Margaret, his wife, was like a figure from a dream. He adored her, he missed her, he wanted her. It was so lonely here without her. He felt desolate, as though he had lost everything.
It was a sad and chastened Bailiff Puttock who rose as the sky darkened and the long, slow advance of twilight began to creep over the water. He saw the sun sink down towards the horizon, and realised just how late the hour had become.
Reaching up with both fists, he stretched with a grunt and began to make his way to the castle. He could see it from here, the grim rectangular proof of a man’s power over all others in this island. Although, as Simon looked at it, he became aware that there was a certain shabbiness about it, because when he looked over to the island of St Nicholas, he could see that the Priory stood more cleanly in its space. Somehow the castle looked a mean little affair, even with the cluster of buildings at its foot, the evidence of cattle and horses, the stables, the paddocks and pastures. On the wind there came a quiet bark, then another, as two dogs celebrated the coming night by squaring up to each other. Yet all the while on St Nicholas the Priory stood as though challenging the castle. One building secular, the other entirely ecclesiastical, they looked almost like two opposing towers of faith in this flat, peaceful land.
He returned to the castle, arriving as the gates were to be closed, and bribed a guard to let him inside. Bribed a guard!
It was that sort of minor problem which most displeased him about this place. For a doorkeeper to refuse to allow a guest into a castle unless he was paid – that niggled at Simon’s sense of rightness. He threw the money at the fellow, and ignored the curses that followed after him as he made his way to the keep.
Simon stalked angrily into the hall and out to the buttery, where he drew himself a jug of ale at the bar. Back in the hall, he sat and musingly supped the drink.
The meal must have been over some while ago, for all evidence of eating was past. The trestles were folded, the boards which made up the tables set against the walls, the benches propping them up, waiting for the men-at-arms and servants to claim them for their beds. In a castle like this one, only the Lord and his most favoured servants would have a bed. All others had to make do, including uninvited guests like Simon.
It was a relief to see Hamo arrive in the doorway to the kitchen. He had a furtive look, and Simon hoped it was not so obvious to others as it was to him that Hamo had been engaged upon mischief.
The lad sidled across the floor and nodded to Simon, and Simon felt a certain relief. At least the first part of his plan was in place. Now all he must do was find some suitable weapon. Suddenly Hamo slipped away, and Simon glanced up to see a pale-faced, nervous-looking Walerand. ‘Good. This sword that you are looking after – Robert’s old one. I’ll look at it now.’
‘I haven’t got it.’
Simon stood slowly. ‘Fine. Right – I’m off to see your master. Ranulph will be interested to hear that the man he was about to promote to gather-reeve has stolen a sword and won’t let me see it as part of my investigation.’
‘Christ’s feet! All right, I’ll bloody get it!’
As good as his word, Walerand spun around and went out. Simon thought to himself that none of the men here in the castle had anywhere to keep their belongings. All must have little cupboards or holes in a wall where they could hide valuables. Simon waited a short while, and when Walerand came back with a cheap sword, the blade badly rusted and pitted, he said irritably, ‘Take it! I don’t want the thing.’
A heavy-set guard appeared in the doorway. ‘Bailiff? Our master wants to speak to you.’
‘Can’t he wait?’ Simon said irritably.
There was no need to feign his annoyance. He had no wish to be questioned again. It was pleasant, sitting here in this hall with the residual heat of the fire still warming the place, and he wanted to speak to Hamo, not go running off on Ranulph’s whim.
‘No, he can’t wait,’ the man said with emphasis.
‘Very well,’ Simon grunted with a bad grace. He kicked Robert’s sword under his bench, picked up his jug, and followed the servant up the small staircase and into Ranulph’s solar.
Ranulph sat in his chair; in his left hand he gripped a mazer full of wine, while in his right he gripped one of his pair of knives by the point of the blade, as though ready to hurl it at an intruder. Seeing who it was, he set the knife down on his table and gave a smile of welcome.
‘Bailiff. I am glad to see you again. You weren’t in the castle this afternoon.’
‘I had to take some exercise. I went up to a hill and sat there. The time flew quickly.’
