The Awful Secret

by Bernard Knight

  ‘What can I tell you? I am nothing but a serf to my lord William.’

  ‘Doing what, man? I am the county coroner and have some power to save your neck, if you can be useful to me.’

  ‘I labour on the manor farm on Lundy for much of the time, but am also a ship-man when required. We run back and forth to Clovelly or the ports here.’

  ‘And a little piracy when needed?’ grunted Gwyn.

  The man gave a cynical laugh. ‘It would certainly put my head into the noose if I said yes to that, eh?’

  ‘I am not much concerned about piracy in general, but about one matter in particular.’ De Wolfe explained about the vessel Saint Isan and the evidence of the Breton lad. ‘Your lord William denies that he was involved and bids me look elsewhere – but as he claims that half the boats between Cardiff and Constantinople are pirate vessels, that’s not much help to me.’

  The man’s eyes took on a little more life as he saw a hope of saving his neck. ‘If I can help you in this, will you speak for me?’

  ‘If you are very helpful, I may just forget to have that door locked in the morning. Maybe then you could even find your way back to that godforsaken island.’

  ‘I never wish to see it again, sir. I have no family there. If I could lie low in one of these boroughs, I could even gain my freedom.’

  A villein who managed to escape from his hamlet to a town and survive for a year and a day was entitled to become a freeman. From the prospect of the gibbet a few moments ago, the islander now saw a better future, if only he could satisfy this black hawk of a man who hovered over him.

  ‘What can I tell you? I know something of the sea and ships along this coast.’

  ‘Which ports have a reputation for piracy? Are some more active than others?’

  The fellow nodded vigorously, ignoring the pain it provoked in his neck. ‘Some are free of it, like Ilfracombe and these towns up-river here. It is the smaller places that harbour them, where most of the village is involved in the enterprise and where everyone stays silent about it.’

  ‘Such as where?’

  He considered for a moment. ‘Watchet and Minehead in Somerset, then Lynmouth and Combe Martin in the east of this county. Down west there are plenty – Clovelly, Hartland Quay and Bude are the nearer ones. But other marauding ships come from far and wide to prey on merchant vessels using the Severn Sea.’

  ‘Had you heard anything of the seizing of this particular ship, making for Bristol? What about the cargo? Would that end up somewhere to be sold?’

  De Wolfe and Gwyn stood over the man as he thought again. ‘When did this occur?’ he asked.

  ‘Towards the end of the first week of this month.’

  ‘Then it certainly wasn’t from Lundy. We had no ships afloat then.’ He thought again. ‘Something comes into my mind … gossip from seamen that came over to Lundy from Combe Martin about then. It wasn’t them, though they’re not averse to taking a small boat or two occasionally. Something in my head, even through the hurt you gave me, Crowner, tells me that Lynmouth may be involved.’

  ‘Lynmouth? It’s a tiny place. Could they put a big enough vessel to sea?’ asked de Wolfe.

  Gwyn wagged his hairy head confidently. ‘A few cottages are enough to raise a crew – ten or twelve men to row and wield swords or pikes. Nowhere is too small for that.’

  The coroner looked down again at the prisoner. ‘Tell me more.’

  ‘I know Lynmouth, I have sailed into there many times.’ He looked sheepishly at his hands. ‘De Marisco has more than once sent certain goods he acquired from other ships into there so that they could be carted to Taunton and Bridgwater for sale, with no questions asked.’

  De Wolfe felt that at last he was getting somewhere. ‘So in Lynmouth, can you say who might be responsible for running a galley out of there?’

  ‘I’m no traitor to my mates, Crowner.’

  ‘It’s your neck that will be stretched, if that door stays shut.’

  This persuasive argument removed any vestiges of loyalty between thieves. ‘I know some names, but not who is the leader – it might be their lord himself, for all I know. But there is Eddida Curt-arm, a strange fellow with short limbs, who is supposed to be a fisherman. Another who works with him is Crannog, a Cornishman, with an accent like your man here.’

  Gwyn grunted, unsure whether this was a compliment or an insult.

