The Outlaws of Ennor

Chapter Twenty-Five

‘I have never felt so ridiculous in all my life,’ Baldwin said.

It was not the first time he had said this, and he was aware of the fact, but repetition somehow made him feel a little better. This was a ludicrous position for a knight. Swordless, he felt unprotected, but that was nothing compared to removing his boots and hanging them about his neck, removing his hosen, lifting his tunic and tying the skirts about his waist, and then setting off to walk in the sea at twilight. ‘Are you quite sure of this?’

‘This’ was the path through the waters. Baldwin was stepping timidly through the cool water following William along a sliding pathway that was hidden by waters that came up to Baldwin’s knees. With every step he took, Baldwin could feel the sands shifting beneath him, chill fronds of seaweed tickling at his shins, tiny fishes nibbling at his toes, and the occasional terrifying rasp of … of something else. The feel of sand would give underfoot, and instead he would have the unyielding, rough scrape of moorstone, although the first few times he had sensed it, he had thought it felt like the outer shell of an enormous crab, and even now his feet cringed at each step when he felt the sand move.

‘It is the way that the islanders often use when it is dark,’ William said, happily unaware of Baldwin’s anxiety. ‘But I’d be grateful if you kept this path secret. We don’t want the castellan to learn of it.’

That, Baldwin thought, was an interesting point. ‘Surely he must know already?’

‘Not, um, necessarily,’ William admitted as he placed his foot in the water and shivered. ‘Christ alive! I thought it was warmer at this time of year! No, this pathway is an old route which has sunk for some reason. I’ve been told that this used all to be a part of one big island, and this road was the main path from La Val to Bechiek and thence St Nicholas, but that it was all washed over by the sea many years ago, and now the roadway is open only at low tide generally. At the lowest times a man could almost walk dry-shod.’

‘If that is the case,’ Baldwin scoffed, ‘the castle must be aware already.’

William sniffed. ‘No. We told them that the sands were treacherous and prone to sucking men in.’

‘You told them that they were quicksands?’

‘There are only twelve men-at-arms who could want to know, and all of them were too scared to attempt it,’ William said smugly. ‘There are enough men in the castle who know the truth, but why should they help the greedy bastards who live there? It made sense for us to keep it quiet so that we could get from one place to another, even if the castle men couldn’t. If you lived on an island like this, you’d want to keep some secrets too. Ranulph isn’t a kindly man, Sir Baldwin. No one wants him to learn of the road from Penn Trathen.’

Baldwin shook his head. His feet were gradually losing all feeling, but at least he had lost the conviction that someone a scant hundred yards away was trying to draw a bead on his back with a crossbow. ‘That name is familiar. What does it mean?’

‘Penn Trathen? It means “end of the sand bar” in Cornish. “Trathen” itself is a sand bar. That is how the place got its name, because of this old sunken road.’

Baldwin stopped suddenly. ‘My God! This is where he was when he was killed!’

‘Who?’

‘The tax-gatherer, Robert. He was found here, wasn’t he?’

‘Yes, I believe he was,’ William said loftily. ‘But that means nothing.’

‘That is why Tedia mentioned the flats. I suppose ultimately this roadway takes us up to the flats at the south-eastern edge of St Nicholas?’

‘Yes.’

‘Of course! I was stupid not to have realised before. If Robert was murdered here, it was as easy for a man from St Nicholas to kill him as another from Ennor!’

‘I suppose you’re right.’

‘So it was quite possible for Isok to have come along here and killed Robert. There was no alibi for him. He could have come here, murdered Robert, then gone back to the island and stayed with Mariota. Yes! Yes! Isok is a perfect suspect for the murder. And then he went to kill Luke as well, because Luke was the man who was most active in trying to climb inside his wife’s skirts.’

‘It’s possible, yes. But think of the alternatives: the people here on Ennor all detested him as well,’ William said, slipping slightly as softer sand gave way under his feet. ‘Practically everyone wanted Robert dead!’

‘The fact he was a tax-gatherer is not sufficient excuse to see him dead, surely? If that were the case, we should expect murdered tax officials to be found daily. No, there must have been another motive behind his death.’

‘If you say so. For my part, I still believe that Thomas is the obvious culprit.’

