Michael Jecks - The Outlaws of Ennor

Money was not important hereabouts, of course, but if he was ever to escape these islands and return to civilisation, he would need hard cash. No man without a lord could survive long in England without some money behind him. No, Thomas needed money, and lots of it … where was that ship? It should have arrived by now.

Then again, piracy was not the only threat to shipping. The Faucon Dieu may have been overwhelmed by the storm, just as the Anne had. Perhaps the master of the Anne had noticed it? Whether he had or not, the man called Gervase had died not long after the damaged vessel was boarded by Ranulph and the rest. Perhaps one of the other survivors had spotted Thomas’s ship? They could have passed her, or … No. It was better to leave the men from the Anne out of it. Ranulph would wonder why he was so keen to speak to them, and Thomas had no desire to let his master find out what he was up to. Filling in customs forms was frowned upon in England, certainly, but the customs due were supposed to be paid to Ranulph, and if he learned that his own trusted Sergeant was taking the money and shovelling it straight into his own purse … life on the island would grow infinitely less pleasant. No, he must keep all that quiet for now.

The Faucon Dieu must surely turn up soon. Where in God’s name was she?

A horrid thought jumped into the Sergeant’s mind. It wasn’t only Bretons who attacked ships. The men of St Nicholas were more than capable of taking to the seas when they were feeling the pinch. The spoil from a couple of merchants’ ships would compensate for a poor harvest, for instance. This summer, the weather had been indifferent and most of the crop had suffered; it would be no surprise if David got together a band of men to find a ship and steal the cargo, murdering all the men aboard. They could have been the fellows who sought to take the Anne , but were prevented … if they had met with the Faucon Dieu , they could have taken her easily.

Thomas sat very still, gazing intently at the door before him. Automatically, he took the dagger from the secret sheath under the table-top and gripped it hard. If the men of St Nicholas had taken his ship, he would wreak the most terrible revenge upon them, he promised himself. After all, people who raided ships deserved all they got. Their punishment was to be the sea’s prey.

The cottage was not far from Tedia’s, and she led him back up the beach towards it. Mariota’s home was a somewhat dilapidated building, with the thatch thin and weakened by the storms. A well stood in a yard, some boards laid over it to stop unwary chickens falling in, and beyond was a little garden with a few spindly beans and peas, long past their best.

‘Here we are,’ Tedia said, and settled Baldwin on a bench by the door. In a moment, Mariota had joined them.

She was a shortish woman, with wide hips and a compact, powerful body. Large breasts jutted above her belt, and her sharp eyes studied Baldwin, creating an impression of hostility, he thought, but only for a moment. Then her eyes crinkled and she smiled. ‘So, Sir Knight. You look drier and cleaner than when I last saw you.’

‘I am well, I thank you, if a little sore and tired,’ Baldwin said.

‘It was Mariota here who mended your clothing,’ Tedia explained as she brought out a large cup of wine.

‘I am grateful to you, then,’ Baldwin said and sipped. It was a delicious, sweet wine, and he smiled at the flavour for a moment, and then his mind turned to wondering how a woman like Mariota could have afforded it and his smile faded.

‘It was nothing. The least I could do,’ Mariota said warmly. ‘I should have found you myself. You were nearer to me than Tedia’s. Still, it was foul weather that night.’

‘Yes,’ Baldwin said. He was about to speak when he saw Mariota’s look go from him to Tedia, a small grin on her face.

She said, ‘So then, Tedia — have you tested the length of his sword?’

Baldwin was about to say that he had lost it, when he caught the true meaning of her words. As Tedia laughed aloud, Baldwin could only feel a rising embarrassment, and mumbling about returning to the beach, he drained his cup.

Back outside, Simon took deep breaths to rid his lungs of the foul air in the cell. He had to get away from the castle. Standing here beneath the walls of the keep, he was taken with a feeling of loathing for the place, and he turned through the gates, past the donkeys bringing in the smaller loads from the ship, narrowly escaping being squashed against a wall by a two-wheeled cart. Soon he had left the castle behind him, and he headed south.

The sun was high, and here, before the castle, he was given a clear view over the sweep of the great bay in which his ship sat. Rather than get stirred up at the sight of Ranulph Blancminster’s men raping the Anne , he stared beyond her to the south.

The sea was a marvellous expanse of blue with bright sparks where the sun was reflected. In the far, far distance, he saw a pair of ships with their sails billowing. Perhaps they were fishing — Simon couldn’t tell. It would be some time before he became used to the different vessels, just as it would be some little while before his guts grew accustomed to their motion over the waves. He was quite certain that he would grow used to such things, because other men did. Look at Baldwin: he never minded sailing …

Simon felt buffeted by a hammer of grief. It started in his ribcage, and the pain of it leaped up into his throat like a thick bolus; he could scarcely breathe, and then his eyes grew prickly. A tear formed as he remembered his friend’s stern but kindly expression. It was terrible to think that he was gone for ever. Simon would have to go to see Jeanne and tell her himself that her husband was dead. He couldn’t expect anyone else to do that. He wouldn’t want anyone else to do it. It was the last service he could do for his comrade.

Strange. They had been friends since 1316, yet it felt as though they had been companions for much longer. There was something about the knight which invited loyalty; maybe the way that he respected almost all men, and was reluctant to make assumptions about someone’s guilt based solely on their status in the world. Baldwin held firmly to the principle that the truth was the only issue of importance in an investigation.

Simon sniffed, about to walk into the open, when a low, malevolent snarl at his heel made him jump with fright. At the side of the road was a large hound, crouched low like a cat ready to pounce, his great shoulders rippling with power, head a scant inch from the ground, his tail still except for a little twitching at the tip. Large amber eyes held Simon’s fixedly.

‘It’s all right, boy,’ said a voice.

Simon looked up and saw the figure of Hamadus.

‘Christ Jesus, Sexton!’ he said.

‘Aha, you shouldn’t misuse the Lord’s name like that,’ Hamadus remonstrated. The dog gave a low rumble again. ‘Calm down!’ The old fisherman appeared to take his silence for an apology. He glanced down at the port. ‘I’m sorry. It must be distressing to see your ship pulled apart like that,’ he said, more kindly.

‘It’s hard,’ Simon agreed.

‘Better than not being alive to see it, though.’

‘I only hope that I can find my belongings.’

Hamadus squinted at him. ‘If it’s something worth holding, it’ll have already disappeared,’ he said reasonably. ‘Those men aren’t there for fun, you know.’

‘No,’ Simon agreed mournfully. He had not thought that his private belongings could have been taken. It was fortunate that he had already sold most of his goods on his journey. There was little to lose. ‘I suppose not.’