Michael Jecks - The Outlaws of Ennor

‘Who are you?’ Ranulph gasped.

‘I am Sir Baldwin de Furnshill, and you are a knave to attack an innocent vill.’

‘Let me free, sir, and we’ll see who’s a damned knave!’ Ranulph spat, and punched at Baldwin’s face with his free hand.

Baldwin felt the first blow slam painfully into his cheek. He lowered his head to make Ranulph’s aim more difficult, gripping Ranulph’s wrist with both hands, but Ranulph’s strength was astonishing, or perhaps it was Baldwin’s weakness after the journey here. Whichever led to it, Baldwin found that he couldn’t force the wrist down any further. Instead he had to cling on tightly as the thick, callused fist battered at him. And then, when it stopped, Baldwin knew that there was a reason. He glanced quickly, just in time to see the small dagger aimed at his heart, and kicked out with all his strength.

The two men were unbalanced, and Baldwin’s sudden movement forced Ranulph to go over backwards. He had to drop the dagger to try to break his fall, and then he received Baldwin’s full weight in his stomach. Before he could even think about recovering his breath, he felt the prick of a dagger under his chin.

‘Tell your men to stop. Right now. Order them!’

‘They won’t hear me!’ Ranulph snarled.

Baldwin pushed the little blade upwards. ‘Well, you had better try sodding hard, then, had you not?’ and watched the trickle of blood run down the slick metal. He set his jaw.

Ranulph gave a grunt — a nod would have been dangerous — and Baldwin slowly withdrew the blade. Instantly, Ranulph grabbed his second dagger and shoved Baldwin away, readying his arm to stab. Baldwin felt himself overbalance, and then he was on his back, Ranulph’s hand at his throat, the dagger reversed in his fist. Ranulph lifted his hand to thrust it into Baldwin’s chest, and roared, ‘No one tells me to stop, you churl!’

In the moment before the blade sank into his breast, Baldwin felt that sense of having witnessed this scene before. He knew this had already happened, and suddenly he was there on the ship again, reeling and falling as the Anne shifted, leaving him stunned while the pirate-master prepared to swing his axe. But Ranulph and he were on dry land. There was no plunging deck to save him now. He saw the determination in Ranulph’s eyes and saw his own death mirrored. There was nothing he could do.

Oh God, I love my wife , was his last thought, and then as he was about to close his eyes, there was a flash of blue, and he winced even as Ranulph’s eyes suddenly popped wide in alarm. There was that hoarse bellow which he had missed so much over the last few days.

‘You misbegotten bastard offspring of a wolf and a drunken priest’s whore! Drop your fucking weapon before I take your head off!’

‘Simon,’ Baldwin said, looking up with a wash of exhaustion trickling through his bones as the dagger fell from Ranulph’s hand. ‘There are times when it is a positive delight to see you. However, that is never more the case than when you turn up in the middle of a fight like this. Even if,’ he added with mock sternness, ‘you have the infernal nerve to pinch my own sword in order to save me.’

His expression was curious, slightly weak as though he was exhausted, but Simon could hardly see, because his own eyes were suddenly fogged, and his voice was not to be trusted. It was all he could do to sniff, wipe a hand over his brow, and nod. Then, as Ranulph made a move to reach for a dagger, Simon stood on it and then pulled his sword’s blade higher, one hand on the hilt, the other on the blade, pulling Ranulph’s head up against his own belly and forcing the blade into his throat. ‘Don’t think of it; don’t tempt me!’

He looked about at the mess. There were many men struggling on the ground, but fortunately the battle had been quite equally matched. Although Ranulph’s men had intended to grab a number of men by surprise, the place appeared to have been almost ready. There were plenty of men already armed, and few, fortunately, were lying still on the ground. ‘Enough! Stop this fighting,’ he roared at the top of his voice. ‘Ranulph de Blancminster has surrendered.’

More quietly, he said, ‘Get up, and order your men to stop. Otherwise, in God’s name, I swear I’ll cut your throat like a rabid dog’s.’

Blancminster staggered to his feet, both hands on the blade. He felt that he could have tried a number of ruses: perhaps a kick to Simon’s shin, or an elbow to the gut … but there was something in the man’s voice that didn’t invite gambling. Ranulph bit back a curse and commanded his men to yield, all the while swearing to himself that he would have revenge upon this upstart Bailiff. ‘You were my guest, yet you behave like this!’

‘I was your prisoner, ordered to obey your whim while you threatened my companions with death to suit your caprice. If I hadn’t stopped you, you would have killed my friend here, too.’

Baldwin stood, swallowing and feeling his neck. The men about them were beginning to draw apart, watching each other warily. Sailors and men-at-arms gripping their swords and axes on one side, while the villagers from St Nicholas fingered their own long daggers and knives on the other. Seeing William and Cryspyn standing wringing their hands, Baldwin waved to them, inviting them to join him and Simon. He had the feeling that it would take only a small spark to set off the men here again, and he had no desire to see the pleasant area erupt in an open battle once more. Perhaps having a Prior and a priest in the midst of the warring factions would prevent the sides coming together in violence again. After all, the real enemies were out there, on the sea. The pirates were probably escaping even as the castle’s men glowered at the fishermen of St Nicholas.

When he saw David lurking at the back of the group of St Nicholas men, he beckoned him with a bent finger. It was not in him to forget David’s inaction when the crowd sought Baldwin’s death, but he could wait a while before he sought to discuss his feelings, preferably using a sword to emphasise each of his verbal points with another less gentle one.

Simon had released Ranulph, but retrieved the Lord’s own sword, which he now gripped. When Baldwin glanced at him, Simon held out his own sword to him, hilt first, and Baldwin took it back with a smile. Just to hold it felt wonderful. He raised it to the sky, and it caught the sun, gleaming with an oily sheen.

‘Listen to me!’ he called, loudly enough for all the assembled men to hear. ‘This day, a ship of pirates was seen leaving the northern parts of these islands. They set off eastwards, and I doubt whether they can be caught now. They were Breton pirates. They had attacked the Anne and the Faucon Dieu. They killed our men and tried to steal our goods. Yet you here prefer to accuse each other of crimes, and try to attack each other. Ranulph de Blancminster, you are a felon for attacking Church lands and Church villeins. You have broken the law, and you will pay for your crimes. You and your men must go back to Ennor. I have no doubt that the good Bishop Walter in Exeter will make his own feelings plain.’

‘God rot his bowels!’ Ranulph declared. ‘He can make all the feelings he likes plain to me, but I-’

Simon still had Ranulph’s sword. He used it now to prod the man. ‘I should hold my tongue if I were you, Bishop Walter is the King’s friend. He is the Lord High Treasurer.’ It gave him a deal of pleasure to see how Ranulph’s eyes narrowed, first in suspicion, then in horror as Simon added, ‘And he is a personal friend of Sir Baldwin’s.’

Baldwin was talking to the Prior. ‘We should attempt to follow that ship. Is there a vessel which is swift enough to overtake her?’