The Outlaws of Ennor: (Knights Templar 16)

by Michael Jecks

  Thinking furiously, Simon recalled Sir Charles’s request for weapons. That was one option, of course, but better if Sir Charles and his man could simply be whisked away from here and removed to a place of safety. But the mainland was a long way distant.

  First things first: Sir Charles needed a weapon. Suddenly Simon recalled that Robert’s sword had not been found.

  ‘Hamo, there are some things I think we need to try to do,’ he said meditatively. ‘First, can you find your way to the kitchens?’

  Baldwin walked farther up the beach. He had left William and Isok near the place where the body had been found, because he felt in need of solitude. Something about this place was soothing to his nerves, but the company of Isok and William was disturbing.

  Isok had reason to hate Luke, he knew; he also had good reason to detest Robert. Both men had either attempted or were about to assault Isok’s wife. Baldwin was only hopeful that Isok never learned that he himself had already tasted the sweet pleasures of Isok’s wife.

  Looking back at the pair of men at the shore, Baldwin felt a renewed pang of regret. He should never have taken Tedia. Her desperate desire was no excuse. Chivalric love stories occasionally permitted a love to be consummated, but generally such pleasures led to disaster – in the tales, the lover and the object of his desire were destroyed by their love. Such were the stories of all great lovers, even Guinevere and Launcelot.

  That thought made him look about him with a frown of concentration. This place was called Great Arthur – did that mean it was named for the fabled King? If so, it was a curious choice. This island was certainly no Camelot.

  The story of Arthur, his one love, Guinevere, and the King’s betrayal by his most loyal servant, Launcelot, was one which was known to most knights, but here Baldwin felt that it had an especial significance. The place was imbued with a curious spirit. He would ask his two companions whether there were any tales associated with it.

  Sitting on a large stone at the southern point of the stretch of land, which rose after the beach, Baldwin found himself considering the man Luke. Certainly he had been a liability as a priest, and he was probably the worst womaniser Baldwin had ever met, other than that terrible Irishman John, whom he had known in Crediton. Luke would ignore any obstacle in his single-minded assault on a woman. He would not worry about husbands, certainly, since Baldwin knew that he had once succeeded in wooing a bride of Christ. He had the nerve to try to steal Isok’s woman from him, probably because Luke felt safe enough, protected by his cloth.

  With most men, he would have been safe, too, but in a place like this, an island far from the King’s justice – or the Bishop’s – he would have learned a hard lesson. And that he had, apparently.

  Guinevere had betrayed her husband, just as Tedia had betrayed Isok; Guinevere with Launcelot, Tedia with Baldwin.

  And yet earlier she had tried to betray Isok with Robert. Robert, whom she loved already, so that when Luke tried to foist his own affections on her, she read his offer as a licence to sleep with Robert. Whichever way Baldwin looked at it, in this situation the most likely candidate for murderer was Isok. The peasant had learned of Robert’s desire for Tedia from David; he had heard of, or probably saw, Luke’s infatuation with his wife at the chapel each time they went to it. Luke was never one to hide his desires, from what Baldwin recalled.

  Slowly, feeling every year of his age, Baldwin walked back to the beach. ‘Let us return,’ he said.

  ‘It was a waste of time coming here, then,’ Isok muttered. ‘There was nothing to learn, just as I thought.’

  ‘Perhaps not,’ Baldwin said. ‘Isok, tell me, what did you do the night of the storm?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  His broad back was as undemonstrative as his face, but Baldwin persevered as they trudged back to the boat. ‘You went to your wife, but when you spoke to her, you argued and you left her there, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes. She insulted me.’

  ‘How so?’

  Isok turned and glared at him. ‘Because she taunted me on my inability …’ His voice seemed to choke him. Ashamed of his outburst, ashamed of his incapacity, he reddened and had to look away, staring instead at the waters which rolled softly to the shore.

  ‘Isok, I am sorry if I seem insensitive, but consider: you are the obvious, clear, bitter enemy of the two who are dead.’

  ‘Me? Why?’