  ‘And Adret Picknose, that’s another name I know. Other faces would be familiar, but I cannot put names to them. They certainly have at least one vessel with six pairs of oars in Lynmouth. It is masted, but narrow in the beam. They keep it on the beach around the west side of the river mouth, out of sight as much as is possible.’

  A few moments more proved that the man from Lundy had nothing else useful to tell them. True to his promise, de Wolfe told him that he would be quietly released in the morning, as the castle gates were now firmly shut until dawn. In any case, after the buffet on the head he had received, he needed a few more hours to fully recover his senses.

  ‘The sheriff won’t be happy about you letting him free,’ said Gwyn happily, as they walked back across the bailey. ‘He would have liked someone to string up as a token of his successful exploits.’

  ‘We won’t tell him, then. Let him think the man remains incarcerated. And if this information about Lynmouth turns out to be true, maybe he will soon have some better villains to hang!’

  Early next morning, the billeted knights rose from their pallets around the embers of the fire in the hall and, after seeing to their men and beasts outside, came back to a breakfast served by de Grenville’s servants. De Wolfe related what he had learned from the solitary prisoner taken from Lundy, omitting to mention that the man had slipped away into the morning mists. ‘Now that we are here in the north, it seems obvious that we should see if there is any substance in this tale of pirates working out of Lynmouth,’ he suggested to the sheriff.

  Richardde Revelle muttered about a wild-goose chase, but after the fiasco at Lundy, he was easily persuaded that it would save their faces if they achieved something elsewhere. ‘This need not concern you, Sir Roland,’ said the sheriff, to the leader of the Templars. ‘You have no stake in this matter. It concerns local crimes only. Maybe you would wish to travel straight back to Exeter today, and perhaps act as escort to the good Abbot here?’

  The senior Templar looked at his two companions and they shook their heads. ‘Thank you, but we can go directly back to London via Taunton, which would take us near your possible nest of pirates. Having come this far, we would like to stay with you – and maybe our swords will be of some help if it comes to another fight like yesterday.’

  The Italian priest, hunched at the table in his dark robe, also seemed keen to stay with the Exeter contingent. ‘I will be glad of the company and added protection of these Knights of Christ, as my destination is Winchester. Like them, there is no point in my returning the long way round through Exeter.’

  Though their reasons seemed sound, de Wolfe felt instinctively that they still did not trust him to have lost track of Bernardus de Blanchefort, which was so obviously the raison d’être for both parties to be in Devon. He wondered if it was safe for him to keep his rendezvous with Thomas at the bridge in an hour’s time and decided to take precautions in case they set a spy on him.

  When he had eaten, he wandered out into the bailey, saying that he wanted to check his horse’s legs before the day’s ride. Finding Gwyn, he went through the motions of examining Odin, whilst he gave his officer instructions. ‘When I go to meet Thomas, follow me at a distance and keep a strict look-out for anyone from our party. It would likely be one of the Templar squires or one of Cosimo’s brutes. Give me a signal if they appear and I’ll keep clear of our clerk and de Blanchefort.’

  Soon afterwards, he wandered casually out of the castle gate and strolled up the riverbank to the marketplace, which was busy with early morning traders selling their goods to the folk of Bideford. He kept an eye on
Gwyn, who loitered along the water’s edge, then made his way to the bridge. This was a long, rather spidery timber construction. As at Exeter, there were plans to replace it in stone, but nothing had yet been started. He saw two figures, one tall, one short, leaning on the wooden parapet where it abutted the bank. Checking that the distant Gwyn still seemed unconcerned, de Wolfe beckoned them down to the muddy grass on the further side of the abutment. Here they were out of sight of the marketplace and the castle, but he could still see Gwyn by looking under the bridge.

  De Blanchefort, in his bulky mantle and large hat, looked anxiously at the coroner. ‘Have you managed to arrange anything yet? It seems impossible to get a passage from this place. They have only coastal vessels berthed here.’

