The Outlaws of Ennor: (Knights Templar 16) (10 page)

That discovery was wonderful. It was as though her life had suddenly begun again. The desperation and despair of the last years were wiped out as though by magic, and in their place was a new confidence. This was the proof: the problem was not hers, it was her man who was at fault. And yet she could do nothing about it. She was tied to him with indissoluble chains, witnessed by God.

Attempting to balance her feelings and desires in this way, Tedia had driven herself almost into a brain fever. For two days she felt as though she was floating on a cloud of happiness high over all her troubles, and even tried to invigorate her husband again, but then she sank into the pit of despair once more. It was while she was deep in a depression on the fourth day that she had sought out Luke, the chaplain. She needed spiritual help.

At once he had seen her misery and asked what the matter was. After a lot of snivelling and sadness, she confessed that she had no idea what to do, explaining her predicament.

‘My child, the solution is easy,’ he said with that gentle smile of his. ‘You must divorce him.’

If Isok was unable to service her, he was failing in his duty to God and to her. She must find a new husband so that she wouldn’t fail in
her
duty. That meant she must divorce her Isok.

She listened with her mouth agape. The idea was shameful! Terrible! But there was a certain elegant logic to it. Divorce was less bad than continuing life without sex or children. That was unbearable. It was an insult to God, Who had commanded that men and women should multiply.

When Luke explained it to her, it seemed so clear and logical, she was overwhelmed with gratitude. He told her that she must find
another man. That it would only be doing God’s will, were she to find a lover; she should find a man who could satisfy her, and whom she could also satisfy, while also producing the children which God desired above all else.

Of course, she thought. That is natural. And then Luke reached forward, and kissed her so kindly, she had felt her heart leap in response. She had risen, thanked him and explained that she must return to her husband or he would wonder where she was. There was a slightly petulant expression on his face when she said that, but she hadn’t thought much of it at the time.

So she had made her choice. Her lover was to be Robert. Last night she had hoped to consummate her love for him, and then, when the divorce was granted, she would go to Robert and be his wife. They would live at the castle behind La Val and would have many children as God wished.

Except Robert had not arrived the night before. It was no surprise. He was a man of authority. His face was known across all the islands, and he could have been called away to deal with a problem somewhere else. Or maybe he was simply intimidated by the weather. He could well have rationalised that her husband might have turned back from the sea as soon as he saw the storm approach, just as Isok actually had. In which case, Robert might be coming to see her today to apologise.

With this thought in mind, she left her home and walked down to the beach.

It was smothered in driftwood and weeds. The sands which had been so clean and white the day before, were now cluttered with pebbles and dirt. Sections of the grassed banks at the top of the beach were rent asunder, the rich soil spilling out and staining the sand. When she continued along the seashore, she saw huts and houses with their thatch blown apart, and in one case a house had lost its entire roof. The peasant who lived there was standing on an unstable ladder trying to make the best of it he could. Tedia thought that she should offer to let him stay with her in her house, but then a certain rectitude told her that it might be a bad idea while her husband was away in his boat, as he had said he would be.

Isok
had been acting oddly ever since she had said that she wanted a divorce. It appeared not to surprise him, but had sent him into a sulky mood that hadn’t gone away. She wanted to comfort him, but it wasn’t possible. He resented her, as though she was disloyal in desiring a divorce. She could understand that. Still, she didn’t
dislike
him. Perhaps her love had dwindled over the long barren years, but she was still fond of him. If they had managed to have children, she was sure that he would have made a good father. He was kind and generous, more so than many other husbands. There was only his one failing: but that was a vital and unforgivable one.

She sighed. The sooner she could proceed with the divorce, the better. She had already spoken with Prior Cryspyn and asked that he petition on her behalf. At first, the Prior had refused, saying that an oath spoken before God could not be undone even by the Bishop’s court, but then he had relented enough to agree to write to the Bishop and set out the facts on her behalf. He had said that he would hope for an answer soon, or at least some indication of how to proceed, even if a simple annulment was not possible.

