The Outlaws of Ennor: (Knights Templar 16) (47 page)

‘The room stank of it.’

William shrugged. ‘It is a common failing with those who take up the cloth and live in remote places. He’d have had no visitors except occasional pilgrims and sometimes a member of the congregation, like Brosia or Tedia. The women liked to come, to flaunt themselves at him.’

‘There is no sign or smell of blood, anyway,’ Baldwin said. ‘Your church and outbuilding is not polluted with the man’s murder.’

‘That is a relief,’ William said, his eyes on the seas about them. His eyes held a great longing.

‘You didn’t mind the solitude?’

‘Not at all. There are views to compensate.’

‘Show me.’

Needing no second bidding, William led Baldwin up from the church along a narrow path, and up to perhaps the highest spot of the island. ‘Look about you!’

Baldwin gazed about him, and at last he could understand William’s attitude.

St Elidius was a small island, nothing like as large as Ennor or St Nicholas, but it had as much variety as both together. Northwards was a small separate island with a rounded, rock-girt outline called, William said,
An-Voth
, which meant ‘hump’ in the local language – a very suitable name. The channel from there to St Elidius was covered with water, but Baldwin was sure that he could see the ground beneath, and suspected that it would be accessible when the tide was lower. To the west of it stood the northernmost tip of the
island, a promontory which William told him was called imaginatively
Men-ar-Voth
, which meant ‘rock facing the hump’. Beyond this series of rocks the island spread out farther westwards, Baldwin could see, and there were some inlets, but all looked as rocky and dangerous as the north Cornish coast. It was only as he turned and studied the southern view that he saw that the bays grew more sandy and attractive.

‘I love it here,’ William said. He made a brief sign of the cross. ‘It’s so restful and quiet. I always felt that St Elidius was watching over me. He’s buried here under his own altar, as you know.’

‘It is most soothing.’

‘Not during a storm it’s not,’ William chuckled. ‘I can understand Luke wanting to leave here in the middle of a storm. That sort of weather isn’t easy on a man of weak spirit, and Luke was not a strong-willed man. All he ever wanted was a woman. The fool should have remained a peasant and raised hundreds of smaller Lukes with a woman who was happy to lie on her back for him when he demanded it.’

‘He was unfortunate, then?’

‘Look at this beauty! Not just the island, with the joy of welcoming pilgrims every year, but the delight of living amongst these seafarers. The people here do not welcome strangers open-heartedly, but if you work with them, you learn to appreciate their dedication to work, their strength. But Luke couldn’t do that: he just looked on them as peasants – a class of person he detested, I think because he had once been like them and was revolted to remember it.’

‘Whereas you … ?’

William suddenly guffawed. ‘Me? I’m an unrepentant old sinner who’s proud to say that I
was
a peasant,
am
a peasant, and will
die
a peasant! My family came from Cornwall, and if I hadn’t shown a skill at singing and learning my letters, I’d have gone to sea like my father and brothers. I suppose that’s why I like it here. It reminds me of my family.’ He was silent a moment, staring out over the gentle seas. ‘It is a good place, this. Harsh but kindly.’

Baldwin nodded. Glancing to the north again, he was about to speak when he saw a ship’s prow.

The
vessel had lain concealed in a bay low beneath them, resting in a natural harbour north of their island. Now that Baldwin saw the ship, he could see that there was a rock or pair of rocks that stood between An-Voth and St Elidius, lumps of black stone that stretched east-west for maybe five hundred feet. Now that the ship had appeared, Baldwin could see the rock as a slightly different colour, maybe a paler grey against the darkness of An-Voth. Before, he had thought that they were a part of An-Voth’s coastline, but now it was obvious that there was a natural cleft between the two.

‘What is that doing there?’ William cried in surprise. ‘I didn’t know there was a harbour up there!’

‘I think,’ Baldwin said, staring hard, ‘that there could be a clue here to the murder of Luke.’

‘What do you mean?’

