Michael Jecks - The Outlaws of Ennor

‘Sir, they’re going to storm the island.’

‘Island? What island?’

‘St Nicholas, that one.’

Simon gave him a pitying look. ‘So what? It’s only the haunt of pirates and felons. I don’t think they deserve my sympathy.’

‘Not all of them can be pirates.’

Simon was about to answer with a sarcastic comment, but then he saw the expression on Hamo’s face. ‘Look, lad, it’s possible that they aren’t all felons, and if that’s the case, so much the better.’ He began to walk along the roadway southwards from the castle. Farther on, he knew, there was a path that led along the hills which bounded the coast. ‘But many of them are, from the sound of things. It’s certain that they act as killers. I suppose it’s not surprising, living in a terrible little place like this. I’d probably get anxious if I were here. The thought of a bad winter is terrible.’

‘It’s not that, sir. It’s the Sergeant, Thomas. I’ve learned what he’s been up to, the fornicating son of a Moorish harlot.’

Simon’s eyebrows rose a little.

‘He’s been cheating the customs, taking money from his own ships and lining his purse, then sending the ship off to Cornwall with receipts in the earldom’s name. Ranulph doesn’t know about it, and he’d be angry if he did, but Thomas knows that none of the people here would dare to denounce him because he’s too powerful and in league with Ranulph. It makes Thomas terribly important. Ranulph won’t hear a bad word against the bastard son of a diseased whore …’

Simon’s eyebrows rose a fraction higher.

‘… but the fucker is safe anyway, because everyone on the island is scared of him.’

‘I … where did you learn that sort of language?’

‘What sort of language?’

Simon looked at him. The lad had been living with sailors since a youngster. It was no surprise that his language should be extreme — but there and then, Simon resolved to keep his own daughter away from sailors or youths who had had anything to do with the sea. He shook his head. ‘Never mind. He may well be as corrupt as you say, but that certainly doesn’t mean that the rest of the islanders are free of guilt.’

‘No, but he has been earning good money … Perhaps he’s trying to distract people — start a little war to stop them looking at his accounts?’ Hamo said slyly, looking up at Simon.

Simon was passing by a large stone. He thrust his hands into his belt, leaned against the rock, and stared down at Hamo. ‘I don’t think that is very likely. You have been confused because of the trials of our voyage here.’

‘You think I’m dreaming because I’m only a boy, but I’ve heard the men talking. They all say that he’s ruthless, and he’s been on edge for the last few days. Ever since we got here.’

There was a knowing tone to his voice, and Simon gave him a quizzical look. ‘What of it?’

‘What happened the night we arrived, Bailiff?’

‘The storm.’

‘Aye. And the murdered man. And Thomas was out that night. He didn’t get back until the storm was begun.’

‘How do you know?’ Simon asked, surprised that Hamo too had heard this. Plainly Oderic had told the truth then.

‘I’m only a boy. Men talk when I’m around because they can ignore me,’ Hamo said bitterly. ‘It doesn’t matter what I hear because I’m too thick to put two and two together.’

‘Is it common knowledge that Thomas was out that night?’ Simon asked seriously.

As Hamo nodded, Simon stared out to sea. If Thomas had been involved in the murder of Robert, perhaps he might suggest that someone else had killed his gather-reeve. A man like Sir Charles was a gift to him. The perfect suspect: a man who had been seen to be violent, who drew his sword first and asked questions later, a man who was used to killing.

That was one thing; there was also the matter of the men of St Nicholas. Simon detested pirates. Now he had experienced at first hand how terrifying their assaults could be, he was happy to think that any who were guilty of attacking innocent ships, like the Bretons who had pursued the Anne , should themselves be hunted down and slaughtered. People who routinely committed such crimes deserved all they got.

However, the murder of the gather-reeve was a different issue. Simon was unwilling to see Sir Charles used as a convenient scapegoat in the absence of the true criminal. Especially if Thomas’s action was a result of his own guilt.

Thinking furiously, Simon recalled Sir Charles’s request for weapons. That was one option, of course, but better if Sir Charles and his man could simply be whisked away from here and removed to a place of safety. But the mainland was a long way distant.

First things first: Sir Charles needed a weapon. Suddenly Simon recalled that Robert’s sword had not been found.

‘Hamo, there are some things I think we need to try to do,’ he said meditatively. ‘First, can you find your way to the kitchens?’

Baldwin walked farther up the beach. He had left William and Isok near the place where the body had been found, because he felt in need of solitude. Something about this place was soothing to his nerves, but the company of Isok and William was disturbing.

Isok had reason to hate Luke, he knew; he also had good reason to detest Robert. Both men had either attempted or were about to assault Isok’s wife. Baldwin was only hopeful that Isok never learned that he himself had already tasted the sweet pleasures of Isok’s wife.

Looking back at the pair of men at the shore, Baldwin felt a renewed pang of regret. He should never have taken Tedia. Her desperate desire was no excuse. Chivalric love stories occasionally permitted a love to be consummated, but generally such pleasures led to disaster — in the tales, the lover and the object of his desire were destroyed by their love. Such were the stories of all great lovers, even Guinevere and Launcelot.

That thought made him look about him with a frown of concentration. This place was called Great Arthur — did that mean it was named for the fabled King? If so, it was a curious choice. This island was certainly no Camelot.

The story of Arthur, his one love, Guinevere, and the King’s betrayal by his most loyal servant, Launcelot, was one which was known to most knights, but here Baldwin felt that it had an especial significance. The place was imbued with a curious spirit. He would ask his two companions whether there were any tales associated with it.

Sitting on a large stone at the southern point of the stretch of land, which rose after the beach, Baldwin found himself considering the man Luke. Certainly he had been a liability as a priest, and he was probably the worst womaniser Baldwin had ever met, other than that terrible Irishman John, whom he had known in Crediton. Luke would ignore any obstacle in his single-minded assault on a woman. He would not worry about husbands, certainly, since Baldwin knew that he had once succeeded in wooing a bride of Christ. He had the nerve to try to steal Isok’s woman from him, probably because Luke felt safe enough, protected by his cloth.

With most men, he would have been safe, too, but in a place like this, an island far from the King’s justice — or the Bishop’s — he would have learned a hard lesson. And that he had, apparently.

Guinevere had betrayed her husband, just as Tedia had betrayed Isok; Guinevere with Launcelot, Tedia with Baldwin.

And yet earlier she had tried to betray Isok with Robert. Robert, whom she loved already, so that when Luke tried to foist his own affections on her, she read his offer as a licence to sleep with Robert. Whichever way Baldwin looked at it, in this situation the most likely candidate for murderer was Isok. The peasant had learned of Robert’s desire for Tedia from David; he had heard of, or probably saw, Luke’s infatuation with his wife at the chapel each time they went to it. Luke was never one to hide his desires, from what Baldwin recalled.