  Baldwin smiled apologetically. ‘I have heard of Robert’s desire for Tedia, and that Luke was instrumental in your wife’s attempt to win a divorce. Such things must drive a man mad. Is that what happened the night of the storm? You were prepared to go to Ennor and murder the gather-reeve and then you went to see Luke and murdered him too, putting him into a boat and hoping that he would float away for ever. You had two hated enemies, and you saw to them both in a day. Is that what happened?’

  Isok frowned angrily. ‘I have had to endure the jibes of all my family and friends, with their humorous little comments, ever since my marriage and knowledge of my … my failing. Now you come to me and ask whether I killed someone? Is it not a miracle I killed no one before? Why should I suddenly choose to kill a man now? If I was so bitter, I would have lashed out at a man long before now.’

  ‘Perhaps something occurred which made you lose your mind in rage at the time,’ Baldwin said.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then where were you during that night? Tedia said you were not with her.’

  ‘I went and slept in a friend’s house. Tedia’s Aunt Mariota looked after me, and stopped me from going out. She told me to remain in her home, and then she went to discuss the thing with Tedia. She wouldn’t want a niece of hers to become a divorced woman, she said. It was dishonourable.’

  ‘So she left you, went to speak to Tedia, and when she returned … what?’

  ‘She stayed there. Next morning Tedia came, but said she wouldn’t see reason. That was all. I would have to go through with the shameful tests.’

  They had reached the boat, and Isok glowered at Baldwin as the knight and the priest climbed in. Isok walked to the anchor and picked it up, then placed it carefully in the boat before shoving it until it was off the sand and rocking gently. Then he climbed inside, dripping, and pushed away from the shore with an oar. While he prodded the sand, using the oar like a punt’s pole, he spoke. ‘Tedia was a wonderful wife to me. You should have seen her on the day we wed. She was tall, slim … perfect. We loved each other completely.’

  He stopped. The oar he set away on the boat’s bottom, and then let the sail fall free. Tying the sheets until the vessel was moving at a fair speed, he sat at the back before he continued.

  ‘I think that she still does, but her mind is poisoned by the number of people who have told her that the only part of life which matters is sex. Brosia is always on at her about how much men look to her and not to Tedia; Luke desired her and was prepared to do anything to win her; Robert adored her, I think. But so do I. I would kill any man who harmed her, yes, but I can’t stop her trying to leave me if she wishes it. If she has decided she no longer wants me as her husband, then I cannot force her to love me. Yet I will still love her.’

  It was the truth. Tedia would always, to him, be his wife. He hated discussing her and his marriage before a stranger, but there was something about this knight that made the experience less painful. Something in the man’s eyes made Isok feel as though Baldwin felt sympathy for him. There was compassion in his face, as there was in Father William’s as the priest said quietly, ‘Isok, I think I understand a little of what you’re experiencing. Come and talk to me if you need to discuss anything. I will always have an ear for your problems.’

  ‘Thanks, Father, but I’ll be all right.’

  Baldwin was looking out at the sea as he asked, ‘I suppose you slept poorly that night in Mariota’s house?’

  ‘How could I sleep? I had just learned that my wife didn’t love me.’

  ‘She told you that?’ Baldwin asked.

&nb
sp; ‘She didn’t have to! I mentioned what David had said about a man who was cuckolding me, and I saw in her eyes that it was true! That was why I left. I couldn’t stay there. I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t hit her, do something I’d regret!’

  ‘You went to Mariota’s house; you state that you didn’t kill Robert or Luke. Yet when you were walking to Mariota’s house, did you see anyone else out at the time?’ Baldwin pressed. ‘Someone certainly did kill Robert and Luke. With two murders, it is surely most likely that the killer was the same person in both cases. Someone who was out at Ennor on the night of the storm and who had reason to wish to see Robert dead. The same person wanted Luke dead – although we have no means of knowing exactly when he died, of course.’ Having spoken, he bent his head, considering. Isok’s words had introduced another person with time and ability to kill Robert – Tedia’s aunt. Much though Baldwin disliked the thought, he knew that women were often guilty of homicide.