  De Wolfe explained the situation and said that they would have to move on to Lynmouth that day. ‘There may be a better chance of a ship straight across to Wales from there. The channel is narrow and several ports lie on the other side where there will certainly be vessels going on to Ireland. And you would be safer there whilst waiting than on this side of the channel where your presence is well known.’

  ‘And if there is no passage from this Lynmouth?’ persisted Bernardus.

  ‘Then you will have to make your way back here or to one of the southern ports.’

  De Blanchefort still looked unhappy, yet he had no choice but to agree. De Wolfe studied him as Thomas asked about the practicalities of the onward journey. The former Templar looked drawn and haggard, compared with his appearance when he first arrived in Exeter. It seemed that the life of a fugitive was wearing him down and de Wolfe fervently hoped that he could board a ship out of Lynmouth – and out of his life. Bernardus stared under the worn timbers at the marketplace, bustling with people. The stage used for the miracle plays was still there and he pointed at it. ‘Perhaps I should abandon this craven desire to escape and get up there.’

  De Wolfe’s eyes followed his finger. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I should mount that platform and tell the people the truth. My life is nothing, but for how long can I carry this burden of the secret? Let me stay and be done with it, Crowner!’

  Thomas crossed himself and de Wolfe sighed. ‘We have been through all this before, de Blanchefort. What use would it be for you to speak for five minutes to a few dumb townsfolk, who would understand little and care even less? Before you could explain or impress even that poor audience, you would have half a dozen Templars and a mad abbot leading a troop of soldiers to seize you and silence you for ever. For God’s sake – if you still believe in Him – get yourself somewhere where you can plan in safety, whatever it is you feel obliged to do.’ He grasped the man’s arm and shook it. ‘You know better than I what would happen if either de Ver or Cosimo dragged you away to London or Paris. Is self-destruction what you desire?’

  De Blanchefort seemed to sag like a pricked bladder. His hands came up to his face in an agony of indecision. De Wolfe looked at them and prayed that the palms would not end with jagged stabs like de Ridefort’s.

  He heard Thomas speaking to him urgently and pulled his mind back to his clerk. ‘Where do we next meet, Crowner, and when?’

  ‘We leave the castle within the hour and should be at Lynmouth this evening. It is something approaching twenty-five miles distant. Follow well behind us and meet me at Lynton church at noon tomorrow.’

  ‘I know nothing of these places. How will I find the church?’

  ‘It’s in the village on the hill above the valley that shelters Lynmouth. But be alert for any signs of the others, though I hope by then all our business will be completed, one way or the other.’

  With a last look at de Blanchefort, who was still staring fixedly at the marketplace, de Wolfe shrugged in exasperation and, after checking that the distant Gwyn was still making no warning signs, he climbed the riverbank and made his way back to Bideford Castle.

  The party that left Bideford was now smaller, as the hospitable Richard de Grenville and his men remained behind. The sheriff’s expedition was four fewer than when they had left Exeter – two had been left dead on the beach at Lundy and two others, slightly wounded, would remain in Bideford until they were fit to travel home.

  With the sheriff and Templars in the vanguard of the column, Cosimo and his silent minions in the centre and Ralph Morin, John and his officer bringing up the rear, they left Bideford by the long bridge and travelled across the well-beaten track to Barnstaple. They did not enter the town, but continued north-east through the wooded valleys then on to the higher, more bare ground sloping up to Exmoor. They passed the villages of Shirwell and Arlington, then crossed the moor to Parracombe, the smell of the sea reaching them as they turned north to Martinhoe. One of Gabriel’s men had been born in this area and was able to guide them as the settlements became sparse on the lonely stretches of heathland.

  The journey was a silent one, apart from some gossip between the men-at-arms. The sheriff attempted conversation with Roland de Ver, but their common interests were so few that it petered out before many miles were covered. The abbot appeared to be sunk in contemplation as he trotted his mare, whilst the coroner and his man were so used to long periods of silence when on the move that any talking would seem to them like aimless chatter.