She was emerging from her hiding-place now, a long, low, ship with her mast slowly rising as men scrambled about and hauled on ropes. Gradually the massive timber lifted upwards to the vertical, and Baldwin could all but feel the strain in their arms as the crew roared commands at each other.

At any other time he would have stood and watched, but not this time. The sleek raider was preparing for sea, and Baldwin knew what that meant. He could see the black-bearded face of the Breton master as the current caught her and swung her head around. The master was at the back, his arm in a makeshift sling, bellowing at the helmsman.

‘Come quickly, William!’

‘Why? What is it?’

Baldwin saw before his eyes the helmsman of the
Anne
collapsing, gouts of his blood splashing on the deck, the screaming sailor falling from the grapnel he had tried to cut away, the cowering figure of Hamo – and when he spoke he scarcely recognised his own voice, it was so thick with hatred.

‘That ship: it is the pirates who attacked us.’

Sir
Charles stood at the edge of the island and stared out in dismay. ‘Paul, he did
say
the north-western island, didn’t he?’

Paul nodded. They had arrived here with only one mishap when they had nearly rowed into a rock, but apart from that all was well. They had walked to the north of the castle, swinging around to the east of the marshes, and then northwards again until they reached the coast. By then the sun was already fairly high. When they had found a small beach, they searched but could find no boats. They had been forced to walk eastwards until they discovered this small rowing boat, and then they had set off for the nearest large island.

Their journey had been difficult. When they tried to row about the northern tip of the island, they found their way blocked by a substantial patch of sand just beneath the water. Nothing loath, they set off along the side of this bar, unknowingly following Baldwin’s steps to Bechiek.

Neither man was experienced at rowing. It was surprising to Sir Charles to find out how tiring it could be, merely pulling on a pair of oars, using brute force to haul the things along, and then trying not to make the sea fly on the return stroke. Quite extraordinary. Still worse was missing the sea when he leaned backwards. He did it three times, each time scraping the surface of the water and tumbling backwards into the front bit of the boat. Damn thing. The third time, Paul had sniggered so loudly that Sir Charles forced him to take a turn on the things.

‘God’s feet!’

‘No –
your
feet! Keep them on the floor and the oars in the water,’ Sir Charles said unsympathetically.

It had taken them an age to cover so short a distance. At least they
were now here, safe and well. They landed the boat, and set off to find the priory. There was no need to ask anyone, Sir Charles knew, because even a small priory was an obvious building. Surely they would soon come across the place. They walked around the eastern edge of the island, and then carried on up the northern shores, but there was no sign of it.

‘Damn it, do you think Simon was having fun with us?’ Sir Charles demanded. ‘We shall climb to a higher point and see if we can seen it from there.’

They did so, and found themselves on a long ridge. The island had a spine of higher land which ran almost east-west, and from this the land dropped away shallowly to the south, towards Ennor.

‘There is no sign of a priory,’ Paul noted glumly.

‘No! I shall look forward to having words with that Bailiff when next we meet.’

‘There looks to be a number of people over there, though,’ Paul noted, pointing.

‘I wonder what they are doing?’

Paul shrugged. While Sir Charles stood staring at the group of men and women gathering near the beach, he sat on a nearby rock and picked up a stone or two, throwing them at another larger pebble a short distance away. Picking up another few stones, he threw them harder. One bounced back, almost hitting his face, but he ducked aside quickly, and bent to pick it up from where it fell behind him. It was as he took hold of it that he saw the ship.

‘Christ’s ballocks!’

Isok went into the house with Mariota comfortingly holding his hand.

He knew what he was supposed to do, and he set his jaw as he entered. Inside was Brosia, sitting at a table with an amused look on her face. Mariota unrolled a palliasse and beckoned to him, and when he went to her, she gently removed his belt, then untied the laces which held up his hosen and slipped them down his legs. She stood and pulled his tunic from him, so that he was left with only his shirt on.

