Michael Jecks - The Outlaws of Ennor

Baldwin nodded. ‘Why should I believe you? Everyone appears to have had an opportunity to have killed Robert, but you definitely had the most pressing urges.’

‘You think so? Do you really think that a man who has forsaken God could deserve the same loyalty as a member of a community like this? Sir Baldwin, these islands are unique! They are home to a race of honourable, decent people who are fleeced by those devils at Ennor. They deserve their protection. A man like my brother? I fear not.’ He looked up with a sudden grin. ‘I suppose you now think I’m guilty because I wanted to protect the folk here from the depredations of a greedy gather-reeve!’

‘No, but perhaps David did,’ Baldwin said.

‘I doubt it. He hated Robert as the symbol of Ennor’s power, but he knew well enough that if he cut off the head of that gather-reeve, there would soon be another. Besides, I never saw him on Ennor that day. Who said they did?’

‘No one. Mariota said it was another, but he denies it.’

William looked away. ‘I cannot help you more.’

‘Did you see the killer?’ Baldwin said.

William burst out, ‘What good will it do if you find the man? What good will it do anyone? Can you bring either of them back to life? No. Can you heal the damage which they have done here? No. So leave matters as they stand. Why not let people believe it was the pirates who killed them? That would be believable, wouldn’t it? Let the people blame them. ’

‘I cannot do that. Whoever …’ Baldwin began, but then he heard the great bell tolling mournfully and realised his error.

When they all arrived in the Prior’s hall, the doorway was filled with anxious, silent monks, all of whom stared inside at the grim sight. The room was still warm from their meal, and the body hanging by the neck was vertical, with only a slight tilt to the head, as though the Prior had stood on the chair to set something on the beam, and was welcoming them from that curious position. He had a slight smile on his face, although the eyes bulged and the flesh was suffused with blood. The smell of death was cloying.

Pushing past the monks, the three entered. He had used his own rope belt, Baldwin saw. Cryspyn had looped it over the beam, thrust his head through it, and used a stick to twist it tight, garrotte-style. Baldwin had seen many corpses which had been hanged, but only a few had remained standing on a chair like this. Most kicked the chair away, hoping for a swift, assured death. Cryspyn cared little for that. He had stood on the chair to reach the beam, and killed himself while he stood there, his legs giving way as the life left his body and, so Baldwin hoped, making the death more swift.

‘I should have trusted to my own intuition. I believed Mariota when she told me,’ he said. ‘I could have saved him this.’

‘He was an honourable man,’ William said softly, and Baldwin saw that there were tears in his eyes. ‘He was always good to me. I think he knew how hard it was to live with guilt. He had been guilty of a crime himself.’

‘Yes. He told me.’

‘And that guilt ate at him. There was not a single day he didn’t suffer.’

‘Simon, is there a note on his table?’ Baldwin asked. He knew his friend preferred to avoid intimate encounters with death. While Simon went and scanned the desktop, Baldwin pulled up a stool and stood on it, trying to untie the rope while William supported the body from below. The rope was too tightly bound, held with Cryspyn’s full weight, so Baldwin took out his knife and cut Cryspyn’s body down. William took the full weight of the sagging figure, and two monks hurried forward to help him lower their dead master to the floor.

‘Nothing here,’ Simon called. ‘Strange, I would have hoped he would have left us some clue as to why he did this.’

‘So would I,’ Baldwin said. ‘But sometimes a man’s heart is too full and bitter. He must have guessed that we’d return to charge him with the murders, and he wished to have nothing to do with the shame that would bring to him and his priory.’

‘Perhaps,’ William said. ‘Yet I would have hoped he would have tried to explain. It will make his death more — incomprehensible — and that will lead to rumours and foolish speculation.’

Simon had rejoined them. ‘I would have expected a note. Perhaps he was in too much of a hurry.’

‘He had little time,’ a monk offered. Baldwin recognised the man as the new gatekeeper.

Simon had lifted the rope and was staring at it with a strange expression. ‘Baldwin, look at this.’

Baldwin took the rope and studied it. ‘What of it?’

‘The knots are so precise. Was Cryspyn ever a sailor?’

William said, ‘No,’ as the gatekeeper continued: ‘Yes, he had little time after David left him.’

‘When was David here?’ Baldwin demanded.

‘He came just before you,’ the gatekeeper stammered, shocked by Baldwin’s sudden ferocity. ‘He was there until after you ran out to find William here.’

Simon and Baldwin exchanged a horrified look.

‘He was there in the hall when we spoke,’ Simon said. ‘He heard you accuse …’

‘And decided that the best course for his own defence was the death by suicide of the Prior,’ Baldwin finished for him. ‘The man’s a devil!’

Brosia was at her cottage shaking out her bedding when they arrived. She cocked an eye at them, hastily bundling it up and thrusting it in through her doorway. ‘Good day! Can I offer you-’

‘Where is your husband?’ Baldwin rasped. He glanced inside the cottage, and he saw Mariota. ‘I hope you are proud, woman! You have cost another good man his life!’

‘No. Not me. I have merely protected the man I had to,’ she said. ‘I am an islander, and I’ll always protect an island man over any other.’

‘He heard your words and instantly murdered the Prior! I said, where is your husband, Brosia!’

‘He is down at the boats, I suppose … why?’

‘Ask her!’ Baldwin spat, pointing at Mariota.

His anger at Mariota’s deceit was already fading as they hurried along the grassed track to the beach. He shouldn’t blame her: she was a hardy islander. This was her way of life, the way of life of all the people here. They were weak against the powers of Ennor, the priory, and most of all the weather. All they had was each other. Mariota was protecting her tribe. Tedia would have done the same.

There was a lurch in his heart at the thought of her, but it was lessened. Now the memory of her was already fading. More in his mind was Jeanne, her smile, her calmness, her warmth. ‘My God but I miss her!’ he breathed.

William led the way to the shore. There, up on a hillock of grassy sand the three gazed out over the flat expanse. There was no sign of David, and when Baldwin stared out to sea, there was nothing. Not a single sail showed itself on the flat calm water.

Up to the north of the beach there was a group of men working on a boat. ‘Come,’ Baldwin muttered, and they pounded along at the edge of the sea where the sand was firmer. Soon they were with the men. ‘Where is David?’ he called.

‘He’s just gone to sea. Should be back at nightfall,’ one of the men replied without looking up from his work.

‘Gone!’ Baldwin breathed.

‘Perhaps he will return,’ Simon suggested.

‘No,’ William said. ‘I think he has decided to imitate Tedia’s man. He has made his choice. He knows what would happen to him here, if he were discovered. No one would want to suffer the penalties given to a felon. He has gone.’

‘He has escaped,’ Baldwin agreed bitterly.

‘Perhaps he has, for now,’ William said, ‘but there is a higher justice, and he can’t evade that.’