  While Baldwin’s attention was concentrated down at the boat’s planks, William found himself staring at Isok, and his eyes narrowed as he saw Isok glance shiftily in his direction. William was shocked by that look. It made Isok look as guilty as a newly hanged felon, and he was tempted to call the other man’s attention to it, but he knew that as soon as he had done so, Isok’s face would have returned to its natural bullish resentment. There was no point. Still, William resolved to keep a close eye on Isok while he could.

  Baldwin looked up, frowning. ‘Well? Did you see anyone else out there?’

  ‘I saw one man: Hamadus.’

  William drew in his breath with a start. ‘Him? What was he …’

  ‘I don’t know. I saw him near the point, down near the way to Bechiek,’ Isok said, and then threw a suspicious glance at Baldwin. ‘I was walking, trying to clear my head. It was later I thought of going to Mariota’s house.’

  ‘Did you see Robert?’

  ‘No. I walked about the place for a while, and then went to Mariota’s. She left me for a while, and that’s that.’

  ‘Mariota. I shall want to speak to her, then, as well as this Hamadus. Who is he?’

  William smiled drily. ‘He’s no one much. Just an old man who’s given up the sea. He taught Isok here much of what he knows about the sea.’

  ‘He would have had nothing to do with Luke’s death,’ Isok said shortly.

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  Isok met his gaze firmly. ‘No seaman would have pushed Luke offshore. Whoever did that didn’t think about the tides, see? The sea pulls things away from the land when it goes away, but then it brings them back. I think that the boat was pushed out to sea from one of the islands when the killer thought that he was safe, but the tide was coming in, and took the boat and wrecked it on the island there. Hamadus wouldn’t have made that mistake. He’d have taken it far out to sea and let it go there, where it couldn’t come back to trouble him.’

  ‘Perhaps this man wasn’t thinking,’ William said. ‘After all, he was committing a serious crime in killing Luke – especially if he had just killed poor Robert too.’

  ‘Any man with sense could have killed them and not thought it a crime!’ Isok said.

  His quiet violence was impressive. His tone was calm and undemonstrative, but Baldwin could see the way that his hands were pulling at the boat’s ropes as he spoke, and how his knuckles whitened with the effort. There was enough anger and frustration in those hands to kill a man, Baldwin thought. Easily.

  Ranulph de Blancminster rode back into his castle with a curt glower at all who greeted him, his customary response to any form of friendliness from his staff or his peasants alike. He had no trust in men apart from his own very small and specific circle of family and one or two friends. Only one or two, though, and even among them his trust was limited.

  No warlord should ever totally trust those about him. Blancminster knew full well that, just as Walerand was keen to take on the duties so recently discarded by Robert, there were plenty of men who would be glad to own the licence to Ennor Castle – as he himself had been when he had seen the opportunity to take the place after the De Wika family. Thomas was a very ambitious man, he knew. He suspected that it was Thomas’s ambition which had led the Sergeant to try to take the customs money of the Manor for himself. Ranulph knew all about that, of course. Only a fool would think that he could get away with stealing from Ranulph on a small island like this without being discovered.

  He himself wasn’t born on this island. Like other Lords of the Manor, he had come here from the mainland, in Ranulph’s case from Benamy, near Stratton in Northern Cornwall. His brother had inherited, there was nothing for him to achieve by remaining there, so he had snatched at the chance of moving to the little group of islands and making a new life for himself. With any luck he would be able to found a new dynasty on this group of rocks in the middle of the seas. But that pleasing thought did not blind him to the realities of his situation.

  Ranulph cantered into the castle’s broad yard, his rounsey rearing as he drew him to a halt. He could feel his two daggers move in their sheaths under his sword-belt where he kept them hidden. When he had the horse under his control again, he stared at the men in the cobbled yard.

  The men were a mix of his own servants and peasants. From the look of them, they had been moving the Anne’s cargo about the storerooms. Thomas was never satisfied unless he had all stowed as efficiently as the master of a ship. Wines and ales would remain down by the shore in one of the lock-up sheds, apart from a couple of tuns of each which would be brought up for tasting, while the more easily transported goods would be moved up here to the castle itself. Even now he could see Thomas standing at the top of the stairs which led to the keep. The Sergeant was talking to a man with thinning brown hair, whose face was burned the colour of old chestnut by the sun. When he moved, Ranulph saw he had the bandylegged gait of a sailor.

