Michael Jecks - The Death Ship of Dartmouth

No, best look to making money while he could and try to avoid being pressed into the King’s host. Perhaps he could ensure that his competitors were called into service rather than him. After all, other men had larger ships for transporting horses and men, while if smaller landing ships were needed, his was rather too large. The dangers of bringing an army over the water were well enough known to all. With any luck, his vessel should fall between the two stools. Especially if he was careful to make clear that the others in town had better craft for raiding as well.

The others would do the same to him if they had a chance. And he was shrewd enough to know that this was exactly what they would attempt: a brief talk with a government procurer, perhaps with a bribe as well because the devils were venal to a man. Well, if that was what the likes of Hawley, Pyckard and Kena would try, so would he.

Hawley, Pyckard and Kena … Pyckard would soon be no threat; he was dying, and anyway, since the loss of his wife in that squall in 1309, he had been a weaker man than the others. They were still fighting to be the most important merchant in town; while he had given up. Oddly, he had developed more of an interest in the future since his imminent death had become so obvious. A man didn’t need an oracle to foretell his end. It would be very soon now.

Yes. Now all Hilary had to worry about were the other two: Hawley and Kena.

Hawley had been first on the scene when the Saint John was discovered, he reminded himself, and Kena wanted more than anything to be able to damage Hawley. Perhaps there was some leeway for Beauley in that. He could set the two of them against each other. And anyone with a brain must see that Hawley was the most likely killer of the crew of the Saint John . He had got there first. Perhaps he didn’t rob anything because he knew other ships were near, including Beauley’s own. The thieving old goat would scarcely have been able to keep his hands from the cargo else.

Perhaps he ought to visit Kena.

Baldwin had been offered a place on a ship to make his journey, but he rejected that in favour of a ride. The roads were appalling from Exeter down to Dartmouth, but the weather had not been too bad in the last few weeks and he hoped that the tracks would be dry at least. With luck it would take only a day and a half. He asked the bishop to send a messenger to his wife Jeanne explaining his delay and reassuring her that he would be home again as soon as possible, and then ordered that his horse be saddled and prepared. After packing his few belongings into a satchel, he walked down into the hall to take his leave of the bishop.

‘You are ready, Sir Baldwin?’

The knight nodded, sitting and drinking a little watered wine as the bishop finished surveying some papers and then passed them to a clerk to deal with. He looked at Baldwin. ‘I have already taken Mass for my servants. Would you care to join me at my chapel? I should like to pray for your success and safety.’

Nothing loath, Baldwin followed the bishop into his private chapel, and the two men washed their hands together before kneeling.

It was a proof of the bishop’s kindliness, Baldwin felt, that he should have asked Baldwin here to join him. It was rare that he would ask someone to kneel with him. In fact, in all the years Baldwin had known him — eight now — he had never before been asked to pray with Bishop Stapledon. He felt honoured.

That feeling stayed with him all the way from Bishop’s Clyst to Exeter itself, and out the other side as he went over the great spans of the bridge, trying to ignore the foul stench from the tanners’ yards at Exe Island. He was still aware of the warmth of the bishop’s farewell as he rode along the well-beaten trail that led through the bustling town of Newton Abbot and on to the little village of Ipplepen in the early afternoon. He had covered a good many miles, perhaps seven leagues, and his horse was glad of the rest as he asked the keeper at the priory’s gate whether he might stop a short while and partake of their hospitality. Fortunately the priory had only that morning racked off a fresh ale, and he was offered a bench to sit at, bread, cheese and ale. The Augustinian monks who lived there were known for their generosity, and after a good quart and a half of their strong ale, Baldwin was determined to excuse himself and continue on his way, for else he must lose the afternoon’s travelling. He was keen to complete his mission, both so that he could return homewards, and also so that he might reassure the bishop that nothing untoward had happened to his nephew.

‘Ridiculous, anyway,’ he muttered to himself as he checked the girth and pulled a face. This horse was always keen to avoid too tight a strap, and all too often a lazy groom would fail to tighten it properly. Feeling the horse’s head turn towards him, Baldwin met his gaze sternly, then suddenly jabbed a thumb up into the beast’s belly. As he neighed angrily, Baldwin tugged the girth hard and managed to buckle it two holes tighter than before. ‘Don’t be so froward,’ he grunted as he clambered up and began to make his way beneath the priory’s gatehouse.

The warm glow which he had felt began to fade almost as soon as he left Ipplepen. The hospitality there had been of the best — but only after Baldwin had made a donation to their funds. It was reasonable that a man like him should be asked to make a contribution, of course, but the change in attitude of their hospitaller had been so plain as soon as he had reached into his purse that Baldwin had felt a little insulted.

And yes, it was kind of the bishop to give him the comfort of a prayer with him before sending him off on his journey — a sign of his generous spirit — and yet there was something odd in his expression as he gave Baldwin his farewell. To Baldwin’s mind the bishop had looked almost shifty as he said the short prayer for a swift journey and safe arrival. The knight began to wonder at the reasons for the bishop’s behaviour, and the only explanations which occurred to him were not comforting.

Simon returned to his place of work and sat for a long time in his chair while Stephen scratched at his parchments. After some while, Stephen rose and offered to buy some wine for them both. ‘The weather is a little cool,’ he said.

‘What, this?’ Simon asked, surprised. He had loosened his jack because he felt so warm. ‘You have ice in your veins, man.’

‘Perhaps,’ Stephen said with a dry smile. He forbore to mention that he sat in the full window with the chill gusts blowing through him, while Simon had the benefit of a chair in a draught-free part of the room.

‘Pyckard was in a dreadful way,’ the bailiff said reflectively. ‘I suppose learning that his crew is gone would hurt any man, but he seems to be ruined with this illness too.’

‘I had heard he was dying. He has sunk very quickly in the last few days,’ Stephen said. ‘It’s certain sure that he won’t last much longer.’

‘He spoke of several sailors — the dead man we found, Danny, then two others called Vincent and Odo. There were three from Exmouth, and he mentioned a man called Adam, too, although he seemed to forget him later.’

‘I’ve heard of them,’ Stephen said. ‘Vincent and Odo are well-known troublemakers. They’d fight and brawl with any. There was even a rumour about them attempting a rape.’

‘He said something about that. What of the others? Did you know this Adam?’

‘Everyone knew Adam. He was Pyckard’s best shipmaster. Adam was the sort of man to whom Pyckard entrusted all his most difficult missions — a strong, capable type, and an excellent sailor. He’s the one whom Pyckard will miss most sorely.’

‘There must be other sailors as capable?’