Baldwin scarcely heard him. ‘Another man with a good reason to want to kill him … or a woman, of course.’

Mariota could have had the opportunity — and where was David at the time of Robert’s death? He said he was at his boat, but that might have been a lie; he could have been out here on the sands. Was William right, that only the people from St Nicholas and a few from Ennor knew of the route through this sand? That would make sense to Baldwin, if only because Robert had been planning to see Tedia, yet had not taken a boat. He had instead gone to Penn Trathen, the end of the bar. There he had waited, perhaps for his woman to come and take him away. Maybe he was standing there at the end of the bar, excited, convinced that he was about to be given the reward for his gentle wooing of Tedia, only to be confronted by her husband.

No. That bucket would not hold water. If Robert had been there waiting, he would surely have noticed that the figure heading towards him from the sea was not his beloved. He would have seen that it was the figure of a man. He’d have stood, protected himself. If he saw Isok, he’d have known he was in danger. Of course, if the figure was that of a woman who hated Robert enough herself to kill him, he wouldn’t see the need for defence. Or, and this was possible, Robert had no idea that there was any route over the water, and therefore waited with his breath stopped in his lungs, keenly watching over the dunes. If he had, though, surely he would have heard the splashing of a figure through the waves as the murderer appeared and rushed forwards to strike him down?

No! That was surely wrong. The man was there with his boots off and his hosen too. Surely that showed that he knew there was a secret route …

There was another possibility, that Robert’s killer had chosen to attack him not because of his affair, but because he hated some other aspect of the man’s behaviour. His affair with a woman from St Nicholas was perhaps known to only a few, no matter what David had said. Yes, David had told Isok, but then, if David was the murderer, wouldn’t he have done just that, providing a perfect suspect to deflect all attention from himself?

Another thought came to him. If Robert was preparing to make his way over the bar, someone could have crept up on him when he was about to set off. Then the murderer could have been another man from Ennor. His motive? Taking over Robert’s job after his death?

They had covered more than half of the distance now, when Baldwin saw William turn eastwards and move off in a new direction. ‘Where are you going, Father?’ he asked.

‘This bar is not so certain as all that, Sir Knight! It doesn’t go in a straight line like an arrow. It goes this way now, to Bechiek, and when we arrive there, we have to take a new route from there to St Nicholas. It’s not so far.’

Baldwin slouched along behind him, loathing the feel of the water. It was all too much a reminder of his near death after the storm, and he was shocked, when he turned, to see how far from solid land he was already. The hills of Ennor were a large mass far behind him, and he could see the white lengths of the wave-tops rolling gently to the shores. He had to steel himself to continue, rather than running back to Ennor. Panic gripped him, and he walked more slowly and cautiously.

They were heading towards a small rock that jutted up ahead of them. When they got nearer, Baldwin saw that it was a sea-washed lump of some black rock, splashed with a white covering of birds’ excrement. It had an unnatural appearance, to Baldwin’s heightened alarm, like a rock that had been set here as a marker, and suddenly he stopped dead, seeing a head rise from the depths.

‘Jesus, Mary and all the saints!’ he blurted with shock and fear. ‘It’s the woman, the lady!’

William followed his pointing finger and chuckled. ‘That’s no lady, Sir Baldwin — it’s a seal. Good eating on them. Catch the pups when they’re young, and you have a pelt fit for a king, too. They’ll keep the coldest winter from you. Now, come along.’

Baldwin moved off after him, but he couldn’t help glancing back at the head in the water. It was so like the old tales of Arthur’s death, with the ghostly woman’s hand rising from the depths to take Excalibur back until Arthur should need it again, that he felt a shudder pass down his spine. That must be why the island on which Luke was found was called Arthur, he told himself. Because someone had seen this place, and knew the tale of Arthur. There was certainly an otherworldly atmosphere here. It had the feeling of death and old pains.

He was relieved to reach Bechiek as darkness began to fall. Then his relief turned to grim resolution when William smiled, and said, ‘Right! Only a short step to St Nicholas now.’

In the castle, Ranulph sat thinking long and hard, his daggers thudding into the door with monotonous regularity. He finally came to a decision. Shouting for his steward, he told him to bring Walerand to him.

‘You want to be the gather-reeve now Robert’s nailed, don’t you?’ he began.

