The man studied Simon for a moment in silence, then stared out towards the ship. ‘If there was a chance, the men here would rise up and throw Blancminster into the sea. He’s a thief. Everything we make or farm, he takes. He leaves us little enough. Look at me! Even during the famine, I grew enough to feed my family. Blancminster took all my produce, and my family starved. My children died, my wife killed herself in grief … Who wouldn’t want to rid the islands of him? He sucks our blood! The two worst men were Thomas and his gather-reeve, that devil Robert. They don’t care for us any more than they care about ants. That’s all we are to them – creatures to be used and then destroyed when the whim takes them.’
Simon sighed. ‘I see. What can you tell me about the men who live on St Nicholas?’
‘A small group. They are hardy men there, and dispute Blancminster’s right to command them, yet he still tries to tax them. Anything they want to buy from Ennor, they pay him customs; anything they import which passes through Ennor, they pay for. He daren’t impose all the taxes he forces on us, because he would get a bloody nose, so he is cautious. He looks to have bits and pieces from them, while he milks us, who cannot defend ourselves.’
‘Why so careful about the men on St Nicholas?’
Oderic shrugged. ‘They are the Prior’s men. For now, Blancminster and his murderous Sergeant, that evil, rapacious whelp Thomas, take what they want from us here on Ennor, but soon their greed will take them up to St Nicholas too.’
‘When they do, they will have to answer to the Abbot of Tavistock,’ Simon said firmly, appalled that someone might dare infringe the liberty of the Abbey.
‘And who’s going to report them to the Abbot?’ Oderic asked. ‘Someone like me? I’d be killed as soon as I thought of it. In any case, if there was a fight, it would be over months before anyone could come here to sort out the matter.’
‘I could report him myself,’ Simon said.
‘You, eh? And what makes you think that your hide can withstand Thomas’s knife or an arrow?’
‘Would you have killed Robert? You sound bitter enough.’
‘Did I want to? Yes. Would I have dared? No. I’m not scared of Blancminster, but what purpose would it serve me to kill one rent-collector? They’d just get a new one. They will! And what then? I’ve risked my life all for nothing. There’s another man in place, demanding the same money from me. All I’ve done is promote a new bloodsucker.’
‘Then you won’t mind telling me where you were on the day of the storm and afterwards?’
‘Not much. Before the storm I was with my old friend Hamadus, but when the storm hit us, I went to my fields to make sure that my property was safe while he said he was going to the church. I stayed there until the storm was done.’
‘I suppose no one was with you there?’ Simon asked hopefully.
‘In a storm?’ Oderic asked pointedly. ‘I am sorry, Bailiff. I’d like to help, but sometimes life isn’t so clean and easy. If you need to confirm where I was, you’ll have your work cut out.’
‘All I want to do is make sure you aren’t pestered in the future,’ Simon protested.
‘Good. That makes two of us.’
Simon grinned at that. Then he turned and frowned at the sight of St Nicholas.
Oderic saw the direction of his gaze, and cleared his throat. From his many years of dealing with reluctant miners on Dartmoor, Simon knew when to stay silent. He knew all too well that a countryman when pressed would close his mouth with as much determination and stubbornness as a mule. Better by far to let the fellow have his moment of choice and hope that his choice was helpful. It was.
‘Sir, I don’t know … I dislike to say that there was someone … It could mean him suffering, after all, and I don’t …’
Simon continued to say nothing, but turned upon Oderic a face so bland and apparently unconcerned that Oderic felt an urge to blurt out his story. ‘I saw two men while in my field, you see – one was David, the reeve from the vill on St Nicholas, and the other was Thomas himself, the Sergeant at the castle. They were both out here on the evening of the storm. I saw them.’
‘I see. I thank you.’
Simon left him soon afterwards, and walked back to the track sunk deep in thought. He could hear the barking of the dogs as he reached Walerand, but he said nothing, merely trudged off up the roadway towards the beach.