‘You have been sitting on a hill?’ Ranulph repeated, a small frown on his face. ‘I hoped you would have been investigating the murder as Thomas asked you. Aha! But you agree with him that it was one of the pirates from St Nicholas, perhaps? You saw no need to continue to search Ennor for a murderer?’
It was clear that Ranulph could not understand Simon’s need for solitude, and he was about to snap at the man for disbelieving him, when he suddenly realised that Ranulph’s needs were the opposite of his own. If Simon felt over-pressured from work, he would delight in the peace and emptiness of Dartmoor; yet this man would always seek out other men. Ranulph lived in a constant emptiness. The only folk he could ever meet were those who were so far below his own position that he wouldn’t feel comfortable in their presence. If he was unhappy or worried, Ranulph would naturally want to find someone who was of his status. Yet there was no one here, apart from perhaps the Prior.
‘I find it clears my mind and helps me to consider problems like this murder,’ he explained. ‘Tell me, have you much dealing with the Prior?’
Ranulph’s eyebrows rose. ‘We speak on occasion. Usually when I take a boat to visit him. Why?’
‘It occurred to me to wonder whom you’d speak to when the mood took you,’ Simon said. He glanced at the servant who had brought him to this place. ‘You are an intelligent man, after all; it wouldn’t be someone from here, would it?’
Ranulph laughed. ‘I see your point. When I have to talk to a man at my own level, I’ll go to the Prior, I suppose. I have few real friends here.’
‘My own friend is lost,’ Simon said sadly. His eyes were drawn to the peacock-coloured sword at his hip.
‘It is a lovely thing, isn’t it?’ Ranulph said. He could see Simon’s mood, and he suddenly spoke more quietly. ‘Bailiff, you have lost your own weapon, and a friend too. I have heard that he used to wear this sword. Is that true?’
‘Yes.’
‘I saw the marks on the blade.’ Ranulph shrugged. ‘What of them? They mean nothing. But I would like to hear about this man and what happened to him. I know one thing: a man would more likely float than a sword. If the sword is here, perhaps he is too.’
‘He is no murderer,’ Simon said bluntly, but in his heart there was a sudden pounding. If only Baldwin were still alive! Simon had never felt so lonely as he had in the last three days.
‘Maybe you’re right. He hasn’t come here to talk about it, though, has he?’
‘Why am I free?’
Ranulph set his head to one side. ‘What does that mean?’
‘You want to find my friend so that you can throw him into your gaol. You already have my other friends held. Why have you left me free?’
‘Your friends in gaol tried to hold a sword to me, Bailiff! Don’t forget that I have offered you the freedom of my islands and have made you welcome! If you had pulled a sword on me, your welcome would have been far less enthusiastic!’ Ranulph said, and his voice was loud enough to make his two daggers rattle. He poured himself more wine from a pewter jug, then beckoned Simon to approach. Peering into Simon’s jug, he pulled a face, then poured wine from his own jug into Simon’s.
‘Sit down!’ he commanded, kicking a stool towards Simon. ‘If I thought you were a threat to me, I’d have you in gaol in an instant. Either that or in a grave. Would you prefer that?’
‘I’d prefer to
be free, and to have my friends free with me.’
‘It must be strange, coming to a place like this. I remember when I first came here, I couldn’t believe my luck. Then, after some weeks, I felt as though I was myself in a gaol. A large, green gaol, but a gaol nonetheless.’
Simon was intrigued despite himself. ‘You have got over that, then?’
‘I adore the islands now,’ Ranulph said. ‘I used to be a keen huntsman, but there are no deer here. Still, I couldn’t leave the place for any time, because there is …’ He waved a hand in the air while he scowled, searching for the words. ‘There’s a feeling about the place. Perhaps it’s the feeling that I’m free of the politics of England. Here I am my own King. I do what I want, how I want. I would defend it against anyone who threatened it.
‘The place is worth protecting – that’s what I think,’ he went on. ‘I would guard it against any man who sought to harm it, whether it was a Breton or a Cornishman. And if some arsehole peasant with visions of riches sees fit to turn pirate while living on one of my islands, I’ll learn him the error of his dreams! We have a sharp justice here, and that’s all a pirate deserves.’
