Michael Jecks - The Outlaws of Ennor

‘I think you could be right. Whether it’s because of the ship and the salvage, or simply the discovery of your sword, I don’t know. The fact that your sword was found near the dead man’s body certainly seems to imply that you had a part in his death.’

‘Do you really believe that a murderer could be so stupid as to leave the weapon like that? Just throw it away casually after using it to kill a man? The idea is nonsensical.’

‘Perhaps it is, but the fact that they sent a man to follow you shows that you are under suspicion.’

‘Unless they were seeking to have you followed, William,’ Baldwin noted.

‘Me!’ William laughed, and then his smile froze.

‘Yes. If they thought that I was a potential killer of the local taxman, then they would naturally consider you askance, realising that you were showing me around the island. After all, it is plain that you look with little favour upon them.’

‘It is one thing to look on them with little favour and quite another to suggest that I had any part in the murder of …’

‘I didn’t say that you did. I merely pointed out that they have as much reason to doubt you as to doubt me.’

‘But it’s preposterous! I am a priest.’

‘Aye: a priest who could be looked upon as harbouring a known killer,’ Baldwin said drily.

‘Those maggot-ridden cretins! God rot their cods! Of all the-’

‘The most important thing for us right now is to get away from this island,’ Baldwin said firmly. ‘When Walerand tells Ranulph what happened to him, the latter will be after us. He can accuse us of roughing up his man now.’

‘What of Hamadus?’

‘I am sure that Walerand will treat him with caution. It could be embarrassing for him to admit that he was bested by a hound,’ Baldwin said grimly. The old sexton had impressed him, and he liked to think that his first impressions were generally accurate — as were his judgements on dogs. ‘We cannot get to Isok. Is there another man who can assist us by taking us to St Nicholas?’

‘No,’ William said, and then he cast Baldwin a curious, shifty look. ‘But it may not be entirely necessary to find a boat.’

Simon had felt out of sorts all day since his talks with Sir Charles and then Hamo. It had made him feel unsettled and anxious, as though he had in truth been hoodwinked. So he spent the afternoon idly, sitting under the castle’s walls and watching the sea, then crossing over to the great lump of rock that stood at the westernmost point of the island, and keeping his eyes fixed on the horizon.

There was surprisingly little shipping. Every so often he would see a small boat set off from Porth Ennor, and then he might catch a glimpse of a sail far off on the horizon, but that was all. The only life appeared to be in Porth Ennor, about the Faucon Dieu , where men scrambled like ants on a disturbed nest. Late in the afternoon, he saw them setting new sails to her mast, and then there was a fresh life to the decks as a boat arrived at its side filled with ropes of different types. While Simon watched, men climbed up the ratlines and began replacing all the ropes that made up the complex cobweb of the mast’s supports. If Simon had been involved in that work, he would have made a dog’s breakfast of it, he thought.

A small boat had been moored to the quay, and Simon saw that the owner was furious to be hindered when he attempted to leave. As Simon watched, the man threw his hands in the air, and then a guard or two came over to see what all the fuss was about. While they were there, two men climbed on board and appeared to search it. They were soon finished, and the man climbed into the vessel, at last pushing off and rowing away from the island. Once out at sea, he let his sail fall, and in a few moments it was filled and twisting with the gusts. The man settled back with the steering oar and the boat moved away, rounding the point until it was out of sight.

That sight made Simon feel terribly sad. Whenever he saw something of note, he wanted to turn and mention it to Baldwin; if there was an odd hump of ground like this, he wanted to point it out; they were close companions, perhaps still more so because of their many investigations into murders. In Simon’s heart there was a space that could not be filled, and out here, in this strange island environment, he was even more aware of the curiousness of his own position.

Here he was, a Bailiff of the Stannaries, and now the representative of the Warden of Dartmouth, and yet here in Ennor he had no position, no rights or responsibilities. He was a displaced pilgrim with no pilgrimage, for that was completed. Out of his own element, which he knew was Dartmoor itself, he was lost. There was nothing here for him. He was close to the mainland, yet he felt as though it might as well have been a thousand miles away. So near to his wife and family, and yet he might as well have been a thousand miles away. So near to his wife and family, and yet he might as well have been in Arabia, the journey was so difficult. All Simon wanted to do was return to his home, and hug his woman, but he might as well have wished to walk to the moon.

Margaret, his wife, was like a figure from a dream. He adored her, he missed her, he wanted her. It was so lonely here without her. He felt desolate, as though he had lost everything.

It was a sad and chastened Bailiff Puttock who rose as the sky darkened and the long, slow advance of twilight began to creep over the water. He saw the sun sink down towards the horizon, and realised just how late the hour had become.

Reaching up with both fists, he stretched with a grunt and began to make his way to the castle. He could see it from here, the grim rectangular proof of a man’s power over all others in this island. Although, as Simon looked at it, he became aware that there was a certain shabbiness about it, because when he looked over to the island of St Nicholas, he could see that the Priory stood more cleanly in its space. Somehow the castle looked a mean little affair, even with the cluster of buildings at its foot, the evidence of cattle and horses, the stables, the paddocks and pastures. On the wind there came a quiet bark, then another, as two dogs celebrated the coming night by squaring up to each other. Yet all the while on St Nicholas the Priory stood as though challenging the castle. One building secular, the other entirely ecclesiastical, they looked almost like two opposing towers of faith in this flat, peaceful land.

He returned to the castle, arriving as the gates were to be closed, and bribed a guard to let him inside. Bribed a guard!

It was that sort of minor problem which most displeased him about this place. For a doorkeeper to refuse to allow a guest into a castle unless he was paid — that niggled at Simon’s sense of rightness. He threw the money at the fellow, and ignored the curses that followed after him as he made his way to the keep.

Simon stalked angrily into the hall and out to the buttery, where he drew himself a jug of ale at the bar. Back in the hall, he sat and musingly supped the drink.

The meal must have been over some while ago, for all evidence of eating was past. The trestles were folded, the boards which made up the tables set against the walls, the benches propping them up, waiting for the men-at-arms and servants to claim them for their beds. In a castle like this one, only the Lord and his most favoured servants would have a bed. All others had to make do, including uninvited guests like Simon.

It was a relief to see Hamo arrive in the doorway to the kitchen. He had a furtive look, and Simon hoped it was not so obvious to others as it was to him that Hamo had been engaged upon mischief.

The lad sidled across the floor and nodded to Simon, and Simon felt a certain relief. At least the first part of his plan was in place. Now all he must do was find some suitable weapon. Suddenly Hamo slipped away, and Simon glanced up to see a pale-faced, nervous-looking Walerand. ‘Good. This sword that you are looking after — Robert’s old one. I’ll look at it now.’