‘The soldiers are not there to aid the Templar’s claim, de Marisco,’ replied John. ‘The sheriff is down there also and we are seeking pirates who have taken ships along this coast and murdered the crew of one recently. Your name has been mentioned more than once in such activities.’
The lord of Lundy burst out laughing. ‘Pirates! The damned sea is swarming with them. Every third vessel in these waters pillages and kills when they think the pickings are good enough.’ He swept an arm expansively around the horizon. ‘From here I have seen two different pirates competing for the same victim, they are so thick in the water – Turks, Moors, Irish, Welsh and Bretons, to say nothing of our local villains!’
‘Which includes you, I take it?’ suggested de Wolfe, with reluctant admiration for Marisco’s openness.
The island chief leered at him. ‘I’ll say nothing that one day might be used against me, Crowner. But tell me of this particular crime you are investigating. Why come to me as a suspect?’
De Wolfe related the tale of the capture and wrecking of the Saint Isan, and the inquest on the corpse found on board. ‘The survivor says a galley with six oars a side was responsible, similar to those two drawn up on your beach down there.’
‘God’s teeth, de Wolfe, there are hundreds of boats like that, especially amongst folk with a fondness for piracy. They can be rowed against the wind to catch a sluggish merchantman. But we’ve not used those in many weeks – in fact, one is holed, having run against Mouse Rock, which stove in a few planks.’
‘You may say that, but how do I know it’s true?’ snapped de Wolfe. ‘You have two galleys on your beach, the whole of Devon alleges Lundy is a nest of pirates and you have not denied it.’
De Marisco coloured with rising anger. ‘I don’t give a damn what you think, Crowner! Are you going to cart me off to Bideford in chains to await trial, eh? Have a care! You are here only on sufferance because of this priest.’
De Wolfe stepped forward a pace and the two men each side of de Marisco put their hands on their sword hilts in a warning gesture. ‘If we are bandying questions, are you threatening the life of King Richard’s coroner in this county? I have already pointed out to your man Robert that Lundy is no sovereign state. It is part of England and you hold your bleak island from the Crown. Deny that or threaten the king’s representatives and you make yourself a traitor, de Marisco.’
The two big men eyed each other aggressively but de Marisco was not one to back down. ‘Hold my island, you say! Yes, until old King Henry granted my estate to those self-righteous men who carry the red cross on their breasts. What have they to do with an English island? Let them stay in Palestine where they belong. They’ll not throw me from my birthright, just to add to their possessions – I’ll die first!’ he added.
De Wolfe, who secretly had sympathy with his views, shrugged. ‘That’s none of my business, but the time will come when London or Winchester will send an army against you that can’t be repulsed by one trebuchet and a handful of ragged soldiers. In the meantime, are you denying that one of your galleys took the Saint Isan and slew most of its crew?’
De Marisco looked at his thin henchman, Robert, who shook his head emphatically. ‘We made no such attack then, I swear to it.’
De Wolfe noted the word ‘then’, but the man sounded sincere about not having taken that particular ship.
‘You have your answer, Crowner. That’s all I have to say to you, so look elsewhere for your culprits. Any port from Tunis to Dublin may harbour them, so I wish you joy of it!’
With that de Marisco turned and marched back to his rocky stronghold on the cliff. There was nothing else to be gained, so John, Gwyn and the silent Cosimo, who seemed slightly amused by the whole episode, followed their guards back down to the beach. The ragged army of de Marisco watched them with curiosity as they refloated the curragh and Gwyn rowed them back to the knarr, still anchored outside the range of the trebuchet.
On board, de Wolfe reported the futile visit to the sheriff and the other knights. De Grenville laughed cynically when the coroner described de Marisco’s attitude. ‘Typical of the arrogant bastard! He sits on this great rock and defies the world to do anything about him.’
When the three Templars heard de Wolfe describe the lord of Lundy’s contemptuous dismissal of their claim to the island, their determination to do something about it was strengthened, especially in de Falaise, who seemed almost apoplectic with fury at the defiance to their great Order by an insignificant tenant on a remote island.
Roland de Ver turned in exasperation to the shipmaster. ‘Is there no other landing place further along the coast where we can avoid this damned trebuchet?’ he demanded.
‘There are several poor beaches along this east side of the island, but they are more difficult and dangerous – and I don’t like the look of the weather.’
However, after much discussion and persuasion, the two ship-masters hauled up their anchor stones and moved further out to sea, watched intently by the crowd on the shore who again began yelling and waving in triumph at the apparent retreat of authority. When the two knarrs turned north and began to sail up the coast, the defenders tracked them along the shore, but because of the cliffs they had to climb almost to the top to find a path. A mile further on, the ships again came in closer and another stretch of pebbles, just past a small waterfall, was visible under the cliffs. Already a few of de Marisco’s men had arrived, but most were still scrambling along the steep paths towards them.
‘Get in as close as you can, master,’ commanded the leader of the Templars and, reluctantly, the two knarrs came within a hundred paces of the beach before dropping anchor.
The ship-master kept looking up, and though the cliffs obscured the western horizon, the long band of cloud that had been so distant earlier on was now visible across the sky, and the wind had dropped to an ominous calm. It was early afternoon: the tide had turned from its six-hour ebb and was rising again.
‘You could get the bows right against the beach now,’ suggested Gwyn. ‘A pair of sweeps would keep them nose-on to the shore whilst the troops jumped into the shallows.’
Again, the masters of the two vessels protested, mainly because they feared damaging the hulls on the stones, but also because of a sudden change in the weather.
Roland de Ver assuaged their fears with promises of more money, and the first knarr moved towards the shore, its bows crowded with men, the Templar knights crouching against the stem-post, shields up and swords in hand. In the other boat, Richard de Grenville led his own men, together with Ralph Morin and the rest of the Exeter soldiers. On the beach itself, a score of defenders were spread out thinly, looking rather hesitant as these formidable raiders in their impressive armour came towards them.
As the keel of the first ship crunched on to the pebbles, the Templars slid over the bulwarks into thigh-deep water and stumbled up the beach, followed by their sergeants and a dozen men-at-arms. A few spears were thrown at them, but they were deflected harmlessly by the shields of the experienced warriors. De Wolfe and Gwyn were behind the press of men in the bow, waiting to get ashore. Alongside them was the sheriff, looking decidedly unhappy as he spoke to his brother-in-law. ‘Are we going to get ourselves killed for a few acres of barren Templar land?’ he asked.
De Wolfe gave him a twisted grin. ‘Yes, why not? A pity not to use that nice new armour of yours, Richard. Come on!’
He put his legs over the side and dropped into the cold water, a low wave gliding past to soak him up to the waist. Gwyn splashed beside him and, with a roar, waded happily through the surf, waving his sword in the air. Reluctantly, the sheriff followed them and they stumbled up the bank of stones.