, realising that you were showing me around the island. After all, it is plain that you look with little favour upon them.’

‘It is one thing to look on them with little favour and quite another to suggest that I had any part in the murder of …’

‘I didn’t say that you did. I merely pointed out that they have as much reason to doubt you as to doubt me.’

‘But it’s preposterous! I am a priest.’

‘Aye: a priest who could be looked upon as harbouring a known killer,’ Baldwin said drily.

‘Those maggot-ridden cretins! God rot their cods! Of all the-’

‘The most important thing for us right now is to get away from this island,’ Baldwin said firmly. ‘When Walerand tells Ranulph what happened to him, the latter will be after us. He can accuse us of roughing up his man now.’

‘What of Hamadus?’

‘I am sure that Walerand will treat him with caution. It could be embarrassing for him to admit that he was bested by a hound,’ Baldwin said grimly. The old sexton had impressed him, and he liked to think that his first impressions were generally accurate — as were his judgements on dogs. ‘We cannot get to Isok. Is there another man who can assist us by taking us to St Nicholas?’

‘No,’ William said, and then he cast Baldwin a curious, shifty look. ‘But it may not be entirely necessary to find a boat.’

Simon had felt out of sorts all day since his talks with Sir Charles and then Hamo. It had made him feel unsettled and anxious, as though he had in truth been hoodwinked. So he spent the afternoon idly, sitting under the castle’s walls and watching the sea, then crossing over to the great lump of rock that stood at the westernmost point of the island, and keeping his eyes fixed on the horizon.

There was surprisingly little shipping. Every so often he would see a small boat set off from Porth Ennor, and then he might catch a glimpse of a sail far off on the horizon, but that was all. The only life appeared to be in Porth Ennor, about the Faucon Dieu, where men scrambled like ants on a disturbed nest. Late in the afternoon, he saw them setting new sails to her mast, and then there was a fresh life to the decks as a boat arrived at its side filled with ropes of different types. While Simon watched, men climbed up the ratlines and began replacing all the ropes that made up the complex cobweb of the mast’s supports. If Simon had been involved in that work, he would have made a dog’s breakfast of it, he thought.

A small boat had been moored to the quay, and Simon saw that the owner was furious to be hindered when he attempted to leave. As Simon watched, the man threw his hands in the air, and then a guard or two came over to see what all the fuss was about. While they were there, two men climbed on board and appeared to search it. They were soon finished, and the man climbed into the vessel, at last pushing off and rowing away from the island. Once out at sea, he let his sail fall, and in a few moments it was filled and twisting with the gusts. The man settled back with the steering oar and the boat moved away, rounding the point until it was out of sight.

That sight made Simon feel terribly sad. Whenever he saw something of note, he wanted to turn and mention it to Baldwin; if there was an odd hump of ground like this, he wanted to point it out; they were close companions, perhaps still more so because of their many investigations into murders. In Simon’s heart there was a space that could not be filled, and out here, in this strange island environment, he was even more aware of the curiousness of his own position.

Here he was, a Bailiff of the Stannaries, and now the representative of the Warden of Dartmouth, and yet here in Ennor he had no position, no rights or responsibilities. He was a displaced pilgrim with no pilgrimage, for that was completed. Out of his own element, which he knew was Dartmoor itself, he was lost. There was nothing here for him. He was close to the mainland, yet he felt as though it might as well have been a thousand miles away. So near to his wife and family, and yet he might as well have been a thousand miles away. So near to his wife and family, and yet he might as well have been in Arabia, the journey was so difficult. All Simon wanted to do was return to his home, and hug his woman, but he might as well have wished to walk to the moon.

Margaret, his wife, was like a figure from a dream. He adored her, he missed her, he wanted her. It was so lonely here without her. He felt desolate, as though he had lost everything.

It was a sad and chastened Bailiff Puttock who rose as the sky darkened and the long, slow advance of twilight began to creep over the water. He saw the sun sink down towards the horizon, and realised just how late the hour had become.

Reaching up with both fists, he stretched with a grunt and began to make his way to the castle. He could see it from here, the grim rectangular proof of a man’s power over all others in this island. Although, as Simon looked at it, he became aware that there was a certain shabbiness about it, because when he looked over to the island of St Nicholas, he could see that the Priory stood more cleanly in its space. Somehow the castle looked a mean little affair, even with the cluster of buildings at its foot, the evidence of cattle and horses, the stables, the paddocks and pastures. On the wind there came a quiet bark, then another, as two dogs celebrated the coming night by squaring up to each other. Yet all the while on St Nicholas the Priory stood as though challenging the castle. One building secular, the other entirely ecclesiastical, they looked almost like two opposing towers of faith in this flat, peaceful land.

He returned to the castle, arriving as the gates were to be closed, and bribed a guard to let him inside. Bribed a guard!

