When he went inside, he could smell it. Fresh wine from the Prior’s own stores, discovered in the Prior’s buttery and opened by the men in there. They had caught a young monk and while two held him down, another raped him.
Jean was tempted to kill them there and then, but the feverish mood which kept swamping him was too exhausting. He eyed them with disgust, but said nothing. Ordering them to kill the man, and not to forget to bring a barrel or two to the ship, for the Prior had several small casks in his storeroom, Jean led the way down the stairs to the courtyard again. There he breathed a little more easily as the men began to manhandle their trophies past the now still body of the gatekeeper, then were out in the open again. In front of them they could see their ship ready and waiting, and that filled them with a new high-spiritedness, the men all but running with their loads.
They were only a matter of yards from the ship when Jean heard the roar, and he realised the danger as soon as he heard it. There was nothing so formidable as a peasant who saw others despoiling the church which he viewed as his own. Now, glancing over his shoulder, he saw that there were ten or more men running towards him, and he swore under his breath even as he looked to his own men and how they might be deployed. Making a quick decision, he ordered the church plate and casks to be taken to the ship, and all those who carried nothing to support him. Turning, he watched the oncoming men with a sense of resignation rather than excitement.
It was his arm — he was sure of it. The swelling was so bad, he scarcely dared look at it, and the smell which was coming from the stained bandages was particularly foul. Nothing felt, really, as though it mattered. It would be good to return home with a handsome prize, but if he died on the way, he wouldn’t mind. The main thing was, making the profit. There should be something for his woman. His boys could fend for themselves.
This damned arm … he could feel the blood being poisoned in his veins, all because of that evil bastard who had stabbed him on board that blasted ship. If he saw the man again, he would kill him.
And then, blessed miracle, he saw the fellow. There, in front of the men racing towards them, was the man with the ridiculous beard that followed the line of his jaw, the peacock-blue sword glittering furiously in the sun as though it actually had a life of its own and was seeking fresh blood to taste. The sight made Jean shiver with loathing; or perhaps it was the returning fever. He suddenly felt frozen to the marrow, but he wasn’t sure what it was that made him feel like that. There was a suspicion at the back of his mind that he was about to die. It was a premonition which he had never had before, and he felt terrified for a moment, as though he could see the long centuries ahead in which he would not exist. It lasted a moment only. Then he roared his defiance and waved his sword about his head twice, before marching forward to join battle.
Chapter Thirty
Baldwin saw him at the same time, and as soon as the black-haired man stepped forward, Baldwin ran to meet him.
Both knew that this was a personal challenge; whichever of the two was to fall, the other would be victor. If the pirate captain were to die, the pirates would lose; Baldwin preferred not to think of the consequences of his own death.
Not that he would have much to fear, he thought. The pirate was clearly badly wounded, and he panted as he lifted his sword to strike at Baldwin. It was easy to block it with a sharp flick of his wrist, and then Baldwin stepped back, waiting for the next blow. But it was terribly slow. Baldwin parried it easily, waiting for the hidden attack under the obvious, but there was nothing, and then he saw the edge of the flesh at the pirate’s neck. It was red, with veins showing darkly, as though the man had fallen into a fire and his flesh scorched.
Suddenly Baldwin felt sick. This man had been wounded by him days ago, and he had fought valiantly, trying to preserve his life, and now Baldwin had the duty of ending a life which must have been appallingly painful, from the way that the man favoured his arm in its sling. It was cruel to destroy someone who was all but incapable of defending himself, but Baldwin had responsibilities. If this fellow lived, he would return and he would try to rob and plunder again. It was in his nature. Baldwin could see it in his eyes, red-rimmed though they were: this man had no comprehension of the suffering of others, only of his own inordinate greed.
There was a slow, slashing sweep of the man’s sword, and Baldwin put out his sword to block it, but the blade had already moved with a flick of the pirate’s hand, and now Baldwin felt the snagging at his tunic.
He leaped back, seeing the cruel delight in his enemy’s face. The front of his tunic was soaked with blood. The blade had nearly eviscerated him, and if he had tried a thrust himself, which he would have done, had he not been distracted by the pitiable condition of the pirate, he would have been spitted like a hog over a fire.
The sting of the wound woke him to the realities of fighting. He held his sword out to stop another thrust, then blocked a sweeping blow to his head. When the pirate tried to kick, Baldwin was already out of reach, but he managed to swing a blow to the man’s thigh, and he felt the sword catch on the bone as he withdrew it.
That was enough to enrage the pirate. Without taking account of the agony in his arm, Jean jumped forward, dancing lightly on his feet, trying to ignore the dull throbbing in his thigh. It was nothing. No, he had to attack, press this shit-eating moron back, and wait for the chance to run him through, and then make his way to the ship.
He pushed forward, his arm stabbing with an extensive pain that seemed to swallow his entire soul. The knight fell back, and the pirate took a moment to glance back at his ship to see whether he could bolt for it if he needed. What he saw made him gape.
The ship had been pushed out to sea, and as he watched, he saw the sail drop and ripple in the wind. It was a moment before the ship started to move, helped by the ranks of oars on either side. There were enough men to propel the ship and manoeuvre her for a short distance, and as he watched her, Jean knew he had been betrayed. The men he had thought his companions had deserted him and his fellows; they were doomed.
With that thought, he realised how long he had been staring. He turned just in time to see the sword that swept off his head and his arm in one long blue shimmer of steel.
Baldwin watched the body collapse. Instantly he could smell the foulness in the rotten arm, and he retreated a step.
The men about him were almost all finished. David stood at his side panting, a scratch all down his cheek, from which a pale, watery blood ran steadily. Next to him was Simon, unscathed, while before him two pirates lay, one still twitching, Baldwin saw.
It was not these men who took Baldwin’s attention, though. It was the pirate ship, which was even now heading away from the island. Once it rounded the western tip of Ennor, that would be the end of the matter, he knew. The ship could take to the open sea.
Just then, he saw a great sail above the area of St Nicholas known as St Sampson, white and massive as a cloud, and then, a few moments later, the great hull of the cog herself hove into view.
The vessel moved steadily with the wind, which was almost behind her, and she had already built up speed after passing about the western edge of St Sampson. Now she was moving with great wings of froth at the prow, her bow rising and falling gently, all her motion taking her like an arrow towards her target.
Too late the pirate ship saw the danger. The men ran about the ship, the helmsman leaning on the rudder, the sailors running up the ratlines and out on the yards, hauling on ropes from below while those above untied the reefs, trying to get a few more yards from the wind. It was no good. With a loud cracking noise, the cog drove into the flank of the pirates’ hull, the oak smashed and wrecked, and all those on the beach could hear the terrible cries of the pirates who couldn’t swim as the cog’s bows rammed on, while sailors leaped aboard from the Faucon Dieu and began to finish the butchery.