‘How dare you manhandle this knight! How dare you lay hands upon him! He is here as our guest, and you threaten to kill him? Any man who touches so much as a hair from his head shall know the full depths of my ire!’
‘Yes, stand back, you churls,’ David yelled. He was close now, and he marched swiftly to the Prior’s side. ‘You shouldn’t treat an honoured guest like a felon.’
‘Baldwin!’ he heard whispered, and felt the hilt of a dagger being pressed into his hand. Tedia trusted David as little as he did.
He took it, and squeezed her hand again, then shoved it into his belt as he stepped forward to Cryspyn.
The Prior was not waiting for him. ‘David, you must ready your boats instantly! There is a ship over there. William and this knight saw it as it set sail. It had been harbouring there, up at An-Voth, behind the rocks, and now it’s heading away.’
‘What of it?’ David said. ‘Let them go.’
Baldwin grated, ‘They were the pirates who attacked my ship.’
‘Then you go after them,’ David said loftily.
Baldwin was tempted to pull out his dagger, but even as he considered punching this arrogant reeve to the ground, he heard more shouting: war cries!
‘Blancminster! Blancminster!’
Simon felt the ship thud into the harbour piles and then the men began to leap over the side and race up to the vill.
They had circled around the northern edge of St Nicholas, out of sight of the Priory and the vill, and now the sailors and men-at-arms were in a state of excited tension as they poured from the vessel. Simon waited until most had already gone, then reached back, grabbed Hamo by the shoulder, and jumped over the side.
For some strange reason, Simon felt the tension leave him as he pelted off with the others. There was no shouting or singing, only the slap of bare feet or boots on the dusty track, the rattle and clatter of the weapons, and the hiss of men breathing through clenched teeth.
They ran on, Ranulph and Thomas towards the front, while Simon remained nearer the rear. Hamo was running lightly like a nervous sheepdog, constantly on the lookout for a fox or wolf, his feet scarcely seeming to touch the ground. In comparison Simon felt heavy and flat-footed. Seeing a bush, Simon all but hurled the lad at it. Hamo landed heavily, but as Simon watched, he squirmed and disappeared.
They passed by a great sweep of sandy beach, then on down, faster all the way, the blood up and rushing in their ears as they went, until at last they saw the cluster of men and women ahead of them.
Still on they rushed, silently, men pulling their lips back and baring their teeth. Simon could feel the concentration here: some wanted money, some wanted women, but most wanted revenge against the pirates who had plagued them. All the sailors had experienced their predations, and the men-at-arms were content to be able to join in a legal fight. They had no interest in the deeper issues at hand.
Walerand was one of the few who appeared less eager to be in at the start, Simon noticed. He was dropping back a little, glancing about him as he did so, as though he was looking for someone. And then he caught Simon’s eye and stopped falling back. Simon allowed him to draw nearer. They were at the rear of the whole host now. Suddenly Simon dropped to his knees, head hanging as though winded. As he looked up, he could see the shadow of Walerand standing over him.
‘So what were you doing last night, Bailiff? Letting your friends go free?’ Walerand hissed. ‘I think that’s worth a shilling or two.’
‘What?’ Simon gasped.
‘You give me your purse and I won’t tell Thomas that you released Sir Charles last night.’
Simon had time to wonder. The damned fool could have ruined everything and seen to Simon’s destruction, but like the adder he was, he wanted profit before he divulged anything. It made Simon shake his head as he collected a handful of sand. ‘Very well,’ he wheezed, and hurled the sand upwards.
There was no need for a sword. He reached out and yanked Walerand’s ankle away. The man fell clumsily, and Simon chopped him quickly across the windpipe, then while he choked, Simon bunched his fist and hit him as hard as he could behind the ear. Walerand started to snore, mouth gaping wide.
It was one thing to have to watch the man in front in a fight, but quite another to have to worry about your comrades on either side or behind you, Simon reflected as he tore off after the others.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Sir Charles delicately poked a foot at the water. He had his tunic lifted above his knees, and he stepped cautiously forward. Suddenly he yelped with alarm as he slipped into a hole. ‘What?’ he demanded, reddening.