Putting the thoughts away from her with a skill which she had learned from her despair, Tedia considered the view, glancing over towards the main island, Ennor. In the water she saw many pieces of wood, and she wondered whether a ship had been driven onto one of the many groups of rocks which were scattered so liberally about here.

The sea brought up many strange objects, but last night’s storm must have been more violent than any she had witnessed before, she reckoned, because there was a vast amount of flotsam and jetsam. Pieces of timber, ropes, small barrels, and bundles of rags. That must mean a large ship had gone down. With a sudden certainty, she turned and stared out towards Ennor. There, near the westernmost tip of Agnas, she saw what looked like a dismasted ship rolling on the low tide, and the sight tore at her heart. Born an islander, she knew what a wreck meant: dead men.

As though her mind suddenly appreciated the sight, she gasped, turned and bolted towards the rags. They were yellowish green, lying up near the top of the tide-mark, and as she approached, she was sure
that she was too late. The cold of the sea must have killed him; if not that, then surely he had taken in too much water to live. He couldn’t have survived.

But when she came closer, she could hear the stertorous breath snoring in his throat and nose, and she ran to him to see whether she might save him, little knowing how this meeting would change her future for ever.

Ranulph
de Blancminster was already out investigating the damage done to his properties when William arrived at the small castle, and William couldn’t help but feel that it was fortunate. He and the Lord of the Manor had never seen eye to eye, and William dreaded to think of the expression on Ranulph’s face when he heard that there was easy plunder from a wrecked ship.

Ennor Castle itself with its new crenellations appeared unaffected by the storms. It was a simple rectangular keep, sitting on a craggy outcrop of rock with a rocky outer wall enclosing the main court with its stables, cookhouse and stores. It was not designed to protect the occupants from invasion, and a good thing too, in William’s view. Still, it was built of good local stone which could keep out discontented islanders, and that was all Ranulph wanted.

Outside the walls were more stables and stores, together with some living quarters for the men who served the castle and Ranulph’s manor all about. These were in turmoil as William walked through, and he offered his sympathy to women who forlornly picked through the wreckage of huts blown over in the gales, all their meagre belongings crushed beneath. One mother sat sniffing sightlessly, a dead child cradled in her arms. The father was nearby, picking up timbers and throwing them aside, calling increasingly desperately to his other daughter. William felt a clutch at his heart at the sight. This was the reality of God’s power. Simple folk could be destroyed in the twinkling of an eye. At least this woman would soon conceive and bear more children. They would have to be her consolation in the future, for these two would soon be only a sad memory.

He had known both children since their births; he’d christened them both. He came here to St Mary’s in Ennor when Peter Visconte was ordered away by the Prior after his whoring with Mabilla de
Marghasiou, the ‘priest’s mare’ whom he had brought with him when he first arrived in the islands. At the time William was living a quieter life up in the chapel of St Elidius in the north of the islands, but he had been commanded by the Bishop to come here and take over Peter Visconte’s responsibilities, and his own little chapel had sunk into disuse until Brother Luke arrived. Clearly Luke had been badly behaved, because the Bishop had given him the hermit’s chapel. William, by contrast, had been told to stay here at Ennor instead.

William looked about him with a blank expression. He must comfort the people here, he knew, and yet he would have been happier to have been left up on St Elidius. He craved the peace of his little chapel. Not like Luke, who appeared to loathe it.

Luke was a weird one. He was certainly bright enough. His sermons seemed to catch the folk all about with their vivid depictions of suffering, as though he himself had experienced loss and pain; he fixed on the sins of the flesh a little too much for William’s taste. William himself felt happier preaching against the sins of gluttony, pride and sloth – especially when he observed Ranulph de Blancminster in his audience.