She had suddenly burst into tears, and as Tedia wrapped her arms about herself and sank to her knees in the sand, Baldwin was left feeling incompetent and confused. He had no idea what had led to her breakdown, unless it was something to do with this man who had been found dead.
David said hastily, ‘Tedia? I’m sorry, maid. I didn’t think.’
Baldwin threw him a baffled look. ‘Tedia, what is the matter?’ He stepped closer, and then he could see the tears streaming down her cheeks. ‘Tell me what is wrong.’
She couldn’t speak for a while. The shock of hearing that Robert had been murdered had knocked all the stuffing out of her. She took hold of Baldwin’s tunic, and began weeping furiously.
‘It was him!’ she sobbed. ‘He killed Robert to keep me from him! It’s my fault that Robert is dead. How could he! I didn’t want to upset him, but what else could I do? I couldn’t help loving Robert! Oh, it’s all my fault! I couldn’t love Isok any more!’
There was a great deal more, but Baldwin was unable to hear her pitiful protestations. He stood stock still, a hand on her head, stroking her hair gently until her worst sobs began to subside, and then he spoke softly. ‘Come, Tedia. Don’t blame yourself. If you did not order a death, if you did not commit the killing, then it is nothing to do with you. Someone else is responsible.’
‘That’s the point!’ she spat, leaning back within the compass of his arms and staring at him with anger. ‘I did it – unintentionally, but I did it! He killed Robert to keep me! He couldn’t face losing me!’
Baldwin felt the familiar stirrings of excitement. This woman was beautiful even in her distress, and her warm body was a sore distraction after so many weeks from his wife. He tried to put thoughts of her attractions from him and concentrate. ‘Perhaps he did not. It is possible that you are wrong.’
‘You are wrong, Tedia!’ David said forcefully. ‘Isok would never kill like this.’
Tedia ignored him. ‘It was Isok. I should have guessed. He was going to be out when the storm hit the islands, and then suddenly he was back here. He must have found Robert and murdered him so that I couldn’t meet my lover. My God! What have I done!’
‘You have done nothing!’ Baldwin said gently. ‘In any case, Tedia, you have no proof to suggest that your husband did this.’
‘He was out and—’
‘What actually happened?’ Sir Baldwin asked softly, but David intervened.
‘Tedia! You don’t have to prove Isok’s guilt – not to a stranger!’
She sniffed a little, and then pulled away from Baldwin, holding his eyes with grim determination, as though daring him to judge her behaviour. ‘I was to go and meet Robert. I had already met him before, and we had spoken, but we had never lain together. That night, we were going to. He had arranged to meet me at my home, and we were going to spend the night together. I agreed because I was so lonely. My husband was to be away, so I felt us to be safe.’ She turned and stared at David as though daring him to comment. He dropped his gaze; if she was determined to put the responsibility on Isok, there was little he could do to stop her.
‘You waited for him at your house?’ Baldwin asked.
‘No. I knew where he would arrive at the island, and I was so excited, I had to go to the shore to see him as he came.’
Baldwin could imagine her there, standing at the shoreline, staring out towards the island of Ennor, her heart fluttering with hope and desire, thinking that at any moment she would catch a sight of her lover rowing towards her.
‘But he didn’t come,’ she said brokenly. ‘I was there until late afternoon, and by then the storm w
as brewing. I thought he must have seen it coming and thought better of making the crossing. As it was, I thought it was fortunate, because I was back at the house only a short while, when my husband arrived home again. He had seen the weather and decided to remain in port.’
‘He stayed with you that night?’
‘No,’ she said more quietly, ashamed of how she had behaved. ‘He saw me, we argued, and then he left. He slept that night at Mariota’s – my aunt’s. But I fear that he came to know of my intention to meet Robert, and he went to Ennor and murdered him there, before I could even … could even …’
As she burst into wracking sobs, Baldwin stared out over her head towards Ennor. It looked calm and quiet in the early afternoon light and he found it hard to imagine that there could have been a murder there so recently. ‘Perhaps it was someone else,’ he suggested. ‘How could your man have learned about this Robert?’