‘Nothing, Sir Charles,’ Paul said, straight-faced.
‘You are fortunate that I have known you for so many years, my fellow,’ Sir Charles said before turning back to face the water. ‘This is extraordinary. We arrive here, thinking that we are on the correct island, only to discover that it is separated from the one we need, and all the people we expected are there, not here, and then my incomparable companion manages to forget to tie up the boat we need to reach the damn place.’
‘It wasn’t my fault. I thought you’d have done that,’ Paul objected.
‘Did I say that I would do so? I do not recall any such words passing my lips. No, I think it is usually the servant who is expected to tie up the boat.’
‘There was nowhere to tie it to.’
‘Then you should have pulled the damned thing up the beach.’
‘I did.’
‘Not high enough, Paul.’
‘It’s the way the sea goes up and down. I thought it was up. Then it came up higher, didn’t it?’
‘Quite extraordinary,’ Sir Charles said.
At least he was feeling cheerful. The only problem was that the men from Ennor were going to attack the vill under the priory, and Sir Charles had not managed to get to the Prior in time to warn him. That was a matter for regret, but also for urgency. If they were quick, they might be able to get there before the main fight, and then Sir Charles desired to meet with Ranulph alone, to teach him that capturing Sir Charles and keeping him in irons was only to be attempted by someone who was going to execute Sir Charles quickly. Because otherwise he would return to haunt you, and make life very painful, if only for a short while.
‘Come on, Paul,’ he rasped. ‘We have to get there.’
‘God’s eyes! Look at that!’
Sir Charles looked up, saw the men racing over the sand to meet with the villagers and swore. He took an unwary step forward, felt his feet sliding away from him, and with a startled squeak, his eyes wide open, he heard the water slap up over his ears and the sudden burst of roaring as it reached inside them. Then the cold rushed in through his mouth and nose, and he knew what panic was.
Ranulph roared in rage and delight, hefting the sword which had been his for a decade, a long weapon with razor-sharp edges. A man was before him, and he ran straight at him, the point of the sword thrusting through his ribcage as though it was simply lard. There was no friction, nothing. The sword was as good as it had ever been. He slashed at another man, but missed, and then there was a serious-faced dark man with a narrow beard in front of him.
The fool had no sword, only a short dagger. Ranulph laughed and swung his sword up, ready to bring it down on the idiot’s skull, but the man had slipped forward, unfearing of the naked steel dripping blood, caught hold of Ranulph’s sword-wrist, and wrenched it backwards. Only when his face was near to Ranulph’s did he recognise the man as the same fellow who had been with William the day before, walking up towards Hamadus’ home.
‘Who are you?’ Ranulph gasped.
‘I am Sir Baldwin de Furnshill, and you are a knave to attack an innocent vill.’
‘Let me free, sir, and we’ll see who’s a damned knave!’ Ranulph spat, and punched at Baldwin’s face with his free hand.
Baldwin felt the first blow slam painfully into his cheek. He lowered his head to make Ranulph’s aim more difficult, gripping Ranulph’s wr
ist with both hands, but Ranulph’s strength was astonishing, or perhaps it was Baldwin’s weakness after the journey here. Whichever led to it, Baldwin found that he couldn’t force the wrist down any further. Instead he had to cling on tightly as the thick, callused fist battered at him. And then, when it stopped, Baldwin knew that there was a reason. He glanced quickly, just in time to see the small dagger aimed at his heart, and kicked out with all his strength.
The two men were unbalanced, and Baldwin’s sudden movement forced Ranulph to go over backwards. He had to drop the dagger to try to break his fall, and then he received Baldwin’s full weight in his stomach. Before he could even think about recovering his breath, he felt the prick of a dagger under his chin.
‘Tell your men to stop. Right now. Order them!’
‘They won’t hear me!’ Ranulph snarled.
Baldwin pushed the little blade upwards. ‘Well, you had better try sodding hard, then, had you not?’ and watched the trickle of blood run down the slick metal. He set his jaw.