  Swinging himself from his horse, Ranulph stood a moment while grooms scurried to take the horse from him, and then, ignoring Thomas, he crossed the busy courtyard and climbed the steps which gave onto the walls, standing and staring thoughtfully over his estates.

  It was a novel Manor. No one else he knew had anything like this. On all sides he was bounded by the sea, and from here he could see both the north and south coasts. On a fine day like this, he would be able to see the whole of his estate practically from the top of the keep, a heartwarming sight.

  Many would have thought this a perfect location. Ranulph was more sanguine. He knew that the King, Edward II, was weakly and incompetent. The stories of the man’s profligacy abounded, especially in Cornwall. There all were astonished at the generosity of the King, giving his earldom of Cornwall to the appalling Piers Gaveston at first, and then, in a deliberate act of reconciliation, to his wife, Isabella. Not that it would help matters between them so far as Ranulph had heard. She was as bitter now as only a Frenchwoman of nobility could be, learning that her husband had rejected her. Worst, from her perspective, was the fact that he had not rejected her for another woman, but for a succession of men, if rumours be true. The latest was this Despenser puppy, another upstart who saw a way to wealth by pleasing the King’s loins and flattering his imbecile fancies.

  That was Ranulph’s reading of the situation on the mainland, and for his part, he was more than delighted with his islands here in the sun, west of Cornwall. Most Manors throughout the country had boundaries which met other men’s lands; here Ranulph had no such problems. Other lords meant disputes, questions about a man’s loyalties, fights among staff when they met in adjoining towns, and in the last analysis there were too many risks when a man was called to support his King or the most powerful barons in the land. True, the King had quashed Thomas of Lancaster and seen to his execution – a forceful means of chastising an errant cousin! – but that meant nothing. Up and down England, more men were preparing to take Earl Thomas’s place, jockeying for the chance to remove Edward’s adviser and lover, Hugh Despenser, and his equally rapaciou
s father, because whosoever was lucky enough to get those two out of the way, would have an immediate line straight to the King, and could control all power within the realm.

  Ranulph was not stupid enough to think that he could win such a position. He knew that other men would take the laurels and power, and he was content with that, provided he was not called upon to help any of them. Getting involved in fights against the King was dangerous, and Ranulph enjoyed the sensation of having his head on his shoulders too much to want to endanger that satisfactory union.

  It was strange to think that the disloyal and treacherous Earl Thomas had, by a curious quirk of fate, the same name as Ranulph’s Sergeant. Perhaps treachery was inherited with a name? At least there were no neighbours here who could bribe Thomas to make Ranulph’s life more politically confusing. Any shenanigans like that stayed on the mainland, and the folk there were welcome to them!

  For Ranulph, looking out over his estates from here was a pleasant reminder that here there were no bickering neighbours to discontent him. Here, all was apparently calm. He had a sea, which could be more or less troublesome, and peasants, which could be worse.

  He also had Thomas and Thomas’s men.

  The steward was a fool. Soon Ranulph would have to remove him, but he’d have to do so carefully. Thomas thought that he had hoodwinked his master. Ranulph would enjoy seeing his reaction when he accused him of the crimes he knew he had committed.

  In the meantime, although the men in the castle had been hired by Thomas, Ranulph was content that they would obey him and his money when he had a need of their obedience. Thomas had picked them from the detritus which tended to wash up in the ports and docks of Cornwall and Devon because, as the Sergeant was so fond of pointing out, what other sort of man would be happy to move all the way out to the islands? No man wanted to be exiled to a tiny plot of land so far from England. No man in his right mind, anyway. So they had to recruit the idiots and the callow, the feeble, or the wicked, and the wicked were best, because they were strong, they were fearsome, and they kept the peasants quiet. There was no doubt that they scared the living shit out of the folk who lived here, and from Ranulph’s point of view, that was one thing that Thomas had proved to be correct about: the peasants here were an aggressive, suspicious, greedy mob who needed a firm hand to rule them. That was why he had given Thomas a more or less free rein to control them.