  However, every few hours they stopped to rest and refresh themselves from provisions carried in their saddle-pouches and to feed their horses. Here they found their tongues to some extent, again mainly ribald badinage between the soldiers, but also some rather strained conversation between the leaders. As they neared the coast again in the early evening, de Wolfe felt it was time to make some plan of action. When they stopped just outside the tiny village of Martinhoe, just inland from the high cliffs, he broached the matter with Richard de Revelle, who was nominally the leader of the expedition.

  ‘It will be almost dark by the time we reach Lynmouth, so I suggest we camp overnight somewhere well short of the place where we can remain unseen. Then in the morning we can come upon them unexpectedly to see if there is truly any sign of piracy.’

  The sheriff could find no reason to object to this, and Ralph Morin called across to the soldier who knew the area well to ask his advice about a suitable place.

  ‘Sir, there is a rocky valley further along from here, a mile or so short of Lynton. After dusk, it is unlikely that anyone would come there to discover us, if we camped on the western end of the defile.’

  They continued until they reached the edge of the sea, where steep wooded slopes and bare cliffs dropped into the line of surf below. The track wound along the sides of several bays, then climbed up to moorland again and soon entered a trough-like valley, where the grass and bracken were dotted with jagged rocks, which appeared on the skyline like broken teeth. The man-at-arms with local knowledge saluted Ralph and said, ‘Lynton village is at the other end of this coombe, sir. If you wish to stay concealed, I would go no further – and light no fires.’

  The constable sent three men back half a mile with the horses so that they could be tethered without fear of their neighing being heard in the nearby village. The rest spent an uncomfortable night wrapped in their cloaks and horse blankets, eating cold food, mainly hunks of meat and dry bread supplied by de Grenville before they left Bideford. At least no rain fell on them, but a mournful breeze whistled up the valley all night.

  De Wolfe woke a few times – his body had become used to a bed after his years of tough campaigning and even the pile of dead ferns on which he lay failed to ease the ache in his limbs from the hard ground. The moon sped in and out of scudding clouds and lit up the eerie landscape, the fang-like rocks silhouetted against the sky. For those of a more imaginative turn of mind than John de Wolfe, such as his clerk Thomas, it was a place to conjure up illusions of evil spirits and the unquiet souls of the dead, but no such visions kept de Wolfe awake. He thought only of the soreness of his hips against the turf, and hoped that Thomas had managed to bring the difficult Bernardus along without too many problems.

/>   Grey dawn came at last and everyone stretched, cursed and crawled to their feet to seek the small stream where they could drink and splash water in their eyes to awaken themselves. They ate the remainder of their provisions and the horses were brought back for all to remount and prepare for whatever the day might bring.

  ‘Abbot, there is no need for you to put yourself at risk any longer,’ said Richard de Revelle, with false solicitude. He was as anxious as the rest to see the last of the strange priest and his taciturn servants. ‘Once we get to the village you could carry on along the well-marked track towards Taunton.’

  Cosimo smiled his enigmatic smile. ‘Thank you, Sheriff, but I will wait for my fellow-travellers, the Templars. It will be more reassuring to ride in their company.’

  The six men from the Order had already announced steadfastly that they would ride with the law-men into Lynmouth, both from curiosity and a desire to help in keeping the king’s peace. However, de Wolfe still felt that both parties were determined to keep him in view until the bitter end, to make sure that he had not deceived them over the renegade Templar. Again, he decided that he would have to be cautious about meeting Thomas later in the day.

  Once they were mounted, Ralph Morin suggested that they make all speed down to the port, to avoid giving any warning that might allow evidence of piracy to be hidden, so they set off at a brisk canter, the rested horses eager and frisky. As they thudded through the small village of Lynton, the villagers gaped open-mouthed at the sight of these troops, who seemed to have appeared from nowhere so early in the morning.

  Lynton was perched above a deep glen, which dropped sharply down from Exmoor, the little river Lyn rushing through it. At the end of the village, past the small wooden church that de Wolfe intended to use as his rendezvous with Thomas, the track turned sharply down to the left into the glen and followed the stream as it tumbled towards the sea a quarter of a mile away. The cavalcade slowed as it navigated the steep slope and John found he had to avoid deep ruts if Odin was to keep his footing.