It was that sort of minor problem which most displeased him about this place. For a doorkeeper to refuse to allow a guest into a castle unless he was paid — that niggled at Simon’s sense of rightness. He threw the money at the fellow, and ignored the curses that followed after him as he made his way to the keep.

Simon stalked angrily into the hall and out to the buttery, where he drew himself a jug of ale at the bar. Back in the hall, he sat and musingly supped the drink.

The meal must have been over some while ago, for all evidence of eating was past. The trestles were folded, the boards which made up the tables set against the walls, the benches propping them up, waiting for the men-at-arms and servants to claim them for their beds. In a castle like this one, only the Lord and his most favoured servants would have a bed. All others had to make do, including uninvited guests like Simon.

It was a relief to see Hamo arrive in the doorway to the kitchen. He had a furtive look, and Simon hoped it was not so obvious to others as it was to him that Hamo had been engaged upon mischief.

The lad sidled across the floor and nodded to Simon, and Simon felt a certain relief. At least the first part of his plan was in place. Now all he must do was find some suitable weapon. Suddenly Hamo slipped away, and Simon glanced up to see a pale-faced, nervous-looking Walerand. ‘Good. This sword that you are looking after — Robert’s old one. I’ll look at it now.’

‘I haven’t got it.’

Simon stood slowly. ‘Fine. Right — I’m off to see your master. Ranulph will be interested to hear that the man he was about to promote to gather-reeve has stolen a sword and won’t let me see it as part of my investigation.’

‘Christ’s feet! All right, I’ll bloody get it!’

As good as his word, Walerand spun around and went out. Simon thought to himself that none of the men here in the castle had anywhere to keep their belongings. All must have little cupboards or holes in a wall where they could hide valuables. Simon waited a short while, and when Walerand came back with a cheap sword, the blade badly rusted and pitted, he said irritably, ‘Take it! I don’t want the thing.’

A heavy-set guard appeared in the doorway. ‘Bailiff? Our master wants to speak to you.’

‘Can’t he wait?’ Simon said irritably.

There was no need to feign his annoyance. He had no wish to be questioned again. It was pleasant, sitting here in this hall with the residual heat of the fire still warming the place, and he wanted to speak to Hamo, not go running off on Ranulph’s whim.

‘No, he can’t wait,’ the man said with emphasis.

‘Very well,’ Simon grunted with a bad grace. He kicked Robert’s sword under his bench, picked up his jug, and followed the servant up the small staircase and into Ranulph’s solar.

Ranulph sat in his chair; in his left hand he gripped a mazer full of wine, while in his right he gripped one of his pair of knives by the point of the blade, as though ready to hurl it at an intruder. Seeing who it was, he set the knife down on his table and gave a smile of welcome.

‘Bailiff. I am glad to see you again. You weren’t in the castle this afternoon.’

‘I had to take some exercise. I went up to a hill and sat there. The time flew quickly.’

‘You have been sitting on a hill?’ Ranulph repeated, a small frown on his face. ‘I hoped you would have been investigating the murder as Thomas asked you. Aha! But you agree with him that it was one of the pirates from St Nicholas, perhaps? You saw no need to continue to search Ennor for a murderer?’

It was clear that Ranulph could not understand Simon’s need for solitude, and he was about to snap at the man for disbelieving him, when he suddenly realised that Ranulph’s needs were the opposite of his own. If Simon felt over-pressured from work, he would delight in the peace and emptiness of Dartmoor; yet this man would always seek out other men. Ranulph lived in a constant emptiness. The only folk he could ever meet were those who were so far below his own position that he wouldn’t feel comfortable in their presence. If he was unhappy or worried, Ranulph would naturally want to find someone who was of his status. Yet there was no one here, apart from perhaps the Prior.

‘I find it clears my mind and helps me to consider problems like this murder,’ he explained. ‘Tell me, have you much dealing with the Prior?’

Ranulph’s eyebrows rose. ‘We speak on occasion. Usually when I take a boat to visit him. Why?’

‘It occurred to me to wonder whom you’d speak to when the mood took you,’ Simon said. He glanced at the servant who had brought him to this place. ‘You are an intelligent man, after all; it wouldn’t be someone from here, would it?’

Ranulph laughed. ‘I see your point. When I have to talk to a man at my own level, I’ll go to the Prior, I suppose. I have few real friends here.’

‘My own friend is lost,’ Simon said sadly. His eyes were drawn to the peacock-coloured sword at his hip.

‘It is a lovely thing, isn’t it?’ Ranulph said. He could see Simon’s mood, and he suddenly spoke more quietly. ‘Bailiff, you have lost your own weapon, and a friend too. I have heard that he used to wear this sword. Is that true?’

‘Yes.’

‘I saw the marks on the blade.’ Ranulph shrugged. ‘What of them? They mean nothing. But I would like to hear about this man and what happened to him. I know one thing: a man would more likely float than a sword. If the sword is here, perhaps he is too.’