‘If I can! I’ll be a better rent collector than him any day.’

‘If you’re serious, I have a job for you.’

‘Anything, master.’

Ranulph held up a key. ‘See this? It’s the key to the shed down at the harbour. I want you to go in there when all’s quiet and the castle’s asleep and count the tuns of wine — all of them, mind. Then come back to me tomorrow morning and tell me what’s in there.’

‘Oh.’

‘Don’t look so surprised, lad. Do you know why I want to know?’

‘No.’

‘Good. See to it that you stay ignorant until I explain it all to you.’

‘Yes.’

‘And Walerand? Don’t screw up. If you are found down there and Thomas hears of it, I’ll accuse you of stealing my wine.’

Simon made his way through the hall to the bench he had started to look on as his own, but when he reached it, he saw that another had already taken it and was snoring like a peasant after a particularly good harvest. From a short look at him, Simon was quite sure that he would not be able to reason sweetly with the man, if he could wake him at all. Instead, he reached under the bench and rescued Robert’s sword.

Already up and down the hall there were men snoring fit to raise the dead at St Nicholas’s graveyard, and Simon, glancing about him, wondered where on earth Hamo had gone for his own sleep. The young fellow must be exhausted, being so young, he thought, then told himself not to be so foolish. Hamo was a sailor, as his language proved, and he was more than capable of staying awake through the night or collapsing at noon and snatching half an hour’s sleep.

Not yet ready to copy the man on his bench, Simon went to the cross passage and out into the yard. Here he saw that the moon was quite full, and he stood for a while staring up at it.

It was painfully beautiful. The stars shone with a particular clarity, and the breeze was cool but fresh with an odour of kelp from the pits not far from the shoreline. It may have been a long way away, but the smell was distinct even up here.

‘Bailiff?’ Hamo slipped around the corner of the hall, his eyes large and nervous in the flickering light of a torch over at the stables opposite. ‘I wanted to make sure you were all right.’

Simon had that guilty feeling again. The cabin-boy was plainly sad and anxious. He had no family to speak of; his only reliable relation had been his master on the Anne, but now Gervase was gone too. The lad had no one to rely on, apart from Simon. It made Simon feel bad to think of what he was going to ask him to do.

‘Did you get some …’ he began.

‘Yes,’ Hamo said, holding up a small flask. ‘Here’s the burned wine you asked for.’

‘Excellent. You go to your sleep now. I can make sure that they are saved.’

Before the castle was awake, Simon had gathered up Robert’s sword as well as his own.

The previous day Simon had bought a small cask of wine. After seeing Hamo, he went and left it outside the door to the gatekeeper’s hut, thumping on the door and beating a retreat. There was no doubt in his mind that a man who would demand a bribe to let a guest in through the gate would be more than happy to steal wine left by someone at his door — and so it proved. The kitchen, visited by Hamo, also had a useful supply of herbs and potions, as Simon had hoped. One such was Hamo’s burned wine, a potent alcoholic mixture refined from a strong wine. Simon added this into the cask. When he tried it, it tasted a little rough, but he doubted that the gatekeeper would notice.

He was right. When he returned to the hut a little after midnight, the man was snoring enough to lift the thatch from his roof. Simon entered quietly and took the keys from the man’s belt where he lay on the floor. The fellow didn’t so much as grunt. Simon was about to leave, but then he hesitated, and picked up the cup from the table. On occasion, a little vinous courage was a help.

One key, Simon knew, opened a small door near the castle’s stables, where tools were locked away to prevent peasants from stealing them. In there he soon found what he needed, a bar of steel. He took the bar with him to the castle.

The room where Sir Charles was being held was a small chamber to the north of the castle itself. There was no gaoler here. The two men were kept locked in their room with a shackle about an ankle holding each to a ring in the floor.

‘It’s me,’ Simon whispered at the door. There was no response, but he was not surprised at that. He set to with the bar, attacking the mortar between the stones used to construct the chamber, and began prising the stones apart. Before long he had managed to create a hole where three rocks had come out, and was starting on the next stone when a hand reached out, grabbed his, and gently took the crowbar. There was a muttered, ‘Damn these things,’ and ‘Extraordinary how hard they make life for a fellow,’ and then the loud report of a snapping bolt. Soon Sir Charles began attacking the stones from the inside.

