Michael Jecks - The Outlaws of Ennor

‘How dare you manhandle this knight! How dare you lay hands upon him! He is here as our guest, and you threaten to kill him? Any man who touches so much as a hair from his head shall know the full depths of my ire!’

‘Yes, stand back, you churls,’ David yelled. He was close now, and he marched swiftly to the Prior’s side. ‘You shouldn’t treat an honoured guest like a felon.’

‘Baldwin!’ he heard whispered, and felt the hilt of a dagger being pressed into his hand. Tedia trusted David as little as he did.

He took it, and squeezed her hand again, then shoved it into his belt as he stepped forward to Cryspyn.

The Prior was not waiting for him. ‘David, you must ready your boats instantly! There is a ship over there. William and this knight saw it as it set sail. It had been harbouring there, up at An-Voth, behind the rocks, and now it’s heading away.’

‘What of it?’ David said. ‘Let them go.’

Baldwin grated, ‘They were the pirates who attacked my ship.’

‘Then you go after them,’ David said loftily.

Baldwin was tempted to pull out his dagger, but even as he considered punching this arrogant reeve to the ground, he heard more shouting: war cries!

‘Blancminster! Blancminster!’

Simon felt the ship thud into the harbour piles and then the men began to leap over the side and race up to the vill.

They had circled around the northern edge of St Nicholas, out of sight of the Priory and the vill, and now the sailors and men-at-arms were in a state of excited tension as they poured from the vessel. Simon waited until most had already gone, then reached back, grabbed Hamo by the shoulder, and jumped over the side.

For some strange reason, Simon felt the tension leave him as he pelted off with the others. There was no shouting or singing, only the slap of bare feet or boots on the dusty track, the rattle and clatter of the weapons, and the hiss of men breathing through clenched teeth.

They ran on, Ranulph and Thomas towards the front, while Simon remained nearer the rear. Hamo was running lightly like a nervous sheepdog, constantly on the lookout for a fox or wolf, his feet scarcely seeming to touch the ground. In comparison Simon felt heavy and flat-footed. Seeing a bush, Simon all but hurled the lad at it. Hamo landed heavily, but as Simon watched, he squirmed and disappeared.

They passed by a great sweep of sandy beach, then on down, faster all the way, the blood up and rushing in their ears as they went, until at last they saw the cluster of men and women ahead of them.

Still on they rushed, silently, men pulling their lips back and baring their teeth. Simon could feel the concentration here: some wanted money, some wanted women, but most wanted revenge against the pirates who had plagued them. All the sailors had experienced their predations, and the men-at-arms were content to be able to join in a legal fight. They had no interest in the deeper issues at hand.

Walerand was one of the few who appeared less eager to be in at the start, Simon noticed. He was dropping back a little, glancing about him as he did so, as though he was looking for someone. And then he caught Simon’s eye and stopped falling back. Simon allowed him to draw nearer. They were at the rear of the whole host now. Suddenly Simon dropped to his knees, head hanging as though winded. As he looked up, he could see the shadow of Walerand standing over him.

‘So what were you doing last night, Bailiff? Letting your friends go free?’ Walerand hissed. ‘I think that’s worth a shilling or two.’

‘What?’ Simon gasped.

‘You give me your purse and I won’t tell Thomas that you released Sir Charles last night.’

Simon had time to wonder. The damned fool could have ruined everything and seen to Simon’s destruction, but like the adder he was, he wanted profit before he divulged anything. It made Simon shake his head as he collected a handful of sand. ‘Very well,’ he wheezed, and hurled the sand upwards.

There was no need for a sword. He reached out and yanked Walerand’s ankle away. The man fell clumsily, and Simon chopped him quickly across the windpipe, then while he choked, Simon bunched his fist and hit him as hard as he could behind the ear. Walerand started to snore, mouth gaping wide.

It was one thing to have to watch the man in front in a fight, but quite another to have to worry about your comrades on either side or behind you, Simon reflected as he tore off after the others.

Sir Charles delicately poked a foot at the water. He had his tunic lifted above his knees, and he stepped cautiously forward. Suddenly he yelped with alarm as he slipped into a hole. ‘What?’ he demanded, reddening.

‘Nothing, Sir Charles,’ Paul said, straight-faced.

‘You are fortunate that I have known you for so many years, my fellow,’ Sir Charles said before turning back to face the water. ‘This is extraordinary. We arrive here, thinking that we are on the correct island, only to discover that it is separated from the one we need, and all the people we expected are there , not here , and then my incomparable companion manages to forget to tie up the boat we need to reach the damn place.’

‘It wasn’t my fault. I thought you’d have done that,’ Paul objected.

‘Did I say that I would do so? I do not recall any such words passing my lips. No, I think it is usually the servant who is expected to tie up the boat. ’

‘There was nowhere to tie it to.’

‘Then you should have pulled the damned thing up the beach.’

‘I did.’

‘Not high enough, Paul.’

‘It’s the way the sea goes up and down. I thought it was up. Then it came up higher, didn’t it?’

‘Quite extraordinary,’ Sir Charles said.

At least he was feeling cheerful. The only problem was that the men from Ennor were going to attack the vill under the priory, and Sir Charles had not managed to get to the Prior in time to warn him. That was a matter for regret, but also for urgency. If they were quick, they might be able to get there before the main fight, and then Sir Charles desired to meet with Ranulph alone, to teach him that capturing Sir Charles and keeping him in irons was only to be attempted by someone who was going to execute Sir Charles quickly. Because otherwise he would return to haunt you, and make life very painful, if only for a short while.

‘Come on, Paul,’ he rasped. ‘We have to get there.’

‘God’s eyes! Look at that!’

Sir Charles looked up, saw the men racing over the sand to meet with the villagers and swore. He took an unwary step forward, felt his feet sliding away from him, and with a startled squeak, his eyes wide open, he heard the water slap up over his ears and the sudden burst of roaring as it reached inside them. Then the cold rushed in through his mouth and nose, and he knew what panic was.

Ranulph roared in rage and delight, hefting the sword which had been his for a decade, a long weapon with razor-sharp edges. A man was before him, and he ran straight at him, the point of the sword thrusting through his ribcage as though it was simply lard. There was no friction, nothing. The sword was as good as it had ever been. He slashed at another man, but missed, and then there was a serious-faced dark man with a narrow beard in front of him.

The fool had no sword, only a short dagger. Ranulph laughed and swung his sword up, ready to bring it down on the idiot’s skull, but the man had slipped forward, unfearing of the naked steel dripping blood, caught hold of Ranulph’s sword-wrist, and wrenched it backwards. Only when his face was near to Ranulph’s did he recognise the man as the same fellow who had been with William the day before, walking up towards Hamadus’ home.