‘There are people who would have told him,’ she said coldly, facing David.
‘I told him nothing,’ David said.
‘What of your wife, though? She knew, didn’t she?’
David shrugged. ‘Brosia may have known, but that means nothing. Others may have known too. You didn’t hide your desperation or your lust, did you?’
Tedia’s tears were stilled, and she stood, dusting her skirts with both hands. When she looked up again, Baldwin was chilled to see how composed she was. There was a core of steel in her soul, he thought.
‘Brosia would have told him if she’d known,’ she asserted. ‘She always wanted to compete with other women for men’s attention. Perhaps she told Isok just to shame me. It is just the sort of thing she’d do.’
David flushed with anger. ‘You should watch your tongue! My wife is a good woman. She’d not lower herself to that level.’
‘You think so?’ Tedia spat. ‘She lies in the gutter with the other rats!’
David stepped forward and his hand rose to slap her face, but before he could do so, Baldwin was between them. With ease, David removed his hand from Baldwin’s grip. ‘Don’t pick fights until you’re back to your full strength, Sir Baldwin,’ he said, but calmer again now. ‘Tedia: watch what you say. Next time I may not be so lenient. I won’t stand here to listen to my wife being insulted.’
‘Wait, Reeve,’ Baldwin said as David made to walk away.
‘What?’
‘Where were you on the night that this man died?’
‘The night of the storm? I was with my boat, making sure that it was secure.’
‘Did you see anyone else?’
‘You doubt my word? I had no reason to kill that son of a whore.’
‘Perhaps so, but if you saw another man, that man might himself be the murderer.’
‘I only saw the priest: Luke from St Elidius. If you want to question someone, question him,’ David said, and marched away.
With a sudden clarity, Tedia saw Luke’s face again, that day when they had spoken about seeking another lover. His eyes had been so kind and understanding, but then, when she had said that she knew a man who could service her, his expression had frozen, like ice settling in a pond. ‘The Brother!’ she gasped.
‘Which brother?’
‘Luke, the man at St Elidius. I spoke to him, and he said to me that I should find another man, but now – I think he was jealous. He wanted me for himself!’
Baldwin gave an understanding grunt. It was easy to see how a man could become infatuated with this woman, he told himself.
‘It could have been Luke … but what if it was Isok? What can I do? I can’t live with a man whom I suspect of killing my love!’ she exclaimed, and slumped in despair, her hands covering her face. Turning, she threw herself back into Baldwin’s embrace, and he found his hands reaching out to go about her body, then hesitated. Somehow he was sure that if he were to cradle this woman again, he might not be able to save himself from lusting after her. He paused, arms near her, but not touching. A delicious scent rose to his nostrils, the fresh, sweet smell of a young woman.
She snuggled herself into the crook of his shoulder, and Baldwin could feel his heart thundering like a smith’s hammer. ‘If you want to know who killed Robert, leave it to me,’ he said, and put both arms about her, pulling her into a tight embrace, staring challengingly at David.
Chapter Fourteen
Simon reached the sandy bar where the body had been found, and studied the place with interest.
Without the jury there, it appeared a still more deserted part of the island. It was a broad sweep of beach, with a low huddle of grassy dunes behind. When Simon went to the water’s edge, he saw that it was clear through to the shallows; shoals of tiny fish were darting backwards and forwards amongst the small stones and shells.
For all that he was here to catch a killer, he was aware of a fair-day attitude of mind. He indeed felt as though this was a day of rest away from the toils of his work. The islands were beautiful, the weather was warm, the wind a gentle breeze, and he felt entirely comfortable and happy. Still …
‘Show me where you found the body,’ he said reluctantly to Walerand.
‘You were here for the inquest.’
Simon ignored his sulky tone. ‘Yes, I was, wasn’t I?’ he agreed amiably. ‘The body had already been moved from where you found it, hadn’t it?’
Walerand gave him a long, hard stare, suspecting that Simon was making fun of him. ‘He was here.’
