Out to sea, he could make out the islands of Agnas, with Anete beyond, their shapes thrown into stark relief as the sea exploded into white mountains and then subsided against the rocks that fringed them. The sight was awesome, and the priest sat there entranced for a long while, until his buttocks told him that it was too chill to remain here.
Standing, he found himself facing the castle on its little crag above the town. Instantly William’s face darkened.
‘Have a good meal, I hope,’ he muttered sarcastically. ‘And if the storm must take a man’s life, I pray it may be yours!’
Only then did he see the man striding along the lane, and William glanced at the coming storm pensively before making a decision. He hurried down the path and began to follow the man.
Chapter One
Although he wasn’t tall, Robert of Falmouth gave the impression of height in the way that he held himself. He strutted — rather like a pigeon — with his chest thrown forward and his head lowered, jaw jutting in imitation of a truculent man-at-arms. He strutted now, as he made his way to the beach at the northernmost tip of Ennor.
The posture was all an act. Robert had never yet been on the receiving end of a blade. When he was a child he suffered no bullying. That was why he was here, so he often thought, because he had no idea how to defend himself. If he had been bullied, he might have learned how to use his fists, and, seeing his chance, destroyed his enemy quickly, with no one getting seriously hurt. Instead, he was unsure of himself, and that made him reach for his dagger too quickly.
Long ago, when he was a youth, back in his home of St Cleer, a rival for the affections of a girl in the vill had met him in the road and sneered, calling him names, shouting that Robert was only after her for her father’s money, and then, his voice sinking, he let slip the warnings — that he’d see to it Robert had no chance with her. His thick forefinger stabbing Robert’s breast, the other youth brought his face down until Robert could see nothing but his hog-like eyes, raw and angry.
Robert was scared. He had never been pushed around before and was fearful that he might get hurt if he didn’t pre-empt an attack — but he didn’t know what to do. So he entered the fray wholeheartedly, arms flailing wildly. In the span of a minute or two, his enemy was on the ground, his nose fountaining blood, and then Robert saw his hand move. Yes, the bastard was reaching for his knife, and that sight gave Robert the chill certainty that one or other must die. Fear had started his fighting, now it forced him to act again. He kicked at the fellow, trying to knock the hand away from the blade, but even as he did so, he was pulling his own dagger free. It whirled in an arc, cutting a slice from the lad’s cheek; a second wild slash opened his throat, and then suddenly, before Robert could swing his arm again, a jet of blood shot across his vision and two others grabbed his arms and pulled him away.
Aghast, he had stood panting while his victim fell back, his legs thrashing while his lifeblood pumped away, like a hog whose throat was cut. There was no shrill screaming, but Robert was sure now that there had been a loud gurgling sound, like water in a small stone-lined leat hurrying away from a moor.
There was no pleasure in his victory, only more fear. The fellow had brothers, aye, and a powerful father who’d take pleasure in avenging him. Rather than wait for that, or the long, slow process of the law, Robert had taken the advice of the men with him and left home. He had never returned. He had run away to the coast, first to nearby Liskeard, thence to Falmouth, where he was taken on as a sailor and tried to learn his new trade.
He spent much of his time aboard ship in terror. While the master was an unholy, drunken fool, prone to beating and lashing his crew-members, another sailor, Jack, was a sodomite who saw it as his duty to assault any youngsters — and he soon made it clear to Robert that he was next. One night — Christ’s bones, Robert could remember it so clearly still — he had been reduced to a gibbering wreck, trying to evade the man while he was hunted from stem to stern of the cog. Only by concealing himself behind boxes of merchandise had he managed to escape, his dagger gripped tightly in his hand, and then the ship had landed at Dartmouth, and Robert fled.
Rather than seek another ship, he thought remaining on dry land would be preferable — and he should be safe so far from his home. Having found himself a job working in a tavern, which seemed ideally suited to his needs, since it not only paid his living but also employed a pretty serving wench whom he intended to know rather better, he was appalled one night to hear a familiar voice in the main room.
Over the hubbub of thirty or more voices roaring at one another, as though all were talking in the midst of a storm, he recognised one: Jack. He was in the tavern. From the slurred way he spoke he was already drunk, and Robert made sure that he remained at the farther end of the hall, away from Jack, as he served customers. Someone else could serve him.
There was a practical issue he hadn’t considered, though: that there was only one other servant there that night. When Robert heard the wench he desired give a short scream, he felt his blood freeze in his veins, but then in an instant it was boiling.
Yes. That was why he was here on the island of Ennor: because of another woman. He had rushed into the hall as soon as he heard that cry of terror. The maid had been picked up and slammed down on a table; her skirts were thrown up and over her waist, exposing her lower body as far as her belly, and Jack was between her legs, holding her wrists with one hand, preventing her from covering herself and hiding her shame, while gripping her cheeks in the other hand and trying to make her kiss him, laughing uproariously the while.
Robert had not hesitated. He ran in, pulling out his knife as he went. There was a rushing noise in his ears, and he felt an unholy thundering in his breast. Raising his arm, he struck once, twisting the blade deep inside his tormentor’s flesh. Then, when his victim roared and flailed his arms about, trying to catch his assailant and kill him, Robert began to stab and slash, again and again, desperate to kill Jack before the man could take him in those awful arms and break him to pieces, and then … all went black, as though he had fainted. Afterwards, all he remembered was waking, doused with water.
‘Come with me!’ The man’s voice was low and urgent.
Robert couldn’t recall where he was, nor how he had arrived there. ‘I … who are you?’ he stammered.
‘You misbegotten son of a Southwark whore! Are you so stupid you need to question me? Isn’t it enough that I’ll save you? If you stay here, the watch will catch you, and then what’ll happen, eh? Follow me.’
And he had. He was taken to a ship and hidden aboard, and later he felt the ship begin to heel over as she made sail. Only then was he taken up to the deck from his hiding place to be introduced to his rescuer.
‘Who are you?’ he asked again.
‘I am Sergeant to the Lord of the Manor at Ennor,’ the man said. ‘You can call me Thomas.’
‘Where are you taking me?’
Thomas had an easy manner about him. He eyed Robert speculatively, and appeared to like what he saw. For his part, Robert was impressed with this Sergeant. He was a slimly built man of maybe four or five and twenty years, with a narrow chin and thin lips. His hair was fair and he had the brightest eyes Robert had ever seen. With fingers as elegant as a lady’s, he tapped his chin thoughtfully. ‘I’m taking you to sanctuary, boy. To my master’s manor. You’ll be safe from the law there, and you can help us. We have need of a brave man.’
Robert could still remember the sight of that bloody corpse. The whole of Jack’s back had been crimson with blood. Someone had pulled him over, and Robert had seen his face. It had been terribly cut about, but underneath the blood there was an awful pallor. White, waxen — it had been even more fearsome dead than alive. There was evil in that face, an unholy foulness. At the time, Robert had shivered with revulsion and relief. But then he realised he would never see her again. That made him sigh.