Michael Jecks - The Outlaws of Ennor

‘There are people who would have told him,’ she said coldly, facing David.

‘I told him nothing,’ David said.

‘What of your wife, though? She knew, didn’t she?’

David shrugged. ‘Brosia may have known, but that means nothing. Others may have known too. You didn’t hide your desperation or your lust, did you?’

Tedia’s tears were stilled, and she stood, dusting her skirts with both hands. When she looked up again, Baldwin was chilled to see how composed she was. There was a core of steel in her soul, he thought.

‘Brosia would have told him if she’d known,’ she asserted. ‘She always wanted to compete with other women for men’s attention. Perhaps she told Isok just to shame me. It is just the sort of thing she’d do.’

David flushed with anger. ‘You should watch your tongue! My wife is a good woman. She’d not lower herself to that level.’

‘You think so?’ Tedia spat. ‘She lies in the gutter with the other rats!’

David stepped forward and his hand rose to slap her face, but before he could do so, Baldwin was between them. With ease, David removed his hand from Baldwin’s grip. ‘Don’t pick fights until you’re back to your full strength, Sir Baldwin,’ he said, but calmer again now. ‘Tedia: watch what you say. Next time I may not be so lenient. I won’t stand here to listen to my wife being insulted.’

‘Wait, Reeve,’ Baldwin said as David made to walk away.

‘What?’

‘Where were you on the night that this man died?’

‘The night of the storm? I was with my boat, making sure that it was secure.’

‘Did you see anyone else?’

‘You doubt my word? I had no reason to kill that son of a whore.’

‘Perhaps so, but if you saw another man, that man might himself be the murderer.’

‘I only saw the priest: Luke from St Elidius. If you want to question someone, question him,’ David said, and marched away.

With a sudden clarity, Tedia saw Luke’s face again, that day when they had spoken about seeking another lover. His eyes had been so kind and understanding, but then, when she had said that she knew a man who could service her, his expression had frozen, like ice settling in a pond. ‘The Brother!’ she gasped.

‘Which brother?’

‘Luke, the man at St Elidius. I spoke to him, and he said to me that I should find another man, but now — I think he was jealous. He wanted me for himself!’

Baldwin gave an understanding grunt. It was easy to see how a man could become infatuated with this woman, he told himself.

‘It could have been Luke … but what if it was Isok? What can I do? I can’t live with a man whom I suspect of killing my love!’ she exclaimed, and slumped in despair, her hands covering her face. Turning, she threw herself back into Baldwin’s embrace, and he found his hands reaching out to go about her body, then hesitated. Somehow he was sure that if he were to cradle this woman again, he might not be able to save himself from lusting after her. He paused, arms near her, but not touching. A delicious scent rose to his nostrils, the fresh, sweet smell of a young woman.

She snuggled herself into the crook of his shoulder, and Baldwin could feel his heart thundering like a smith’s hammer. ‘If you want to know who killed Robert, leave it to me,’ he said, and put both arms about her, pulling her into a tight embrace, staring challengingly at David.

Simon reached the sandy bar where the body had been found, and studied the place with interest.

Without the jury there, it appeared a still more deserted part of the island. It was a broad sweep of beach, with a low huddle of grassy dunes behind. When Simon went to the water’s edge, he saw that it was clear through to the shallows; shoals of tiny fish were darting backwards and forwards amongst the small stones and shells.

For all that he was here to catch a killer, he was aware of a fair-day attitude of mind. He indeed felt as though this was a day of rest away from the toils of his work. The islands were beautiful, the weather was warm, the wind a gentle breeze, and he felt entirely comfortable and happy. Still …

‘Show me where you found the body,’ he said reluctantly to Walerand.

‘You were here for the inquest.’

Simon ignored his sulky tone. ‘Yes, I was, wasn’t I?’ he agreed amiably. ‘The body had already been moved from where you found it, hadn’t it?’

Walerand gave him a long, hard stare, suspecting that Simon was making fun of him. ‘He was here.’

Simon, who cared little what Walerand thought, went to join him. There was a soft dip in the ground, a concave section of sand with thick grasses growing all about it. A man could have been hidden here for days, he noticed. He said sharply, ‘It would have been hard for a man to know where to look.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘The body would have been hidden in the grasses.’

‘It wasn’t so hard. I saw his boots.’

‘Ah yes. His boots. He had taken them off, and his hosen as well.’

‘What of it?’

‘Nothing. It is interesting to note, though.’

‘If you say so.’

‘I do. It is interesting that the sea has washed up here since the storm too.’

‘I couldn’t command the sea to stay away,’ Walerand sneered.

‘How did he lie?’ Simon said impatiently. He was swiftly growing bored with Walerand’s whining voice as he scanned the rest of the dunes, walking slowly and cautiously.

‘He was on his back, facing the sea.’

‘His wound?’

‘You heard the Coroner: one stab in his breast. Could have been the sword I found. That one,’ he added, pointing.

Simon ignored the comment. He was still searching, and then he found something. A mark or two, indentations in the sand at the bottom of a dune. They were spattered with tiny craters, so the rain had come afterwards, but from looking at them, Simon wondered whether they might have been made by a person kneeling in the sand. Hard to tell, he decided.

Returning to where the body had lain, he noticed a pitted area of sand. It was marked with lines, and there was a darker central area — again, all pitted from the rain. Simon pursed his lips, but then he scooped out the sand and peered at it. There were some darker stains where the grains were flocculated, and he gently broke some apart, sniffing at them. It was impossible to be certain, but he felt sure that these lumps were congealed blood. This could have been the place where the murderer cleaned his knife, he thought.

Searching on, he found nothing, so he stopped and stood with his arms akimbo, gazing about him. Baldwin had many times said that a man could learn much from a body or a murder scene, but here there was nothing, merely an empty stretch of land between this island and the others.

He noticed that the islands here seemed to encircle a patch of sea, as though set out originally ringing a large pool. A man might come here to watch the other islands. Perhaps he would sit and gaze at them. But why? Purely because he liked the view? It was possible. Many men would so adore a particular piece of land that they would go and stare at it. Women would be more likely to create their own space. Margaret, Simon’s wife, had caused the small plot behind their house at Lydford to be converted into a large, open-air hall, and in clement weather, when they had guests, she was pleased to walk with them through this patch of cultivation. It made Simon smile to see how proud she was of it.

Men were less enthusiastic about man-made spaces, Simon felt sure. He himself was most happy in Dartmoor, because he knew that land intimately and he was most at ease in that great waste.

‘This Robert: was he keen on this place, do you know?’