There was a hard edge to his voice, and Simon slowly nodded, then tossed his head back and all but drained his jug. ‘Thank you. I should find a bed to—’
‘Stay there! I love this place, Bailiff. I serve it. You could also serve me tomorrow,’ Ranulph added.
Simon felt his face freeze.
‘We shall go to St Nicholas tomorrow and rid these islands of the pirates which infest the place,’ Ranulph said. ‘Will you come and assist us?’
‘I could not think of attacking an ecclesiastical Manor,’ Simon said with a slight hauteur. ‘Especially one owned by my Lord Abbot of Tavistock.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of asking you to.’
Simon was lost for a moment, but then he had to smile and shrug. ‘Well, if it is to destroy pirates … but there is one stipulation I have to make. I shall not feel comfortable in helping with this if my companion Sir Charles is left to wallow in misery. Why do you not release him and allow him to join us?’
‘I will not because he is a dangerous man.’
‘He is a noble knight.’
‘He tried to threaten me. That is an end to the matter.’
Simon set his empty jug on the table. ‘You could not wish for a better warrior.’
‘Enough! I have said no. That’s all there is to be said!’
‘Tell me why you are holding him!’ Simon said forcefully.
Ranulph’s hand went to his dagger. ‘Don’t push me too far, little man. I’ll crush you.’
‘I am a King’s official, remember,’ Simon said in a low, menacing tone.
‘You are many miles from the King, and the King has other matters to occupy him, you fool! Don’t you realise yet? I could have you killed here, tonight, and no one would notice. No one would be told. None of my men would think twice about removing your body and throwing it into the sea for the crabs to eat. Do you understand? Your friends will stay in my gaol because it pleases me to leave them there. And I may have them killed, if it strikes me as a means of tidying things. I need to find the killer of Robert, and your precious friend suits my bill.’
‘It wasn’t him!’
‘Perhaps not, but I wouldn’t want the islanders to think that someone could kill my gather-reeve and get away with it. I must have a culprit, otherwise the peasants might think that they could rebel with impunity. So your friend will die … unless I find another suitable murderer. Tell me, where were you on the night Robert died?’
‘I was in the sea, as you know.’
‘But I don’t, do I? No, you could have come up on the land a while earlier. So you’d make a convenient victim of island justice, too. Perhaps I should have you arrested as well.’
Simon set his teeth until he thought his jaw would crack, and he held Ranulph’s fixed, stern gaze for some moments. And then, as he was preparing to turn and walk away, as his mind dwelled on the risk of leaving his back exposed to those two daggers, Ranulph spoke again.
‘So you will join me tomorrow, Bailiff. You’ll fight with me to protect this place. And if we find another suitable victim, maybe I’ll let your friend free. Maybe. It’s up to you.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
‘I have never felt so ridiculous in all my life,’ Baldwin said.
It was not the first time he had said this, and he was aware of the fact, but repetition somehow made him feel a little better. This was a ludicrous position for a knight. Swordless, he felt unprotected, but that was nothing compared to removing his boots and hanging them about his neck, removing his hosen, lifting his tunic and tying the skirts about his waist, and then setting off to walk in the sea at twilight. ‘Are you quite sure of this?’
‘This’ was the path through the waters. Baldwin was stepping timidly through the cool water following William along a sliding pathway that was hidden by waters that came up to Baldwin’s knees. With every step he took, Baldwin could feel the sands shifting beneath him, chill fronds of seaweed tickling at his shins, tiny fishes nibbling at his toes, and the occasional terrifying rasp of … of something else. The feel of sand would give underfoot, and instead he would have the unyielding, rough scrape of moorstone, although the first few times he had sensed it, he had thought it felt like the outer shell of an enormous crab, and even now his feet cringed at each step when he felt the sand move.
‘It is the way that the islanders often use when it is dark,’ William said, happily unaware of Baldwin’s anxiety. ‘But I’d be grateful if you kept this path secret. We don’t want the castellan to learn of it.’
That, Baldwin thought, was an interesting point. ‘Surely he must know already?’