There was something in Luke’s expression that spoke of sadness. No, it was more than that. Perhaps it was soul-deep. William had a theory that there were two types of person. Some wore their sadness on view for all to see. The woman who had lost her children was one example: she would mourn loudly when the terrible torpor which now had her in its grip finally left. Then would begin the longer period of quiet grief.

Others couldn’t afford to succumb to their misery. Her husband was an example. He would work now, seeking to save whatever he could from their little property, and when that was done, he would spend his time in trying to comfort his woman. He would hide his sadness, but it would still be there, deep within him, burning away at him like a canker.

Of the two, William was sure that the man needed the more support. The woman had her man to give her his strength, but there was no one apart from the chaplain to give her husband comfort. His
pain lay far below, not up on the surface. It was there that William must concentrate his efforts.

Luke had that same sort of quiet, concealed pain. It was a manly pain, a hidden grief that was enough to tear at his soul, but which he could not mention to others. Perhaps he had raised it with his confessor at St Nicholas’s Priory. Because Luke had come here from a convent, so William had heard (gossip among the brothers and other religious was more common than among the most garrulous women on the islands), he was confessed by the Prior himself, so William had heard. That in itself was a bit curious. Not many lowly chaplains had such a prestigious confessor.

Yes. It was possible that the fellow had a deep hurt which had led to his being brought here to recover himself.

However, William was unconvinced. He had seen the way Luke’s eyes invariably sought out the prettiest women in his congregation and stayed there. To William’s mind, Luke was the sort of man who depended upon women to keep him content, and that was a poor qualification for a celibate. It was more likely that Luke was here for a failing. Perhaps it was that common failing among priests: the same as that which led to Peter Visconte being removed from St Mary’s in the first place.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, Walerand made his way from the castle towards the marshy lands in the middle of Ennor, and thence up towards Penn Trathen.

He was relatively new to Ranulph’s service, but he was confident that he’d be promoted before too long. For now, he was merely a servant, but he hoped to follow men like Robert, the gather-reeve, and become a known strong man. Perhaps he could take over Robert’s job, winning money for their master. It was easy enough. The man only had to sneer a bit, act tough, and these pathetic bastards gave him their money. Walerand could do all that. More, in fact, because he wouldn’t stop at a scowl. He’d be happy to beat the living shit from most of the cretins on the islands.

He wasn’t born here. Originally he came from Falmouth, but an unfortunate mistake had led to his leaving in a hurry. The mistake
was, he had thought that the priest in the church up on the hill just outside the town, was asleep. Sadly, he wasn’t, and when Walerand tried to pinch the plate, the chaplain had come in breathing hellfire and damnation. Walerand had been forced to pull out his knife to defend himself as the priest drew his sword and denounced him as a trailbaston and thief. Luckily, the priest was old and unused to fighting, whereas Walerand had grown up as an orphan in the rougher streets of Falmouth, and was more than capable of defending himself. He ducked under the priest’s blade, then stabbed upwards, feeling his own blade snag on something. Unpleasantly convinced that the ‘something’ was the priest’s heart (it was in fact merely a jerkin of sheepskin which the priest wore under his tunic during the miserable winter months, and he was unscathed), Walerand fled the place with no money and the conviction that he had consigned his eternal soul to hell.

The islands had called to him eventually. It had taken some while. After the botched robbery, he had escaped to Truro and tried his hand at many jobs, but every time, when a tradesman realised that he had never been apprenticed, he was looked at askance, apart from in the small brothel there, where any fellow could have gained a position.

One day, he heard of the island of Ennor from a sailor who had been there, and learned that there was a place which was a haven for outlaws. As soon as he heard this, he resolved to visit and offer his services. The sailor was happy to take him there, for a fee, and before dawn the next morning, Walerand stole the purse of the brothel’s keeper, and boarded ship. As he had hoped, Ranulph was happy enough to have him as one of his men, initially a servant, but soon no doubt he could take on more responsibilities as a man-at-arms or something.