Ranulph gave a grunt – a nod would have been dangerous – and Baldwin slowly withdrew the blade. Instantly, Ranulph grabbed his second dagger and shoved Baldwin away, readying his arm to stab. Baldwin felt himself overbalance, and then he was on his back, Ranulph’s hand at his throat, the dagger reversed in his fist. Ranulph lifted his hand to thrust it into Baldwin’s chest, and roared, ‘No one tells me to stop, you churl!’
In the moment before the blade sank into his breast, Baldwin felt that sense of having witnessed this scene before. He knew this had already happened, and suddenly he was there on the ship again, reeling and falling as the Anne shifted, leaving him stunned while the pirate-master prepared to swing his axe. But Ranulph and he were on dry land. There was no plunging deck to save him now. He saw the determination in Ranulph’s eyes and saw his own death mirrored. There was nothing he could do.
Oh God, I love my wife, was his last thought, and then as he was about to close his eyes, there was a flash of blue, and he winced even as Ranulph’s eyes suddenly popped wide in alarm. There was that hoarse bellow which he had missed so much over the last few days.
‘You misbegotten bastard offspring of a wolf and a drunken priest’s whore! Drop your fucking weapon before I take your head off!’
‘Simon,’ Baldwin said, looking up with a wash of exhaustion trickling through his bones as the dagger fell from Ranulph’s hand. ‘There are times when it is a positive delight to see you. However, that is never more the case than when you turn up in the middle of a fight like this. Even if,’ he added with mock sternness, ‘you have the infernal nerve to pinch my own sword in order to save me.’
His expression was curious, slightly weak as though he was exhausted, but Simon could hardly see, because his own eyes were suddenly fogged, and his voice was not to be trusted. It was all he could do to sniff, wipe a hand over his brow, and nod. Then, as Ranulph made a move to reach for a dagger, Simon stood on it and then pulled his sword’s blade higher, one hand on the hilt, the other on the blade, pulling Ranulph’s head up against his own belly and forcing the blade into his throat. ‘Don’t think of it; don’t tempt me!’
He looked about at the mess. There were many men struggling on the ground, but fortunately the battle had been quite equally matched. Although Ranulph’s men had intended to grab a number of men by surprise, the place appeared to have been almost ready. There were plenty of men already armed, and few, fortunately, were lying still on the ground. ‘Enough! Stop this fighting,’ he roared at the top of his voice. ‘Ranulph de Blancminster has surrendered.’
More quietly, he said, ‘Get up, and order your men to stop. Otherwise, in God’s name, I swear I’ll cut your throat like a rabid dog’s.’
Blancminster staggered to his feet, both hands on the blade. He felt that he could have tried a number of ruses: perhaps a kick to Simon’s shin, or an elbow to the gut … but there was something in the man’s voice that didn’t invite gambling. Ranulph bit back a curse and commanded his men to yield, all the while swearing to himself that he would have revenge upon this upstart Bailiff. ‘You were my guest, yet you behave like this!’
‘I was your prisoner, ordered to obey your whim while you threatened my companions with death to suit your caprice. If I hadn’t stopped you, you would have killed my friend here, too.’
Baldwin stood, swallowing and feeling his neck. The men about them were beginning to draw apart, watching each other warily. Sailors and men-at-arms gripping their swords and axes on one side, while the villagers from St Nicholas fingered their own long daggers and knives on the other. Seeing William and Cryspyn standing wringing their hands, Baldwin waved to them, inviting them to join him and Simon. He had the feeling that it would take only a small spark to set off the men here again, and he had no desire to see the pleasant area erupt in an open battle once more. Perhaps having a Prior and a priest in the midst of the warring factions would prevent the sides coming together in violence again. After all, the real enemies were out there, on the sea. The pirates were probably escaping even as the castle’s men glowered at the fishermen of St Nicholas.
When he saw David lurking at the back of the group of St Nicholas men, he beckoned him with a bent finger. It was not in him to forget David’s inaction when the crowd sought Baldwin’s death, but he could wait a while before he sought to discuss his feelings, preferably using a sword to emphasise each of his verbal points with another less gentle one.