‘Not, um, necessarily,’ William admitted as he placed his foot in the water and shivered. ‘Christ alive! I thought it was warmer at this time of year! No, this pathway is an old route which has sunk for some reason. I’ve been told that this used all to be a part of one big island, and this road was the main path from La Val to Bechiek and thence St Nicholas, but that it was all washed over by the sea many years ago, and now the roadway is open only at low tide generally. At the lowest times a man could almost walk dry-shod.’
‘If that is the case,’ Baldwin scoffed, ‘the castle must be aware already.’
William sniffed. ‘No. We told them that the sands were treacherous and prone to sucking men in.’
‘You told them that they were quicksands?’
‘There are only twelve men-at-arms who could want to know, and all of them were too scared to attempt it,’ William said smugly. ‘There are enough men in the castle who know the truth, but why should they help the greedy bastards who live there? It made sense for us to keep it quiet so that we could get from one place to another, even if the castle men couldn’t. If you lived on an island like this, you’d want to keep some secrets too. Ranulph isn’t a kindly man, Sir Baldwin. No one wants him to learn of the road from Penn Trathen.’
Baldwin shook his head. His feet were gradually losing all feeling, but at least he had lost the conviction that someone a scant hundred yards away was trying to draw a bead on his back with a crossbow. ‘That name is familiar. What does it mean?’
‘Penn Trathen? It means “end of the sand bar” in Cornish. “Trathen” itself is a sand bar. That is how the place got its name, because of this old sunken road.’
Baldwin stopped suddenly. ‘My God! This is where he was when he was killed!’
‘Who?’
‘The tax-gatherer, Robert. He was found here, wasn’t he?’
‘Yes, I believe he was,’ William said loftily. ‘But that means nothing.’
‘That is why Tedia mentioned the flats. I suppose ultimately this roadway takes us up to the flats at the south-eastern edge of St Nicholas?’
‘Yes.’
‘Of course! I was stupid not to have realised before. If Robert was murdered here, it was as easy for a man from St
Nicholas to kill him as another from Ennor!’
‘I suppose you’re right.’
‘So it was quite possible for Isok to have come along here and killed Robert. There was no alibi for him. He could have come here, murdered Robert, then gone back to the island and stayed with Mariota. Yes! Yes! Isok is a perfect suspect for the murder. And then he went to kill Luke as well, because Luke was the man who was most active in trying to climb inside his wife’s skirts.’
‘It’s possible, yes. But think of the alternatives: the people here on Ennor all detested him as well,’ William said, slipping slightly as softer sand gave way under his feet. ‘Practically everyone wanted Robert dead!’
‘The fact he was a tax-gatherer is not sufficient excuse to see him dead, surely? If that were the case, we should expect murdered tax officials to be found daily. No, there must have been another motive behind his death.’
‘If you say so. For my part, I still believe that Thomas is the obvious culprit.’
Baldwin scarcely heard him. ‘Another man with a good reason to want to kill him … or a woman, of course.’
Mariota could have had the opportunity – and where was David at the time of Robert’s death? He said he was at his boat, but that might have been a lie; he could have been out here on the sands. Was William right, that only the people from St Nicholas and a few from Ennor knew of the route through this sand? That would make sense to Baldwin, if only because Robert had been planning to see Tedia, yet had not taken a boat. He had instead gone to Penn Trathen, the end of the bar. There he had waited, perhaps for his woman to come and take him away. Maybe he was standing there at the end of the bar, excited, convinced that he was about to be given the reward for his gentle wooing of Tedia, only to be confronted by her husband.
No. That bucket would not hold water. If Robert had been there waiting, he would surely have noticed that the figure heading towards him from the sea was not his beloved. He would have seen that it was the figure of a man. He’d have stood, protected himself. If he saw Isok, he’d have known he was in danger. Of course, if the figure was that of a woman who hated Robert enough herself to kill him, he wouldn’t see the need for defence. Or, and this was possible, Robert had no idea that there was any route over the water, and therefore waited with his breath stopped in his lungs, keenly watching over the dunes. If he had, though, surely he would have heard the splashing of a figure through the waves as the murderer appeared and rushed forwards to strike him down?
The Outlaws of Ennor: (Knights Templar 16) Page 32