Simon, who cared little what Walerand thought, went to join him. There was a soft dip in the ground, a concave section of sand with thick grasses growing all about it. A man could have been hidden here for days, he noticed. He said sharply, ‘It would have been hard for a man to know where to look.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘The body would have been hidden in the grasses.’
‘It wasn’t so hard. I saw his boots.’
‘Ah yes. His boots. He had taken them off, and his hosen as well.’
‘What of it?’
‘Nothing. It is interesting to note, though.’
‘If you say so.’
‘I do. It is interesting that the sea has washed up here since the storm too.’
‘I couldn’t command the sea to stay away,’ Walerand sneered.
‘How did he lie?’ Simon said impatiently. He was swiftly growing bored with Walerand’s whining voice as he scanned the rest of the dunes, walking slowly and cautiously.
‘He was on his back, facing the sea.’
‘His wound?’
‘You heard the Coroner: one stab in his breast. Could have been the sword I found. That one,’ he added, pointing.
Simon ignored the comment. He was still searching, and then he found something. A mark or two, indentations in the sand at the bottom of a dune. They were spattered with tiny craters, so the rain had come afterwards, but from looking at them, Simon wondered whether they might have been made by a person kneeling in the sand. Hard to tell, he decided.
Returning to where the body had lain, he noticed a pitted area of sand. It was marked with lines, and there was a darker central area – again, all pitted from the rain. Simon pursed his lips, but then he scooped out the sand and peered at it. There were some darker stains where the grains were flocculated, and he gently broke some apart, sniffing at them. It was impossible to be certain, but he felt sure that these lumps were congealed blood. This could have been the place where the murderer cleaned his knife, he thought.
Searching on, he found nothing, so he stopped and stood with his arms akimbo, gazing about him. Baldwin had many times said that a man could learn much from a body or a murder scene, but here there was nothing, merely an empty stretch of land between this island and the others.
He noticed that the islands here seemed to encircle a patch of sea, as though set out originally ringing a large pool. A man might come here to watch the other islands. Perhaps he would sit and gaze at them. But why? Purely because he liked the view? It was possible. Many men would so adore a particu
lar piece of land that they would go and stare at it. Women would be more likely to create their own space. Margaret, Simon’s wife, had caused the small plot behind their house at Lydford to be converted into a large, open-air hall, and in clement weather, when they had guests, she was pleased to walk with them through this patch of cultivation. It made Simon smile to see how proud she was of it.
Men were less enthusiastic about man-made spaces, Simon felt sure. He himself was most happy in Dartmoor, because he knew that land intimately and he was most at ease in that great waste.
‘This Robert: was he keen on this place, do you know?’
Walerand stared at him. ‘Keen? It’s only a beach.’
He saw Simon’s quick look of disgust, and felt close to clenching his fist and hitting the fool. This Bailiff was no better than some pimp. He wandered about the place so carefully in case he got his tunic dirty, the pus-filled windbag. Ooh! Mustn’t get my boots mucky; mustn’t have any sand on my tunic; mustn’t slip into that water … It made Walerand feel sick just to watch.
‘Which island is nearest?’
Walerand looked at him, then out to sea. ‘The nearest is St Nicholas, I reckon.’
‘I hear he had a woman out there.’
Walerand felt a sneaking respect for him. ‘Where’d you hear that?’
‘It doesn’t matter. Is it true?’
‘Might be.’
‘Because if it is true, this could all be a jealous boyfriend or angry father or vengeful brother.’ As he scuffed the sand, Simon walked about the dip in the ground, then wandered back to the dunes. ‘You didn’t carry the body back this way?’
‘In Christ’s name, no! What would be the point of that, when there’s a perfectly good roadway just over there? That’s why we came that way!’
‘Correct. And no one else has been over these dunes since the storm?’
‘Why should they?’
Simon grunted. He walked over eastwards, staring still at the ground. ‘And no one seems to have walked over this way, either. What of the sword? Where was it?’ And where was Robert’s own, he added to himself thoughtfully.
The Outlaws of Ennor: (Knights Templar 16) Page 18