After a few more minutes, there was a quiet laugh, and then Sir Charles’s head appeared through the hole, grinning widely. ‘Your plan has worked excellently!’

‘So far,’ Simon grunted. Now all he had to do was see to Sir Charles’s and Paul’s escape. Creeping through the shadows and keeping close to the walls. He led the way to the gates and opened the small postern. Outside, he could point the way.

‘Go north from here and soon you’ll find yourself staring at the sea,’ he instructed them. ‘The big island north and west of here is St Nicholas. All you have to do is find a boat and steal it to row up there. When you’re on the island I think you’ll be safe enough. No one will dare to try to come and arrest you from the sanctuary of the priory.’

‘This is most extraordinary,’ Sir Charles said gleefully, rubbing his hands together. ‘An opportunity to escape — and yet I’m not sure I wish to flee. I could almost wish that I could remain here, just to speak with Ranulph and remonstrate with him.’

‘You have no sword,’ Simon said, and saw the way Sir Charles’s eyes lit upon his own. He put a hand to it protectively, but then grunted and pulled out the two daggers he had stolen from the armoury the day before, and finally removed Robert’s sword from under his tunic. ‘You can have these — they’re the best I could do. Now go and make yourselves safe on St Nicholas. Once you’re there, you can plan your revenge. Better that than a sudden, ill-conceived notion.’

‘I suppose so,’ Sir Charles said regretfully.

Simon grinned at the knight’s reluctance but then concern took its place. If Ranulph were to attack and win over the vill, Simon was perfectly aware that his own position would be very difficult. He was an Officer of the Abbot of Tavistock, the man to whom all those on St Nicholas Island owed their allegiance. Simon wanted the pirates captured and punished as much as anyone — but that was only possible if the Prior agreed and evidence was produced. Simon would not — he could not — condone Ranulph’s attack. It must be deflected. And thank God, Sir Charles could warn the Prior and the vill to make sure that there was no bloodshed.

‘Don’t forget to inform the good Prior that there is to be an invasion today,’ Simon said. ‘Otherwise I dread to think what could happen.’

‘It shall be my pleasure to warn him,’ Sir Charles said with evident truthfulness, and then, as the sun was beginning to light the eastern sky, he set off with Paul, who said nothing but merely gripped Simon’s hand in gratitude before scurrying after his master.

Simon watched until the two were out of sight, then he went back to the postern and closed it behind him. He didn’t see the slight figure of Walerand which rose from beside the roadway and stood watching his every move.

Cryspyn winced in the bright sunlight as he left his lodgings and went into the courtyard. It was a perfect morning, one of those which made a man happy to be here on this little island in the middle of nowhere. Not that he had any right to enjoyment. He was here in order to atone for the murder of Sara’s lover, not to find pleasure. His duty was to make recompense for the insult he had given to God.

The Prior’s expression was grim as he made his way to the little block near his chapel and entered. The old lock was loud in the stillness, and as he let the door swing shut, the slamming was alarming in the quiet. Sitting up in the corner were William and Baldwin, both eating heartily.

‘Well, now, my friends, how are you this fine morning?’ he asked.

As they gave him their thanks for the use of the room the previous night, the Prior allowed their words to wash over him, smiling when he thought it seemed suitable, but mostly simply nodding.

‘You look as though you yourself have had a less than satisfactory night,’ Baldwin commented.

Cryspyn gave a sad shrug. ‘Certainly it was not pleasing. I have to see to Isok’s humiliation today. The poor man doesn’t deserve it, but Tedia did insist upon this enquiry, and I have been ordered to obey. I cannot merely lie and suggest that the person whom I consulted told me not to permit the matter to go any farther. No, I have to see to the man’s destruction here in his own vill.’

‘Have you had to do this before?’ Baldwin enquired.

‘It is not a common complaint,’ Cryspyn said flatly. ‘No, I haven’t any experience of such affairs. And I would prefer that situation to have remained unaltered. It is terrible! I do not know how I shall be able to help Isok recover from his ordeal.’

‘From what I have seen of him,’ Baldwin said, ‘he appears a resilient sort of fellow. Perhaps it will grow to be a blessing.’

