Michael Jecks - The Death Ship of Dartmouth

As luck would have it, the Purveyor had only a short while before he tried to buy some cloth for the King’s household, only to discover that there was little to be had. Now he researched that market day and some others, and heard that much more cloth had been sent to market than had eventually been sold. It was a simple case of forestalling. Pyckard was meeting the dealers outside the town, offering a good sum for the whole lot, and then reselling it in the market when it opened for a better profit. However, he was keeping back a large proportion of the goods to sell in France, where the profit would be even greater.

The fine imposed after the Purveyor’s report had hurt Pyckard, although it had made Kena laugh. The next time Pyckard saw him in the market, he turned his back on Kena, and would have nothing more to do with him from that moment.

That was fine by Philip. He had no wish to be friendly with Pyckard, especially not after the way his men had behaved. One day he had let his wife out alone, and Pyckard’s men had … well, enough. Kena had one ambition: to be the most powerful merchant in Dartmouth. To achieve that, he would stop at nothing.

Especially if it could hurt Pyckard and his men.

Baldwin had slept in a guest room at the manor. Usually in an older house everyone would sleep together, but Stapledon had invested quite a sum already in ensuring that this little estate was as comfortable as possible, and there were several small chambers for guests up in the roof area. For once, while sleeping away from his home and his wife, Baldwin fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit his pillow.

The bishop had been born in Devon — in Holsworthy, if Baldwin recalled correctly — and it was a source of astonishment to the knight that this kindly, generous man could have sought to become embroiled in politics at so high a level. Bishop, Lord High Treasurer to the King, an expert in administration as well as consummate ambassador and negotiator, Stapledon had been at the heart of the nation’s political life for fifteen or sixteen years now, and the effect was all too plain on his features. The last months had been unkind to him.

Ever since Baldwin had first met the bishop, Walter had been involved in the government of the country. Stapledon was driven by a desire to do good: his creation of a school at Ashburton, his founding of Stapledon College in Oxford, his constant round of visitations in his diocese, all pointed to a man who took his duty of care seriously, to help the people whose souls he must serve. It was that aspect of his nature that appealed to Baldwin.

Now Baldwin dressed slowly in the cool morning. From the open shutter he could see over trees, which sparkled and gleamed in the sun as the drops of dew caught the light. It was a scene of perfect beauty and it made him beam with contentment.

Then his face hardened. The previous evening, the discussion about the dreadful affair of the silk purses, followed by the memory of the destruction of his Order, had lent a deadly edge to his enjoyment. It felt almost as though the bishop was reminding him of the frailty of men, and the vague idea that he was warning Baldwin would not leave the knight as he pulled his shirt on over his head, tugged on his crimson tunic and cote-hardie, and buckled on his small riding sword.

Entering the hall, he found it full of the first servants. They were eating four to a mess, while the second servants waited on them. Soon the first would all leave, and then the second would break their fast. Up on the dais at the far end of the hall, the bishop sat in his great chair, a careworn cleric in black garb with no decoration but his ring and the crucifix about his neck, and did not touch the bread or meats that were spread before him. He looked up as Baldwin entered.

Baldwin had often felt that directness was the easiest approach when he was in doubt, so he marched to the top table and bowed. ‘Sir, last evening you started to tell me that you wanted me to go to Dartmouth for you, but you did not wish to discuss the matter in any great detail.’

‘I grew distracted by the matter of the silken purses,’ Stapledon admitted. His eyes met Baldwin’s briefly, then scanned the room behind the knight. ‘I am too old, I fear. All these years in the service of the King have addled what brains I once possessed. Ha! You can argue if you wish, Sir Knight, but I know the truth. I wasted your time.’

That was a relief. Baldwin had begun to wonder whether this favour which the bishop wanted to ask would involve him in politicking. He had no desire to have any part in the disputes between the King and his Queen, nor between Edward and any of his subjects who had grown disillusioned with his reign — and God alone knew, there were enough of them . Ever since the last bloody war, in which he captured his own cousin, Thomas of Lancaster, and had him put to death, people had become more and more fearful. Edward’s men had rampaged up and down the kingdom, hunting out all those whom he accused of being traitors allied with Thomas, taking them, lords, barons and knights, and slaying them in their own cities, hanging their rotting carcases from gibbets at the city gates. It was unheard of for an English monarch to dare to behave so brutally to his own people.

More recently, matters had sunk to a new low. The Despenser family, father and son, had taken to stealing all they coveted. As matters stood, Baldwin was sure that the younger Despenser was the wealthiest man in the land after the King himself. Those who stood in his path died.

‘Let us go for a walk,’ the bishop said, standing abruptly. ‘We can eat a little later, if you do not object?’

Casting an eye over the men eating at their trestle tables, many with their gaze upon him and the bishop, Baldwin nodded. The bishop signalled to a cleric at the corner of the room, and a fur-trimmed cloak was brought for him, together with a soft felt hat. While the weather was so clement, Baldwin refused the offer of another cloak and hat.

‘This matter is very important,’ the bishop said as they crossed the court, ‘and I did not wish to speak more of it in front of all my household.’

‘Does it involve the King or the Queen?’ Baldwin asked outright.

‘Gracious God! What on earth made you ask that?’ the bishop said, stopping dead in his tracks.

‘Bishop, I am not a fool. If you are about to tell me that the Queen has taken a lover and given him a silken purse, I must refuse to help you,’ Baldwin said lightly.

The bishop attempted a laugh. ‘The idea!’

‘I am serious, though. I would be disinclined to help if it means I grow involved in politics,’ Baldwin said as they marched over the drawbridge and stood staring at the distant smoke and haze of Exeter. ‘I have a wife and daughter to consider.’

‘I can understand that,’ Stapledon said heavily. ‘My concern is that if you don’t, the land could again be engaged in war.’

‘What on earth makes you say that?’

‘You have to understand the problems,’ Stapledon sighed. ‘Very well … It is all because of Lord Hugh Despenser. Hugh and the King are very close, you understand. It makes the Queen feel left out. There are messages between Edward and the French court every few days, and they are growing less diplomatic each time.’ He began to walk again, his head down. ‘Despenser has no love of the French. You remember when he was exiled?’

‘Yes. It was when the Lords Marcher took Despenser’s castles and marched on London. They forced the King to exile him and his father.’

‘Yes. Young Despenser took a ship and began to attack any who sailed in the Channel; he captured the cargoes and killed the crews.’

‘There was a Genoese ship, I think?’ Baldwin recalled vaguely.