Michael Jecks - The Outlaws of Ennor

‘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.

Ranulph was already out that morning, long before most of his men, and Thomas remained in his chamber to conduct a little business of his own, which was why he was the first to hear about the new vessel in the port.

He hurried to the castle’s gate, from where he could see the second ship, moored near the first.

‘Who is it?’ he asked with desperate excitement.

Walerand was toiling up the little hill and responded, ‘She’s called the Faucon Dieu , out of Dartmouth.’

‘My Christ!’ Thomas grabbed the gate for support. ‘My Christ, thank you!’