‘He is no murderer,’ Simon said bluntly, but in his heart there was a sudden pounding. If only Baldwin were still alive! Simon had never felt so lonely as he had in the last three days.

‘Maybe you’re right. He hasn’t come here to talk about it, though, has he?’

‘Why am I free?’

Ranulph set his head to one side. ‘What does that mean?’

‘You want to find my friend so that you can throw him into your gaol. You already have my other friends held. Why have you left me free?’

‘Your friends in gaol tried to hold a sword to me, Bailiff! Don’t forget that I have offered you the freedom of my islands and have made you welcome! If you had pulled a sword on me, your welcome would have been far less enthusiastic!’ Ranulph said, and his voice was loud enough to make his two daggers rattle. He poured himself more wine from a pewter jug, then beckoned Simon to approach. Peering into Simon’s jug, he pulled a face, then poured wine from his own jug into Simon’s.

‘Sit down!’ he commanded, kicking a stool towards Simon. ‘If I thought you were a threat to me, I’d have you in gaol in an instant. Either that or in a grave. Would you prefer that?’

‘I’d prefer to be free, and to have my friends free with me.’

‘It must be strange, coming to a place like this. I remember when I first came here, I couldn’t believe my luck. Then, after some weeks, I felt as though I was myself in a gaol. A large, green gaol, but a gaol nonetheless.’

Simon was intrigued despite himself. ‘You have got over that, then?’

‘I adore the islands now,’ Ranulph said. ‘I used to be a keen huntsman, but there are no deer here. Still, I couldn’t leave the place for any time, because there is …’ He waved a hand in the air while he scowled, searching for the words. ‘There’s a feeling about the place. Perhaps it’s the feeling that I’m free of the politics of England. Here I am my own King. I do what I want, how I want. I would defend it against anyone who threatened it.

‘The place is worth protecting — that’s what I think,’ he went on. ‘I would guard it against any man who sought to harm it, whether it was a Breton or a Cornishman. And if some arsehole peasant with visions of riches sees fit to turn pirate while living on one of my islands, I’ll learn him the error of his dreams! We have a sharp justice here, and that’s all a pirate deserves.’

There was a hard edge to his voice, and Simon slowly nodded, then tossed his head back and all but drained his jug. ‘Thank you. I should find a bed to-’

‘Stay there! I love this place, Bailiff. I serve it. You could also serve me tomorrow,’ Ranulph added.

Simon felt his face freeze.

‘We shall go to St Nicholas tomorrow and rid these islands of the pirates which infest the place,’ Ranulph said. ‘Will you come and assist us?’

‘I could not think of attacking an ecclesiastical Manor,’ Simon said with a slight hauteur. ‘Especially one owned by my Lord Abbot of Tavistock.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of asking you to.’

Simon was lost for a moment, but then he had to smile and shrug. ‘Well, if it is to destroy pirates … but there is one stipulation I have to make. I shall not feel comfortable in helping with this if my companion Sir Charles is left to wallow in misery. Why do you not release him and allow him to join us?’

‘I will not because he is a dangerous man.’

‘He is a noble knight.’

‘He tried to threaten me. That is an end to the matter.’

Simon set his empty jug on the table. ‘You could not wish for a better warrior.’

‘Enough! I have said no. That’s all there is to be said!’

‘Tell me why you are holding him!’ Simon said forcefully.

Ranulph’s hand went to his dagger. ‘Don’t push me too far, little man. I’ll crush you.’

‘I am a King’s official, remember,’ Simon said in a low, menacing tone.

‘You are many miles from the King, and the King has other matters to occupy him, you fool! Don’t you realise yet? I could have you killed here, tonight, and no one would notice. No one would be told. None of my men would think twice about removing your body and throwing it into the sea for the crabs to eat. Do you understand? Your friends will stay in my gaol because it pleases me to leave them there. And I may have them killed, if it strikes me as a means of tidying things. I need to find the killer of Robert, and your precious friend suits my bill.’

‘It wasn’t him!’

‘Perhaps not, but I wouldn’t want the islanders to think that someone could kill my gather-reeve and get away with it. I must have a culprit, otherwise the peasants might think that they could rebel with impunity. So your friend will die … unless I find another suitable murderer. Tell me, where were you on the night Robert died?’

‘I was in the sea, as you know.’

‘But I don’t, do I? No, you could have come up on the land a while earlier. So you’d make a convenient victim of island justice, too. Perhaps I should have you arrested as well.’

Simon set his teeth until he thought his jaw would crack, and he held Ranulph’s fixed, stern gaze for some moments. And then, as he was preparing to turn and walk away, as his mind dwelled on the risk of leaving his back exposed to those two daggers, Ranulph spoke again.

‘So you will join me tomorrow, Bailiff. You’ll fight with me to protect this place. And if we find another suitable victim, maybe I’ll let your friend free. Maybe. It’s up to you.’