There
was nothing he could do but submit. Lying down, he closed his eyes, and tried to think of nothing. It didn’t help. If his wife couldn’t make his tarse work, he was sure these two women couldn’t. No matter how hard they tried.

Simon stood out of the way as the rest of the men piled aboard the ship. He was anxious, lest there should be the discovery of his plot the previous night, some form of accusation that he had been guilty of releasing Sir Charles, but no one seemed remotely interested in him. Hamo wandered onto the ship innocently enough, and soon concealed himself behind Simon, and then, while more men were gathering ready to join the ship, Simon reached behind him and patted Hamo’s shoulder.

So long as Sir Charles had reached the place, all was well. He should go straight to the priory and warn the Prior, and then all these men would achieve nothing. They would land, but find the island protected. Soon, after a negotiation, the men of Ennor would inevitably decide to leave, and when they did, Simon and Hamo would refuse, claiming sanctuary with the Prior and remaining on the island, safe.

As the deck began to move, the sail dropping and rippling in the wind with a dry clattering, he felt a nervous anticipation growing in him. With luck, he would soon be able to leave this fearsome group of men and return to normal life with the Abbot of Tavistock’s own brethren. That was his most fervent wish. Now all he had to hope was that the Prior was prepared to receive them all, including Hamo. The boy must find sanctuary there.

The sea was flat calm, and the ship set off to the west of the island, rounding the little hump of land that looked so much like a separate island connected to Ennor itself by accident. Then they were tacking slowly, almost against the wind, heading for the eastern edge of St Nicholas Isle and the harbour.

‘It’ll be all right,’ Simon muttered to Hamo, for he could feel the boy shaking from fear. ‘Don’t worry. Just wait until we’ve all jumped from the ship, then follow us a short way until you can hide. Then go to the Priory. It can’t be hard to find.’

Strange,
he mused, how the lad could appear so strong and self-reliant on occasions, so childlike on others. It must just be because he was so young, surely not yet eleven summers old. No wonder he was petrified at being in among so many violent men. The last ship he’d been on hadn’t given cause for confidence, after all.

Hamo’s terror made Simon want to turn and hug the lad, just as he would have comforted his own son, but today he daren’t. The master or Ranulph could realise that Hamo was there, and Simon had no desire to see that. Instead he stood stolidly, hoping that the lad was shielded by his body.

Thomas had already briefed them. There was to be a meeting of the vill’s men up on the north-eastern shore. Thomas and his band of men would run into the harbour, and then hurry to the meeting, attacking as soon as they could.

‘So, Bailiff! Are you looking forward to the chance of destroying the men who almost killed you and drove you into the storm that brought you here?’

It was Ranulph. He stood nearby, a broad smile on his face, both hands set in his belt, rolling with the sea like a sailor.

‘Yes. If I find the pirates, I should enjoy attacking them.’

‘You speak so carefully, Bailiff. Yet I believe you are a fighter. You are like so many of my men here. You enjoy fighting. Even my last gather-reeve liked a scrap. That was why he was here. Thomas carefully sought him out, of course. A man with a reputation as a killer is less likely to be killed.’

‘His reputation was striking.’

‘He murdered a man in cold blood. Thomas told people of his crime to protect him –
and
he told how Robert enjoyed killing. That was the main thing, you see. He actually
enjoyed
inflicting pain on people. It was why he was so safe as a collector.’

‘It didn’t work very well then, did it? He was murdered.’

‘He lasted a while. His mistake, as it is for so many, was to trust a woman. The bitch probably sold him to her friends.’

‘Why? Would he have been carrying money on him?’

‘No! But scum like them think that killing one rent collector will stop any others going after them. They don’t understand men like
you and me, Bailiff. They think that there is no law other than what they want to obey. They don’t agree to pay the King’s due, they don’t accept the laws of ownership, and they certainly don’t hesitate to commit murder. These folks are pirates, nothing more. And the women are as bad as the men! They will kill half-drowned sailors just to steal a ring. Don’t show them any mercy.’