‘I agree,’ said William. ‘After all, if he is unable to put his wife in pup, perhaps the wedding itself was not meant to be. This could be God’s way of releasing them both from an existence which is painful to them both?’

‘It is possible,’ the Prior said doubtfully, ‘but Sir Baldwin, what a manner of saving them! Poor Isok shamed before the vill, and his wife left to wander. In a small community like this, there are many men who will assume that a woman who has divorced her husband must inevitably have a desire for a man of greater sexual prowess, and that invariably means himself, whoever he may be. Men always assume that they are unbearably attractive to a woman, no matter how little they are egged on by her. And if widows suffer from unwanted attentions, how much worse is the position of the woman who seeks a divorce on the grounds that he’s not damn-well giving her a seeing-to when she wants it!’

His voice had risen with his own frustration, and seeing their surprised expressions, he forced himself to take a deep breath and calm himself.

‘My friends, I am sorry, but this … this matter will not leave my mind. The poor woman — I am sympathetic to her, but does she realise what she’s doing to her husband? I doubt it.’

‘What will happen to him?’ Baldwin asked.

‘He must strip in front of two wise and honest women, and we must see whether they can make his pride stand erect,’ the Prior said, pronouncing the euphemism with a degree of hauteur. ‘Later they shall report to me.’

‘So this will at least be a trial conducted in private?’ Baldwin assumed.

‘I wouldn’t allow the vill to witness his failure! No, this is to be held in a private chamber, but then the women will report in front of all so that the poor fellow’s woman can have all the world see that the fact that she is not serviced is not her fault. The marriage’s failure was not of her making, it was all her husband’s.’

For a few moments Baldwin was silenced by this revelation. ‘I had not realised. That seems to me to be unnecessarily cruel.’

Cryspyn nodded and took up a pot of strong red wine. Downing a good quarter pint in one long draught, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and shook his head. ‘It is,’ he said at last.

‘Would you like to hear my conclusions about Luke’s death?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Please.’

‘He was murdered, and later he was thrown into a small boat, presumably in the hope that his body would be carried away by the currents and lost somewhere far away from the islands. He was stabbed. I think his death would have been instantaneous, for the wound must have punctured his heart and no man lives long after that.’

‘Who could have done this?’

‘I do not know what to think about that,’ Baldwin admitted. ‘Is there anyone who could have wanted him to be dead?’

Cryspyn felt the knight’s eyes upon him. There was no point in hiding his own feelings. Ever since he had learned of the reason for Luke’s being foisted upon him, because of his womanising in England and then Ireland, Cryspyn had disliked the fellow. It felt as though God was mocking him, he who had loved but once, and who had lost her when he killed the man she loved; but that was no secret and Cryspyn had no intention of being thought of as a hypocrite. ‘I know that he was not perfect, but that was no reason to see him killed. A man may make mistakes. One can only hope that a fool will eventually learn from them. Sadly, all too often there are men like him who do not.’

‘You were not fond of him?’

‘I was not. He was a foolish fellow, and men like that are no good for a small vill like ours. They create dissension and bad feeling.’

‘Can you think of a reason why someone might have chosen to execute him?’

‘I can think of some men who might have been tempted to put an end to his womanising. Jealousy can be a terrible cancer in a man’s breast,’ Cryspyn said sadly. ‘There is one woman — I shall not mention her name — but she delights in tempting any likely men. Her husband was probably angry if he saw her with Luke. Perhaps he chose to exercise his rights as a man, in order to protect his family and his woman? Perhaps there is another man in the same position? Any man would act, surely, and the law support them. Who may tell?’

‘Who indeed?’ Baldwin said. He finished his bread, drained his mazer, and stood. ‘And now that I have taken advantage of your hospitality, Prior, I should leave you. But before I do, may I go to Luke’s chapel and have a look around it? I should like to know whether there are any signs there that a man had been killed.’

‘Very well. I see no difficulty,’ the Prior said. He nodded to William. ‘Brother, would you lead our visitor to the chapel?’

William nodded, his lips a thin line in his saddened features. ‘Of course. I hate to go back there like this, though. My poor little chapel! Do you really think that he could have been killed in there? It would mean the whole place was defiled. Terrible thought, that.’

‘Perhaps the chapel itself was clean,’ Baldwin said. ‘Yet we shall need to find out.’