Simon had released Ranulph, but retrieved the Lord’s own sword, which he now gripped. When Baldwin glanced at him, Simon held out his own sword to him, hilt first, and Baldwin took it back with a smile. Just to hold it felt wonderful. He raised it to the sky, and it caught the sun, gleaming with an oily sheen.
‘Listen to me!’ he called, loudly enough for all the assembled men to hear. ‘This day, a ship of pirates was seen leaving the northern parts of these islands. They set off eastwards, and I doubt whether they can be caught now. They were Breton pirates. They had attacked the Anne and the Faucon Dieu. They killed our men and tried to steal our goods. Yet you here prefer to accuse each other of crimes, and try to attack each other. Ranulph de Blancminster, you are a felon for attacking Church lands and Church villeins. You have broken the law, and you will pay for your crimes. You and your men must go back to Ennor. I have no doubt that the good Bishop Walter in Exeter will make his own feelings plain.’
‘God rot his bowels!’ Ranulph declared. ‘He can make all the feelings he likes plain to me, but I—’
Simon still had Ranulph’s sword. He used it now to prod the man. ‘I should hold my tongue if I were you, Bishop Walter is the King’s friend. He is the Lord High Treasurer.’ It gave him a deal of pleasure to see how Ranulph’s eyes narrowed, first in suspicion, then in horror as Simon added, ‘And he is a personal friend of Sir Baldwin’s.’
Baldwin was talking to the Prior. ‘We should attempt to follow that ship. Is there a vessel which is swift enough to overtake her?’
David shrugged when the Prior glanced at him. ‘Many, I expect, but all too small to take a crew large enough to hope to threaten them. What sort of ship was she?’
‘A keel,’ Simon said, remembering something that Gervase had told him. ‘She had one large square sail and banks of oars.’
David looked up at the sky and wrinkled his nose. ‘No, I doubt we could catch her, then. Those things are very quick – it’s why they use them for raiding. We could try in one or two ships, but we could only carry five or six men per boat, and they’d keep us off too easily.’
‘Is there no other way to catch them?’ Baldwin demanded. Every moment that they waited here, he could feel the distance growing between the pirates and the islands. ‘There must be some means of pursuing them and bringing them to justice.’
David shrugged. ‘The only ship we have is the Faucon Dieu. She’s large enough to carry men to take the pirates’ ship, but she’s still full of wine and other merchandise.’
‘How long to empt
y her?’
‘Forget it. It’d take a day to empty her and prepare her for the chase. By the time we could set off, the bastards would be home. Face it: we can’t catch her.’
‘We can try,’ Baldwin said, and then he turned angrily on Ranulph. ‘You cretin! You were greedy enough to come here and try to take this island, weren’t you, but that was because you saw a means of extending your lands. You wanted the customs from St Nicholas’s Water, I suppose.’
‘I wanted to punish the pirates,’ Ranulph said. ‘These peasants are responsible for murder and piracy and the Prior wouldn’t do anything about it.’
‘You had no proof,’ Baldwin snapped. ‘Because they weren’t responsible! Those pirates out there are the men who tried to capture the Anne, not the people from this island.’
‘I wasn’t to know.’
‘Could you prepare the Faucon Dieu to sail,’ Simon asked David, ‘without emptying her? Then we could empty her while sailing. It would save time.’
‘No!’ Thomas cried with an agonised voice. ‘You can’t throw away all my—’
‘Yes,’ David said.
‘Send a man to order it,’ Baldwin said. ‘Select the best men from here and have them join us at the ship. We shall sail as soon as we can.’
‘We’ll need more water and some victuals,’ David said, frowning. He called a man over. ‘It will take a little while.’
‘How long?’ Baldwin demanded.
David gazed up at the sky. ‘If we can use the priory’s stores, we can set off before the sun is at her highest.’
‘Do so, then,’ Baldwin said. ‘And hurry.’
William sighed. He had been silent for a long while, staring pensively at Ranulph and listening to Baldwin, but now he shook his head sadly and peered at the Prior. ‘There is one thing, perhaps, Prior, which is a relief: the people who killed Luke are uncovered.’
‘What?’ Simon demanded.
The Outlaws of Ennor: (Knights Templar 16) Page 36