Michael Jecks - The Death Ship of Dartmouth

The moment he had left the room, Peter Strete wiped his forehead with his sleeve. There had been a moment then when … but it was only his guilt. Hawley couldn’t possibly know what he’d been up to. No, if he had the faintest inkling, there would have been sailors in here holding him down while Hawley took a leather strap to his back — and he wouldn’t stop until there was no flesh left on him. That was the sort of man Hawley was. The only thing that could make it worse was if Hawley gave the task to his son, also called John. Young John enjoyed seeing people suffer.

Hawley was a bad man to have for an enemy. Taking something from him made a man de facto his worst enemy. And Strete had taken much from him in recent times.

Even now, with nothing to fear, he was still shaken every time his master mentioned bad luck, just in case he had uncovered Strete’s secret. And the truth was, there was nothing to fear now. The debt was repaid, the hole in the accounts carefully concealed. Even a brilliant clerk going through his rolls would find nothing amiss. In fact, he had covered himself so well as to add some money to the purse, so that there was no suspicion of his stealing from his master.

Thank God he had seen Danny in the tavern that day, when those two sailors tried to rape Madam Kena. It was a chance piece of good fortune that had solved his financial problems. When he was drinking to conceal his fear after an unwise evening’s gambling, he had overheard a brief snippet. That was all — a quiet, muttered snigger, then a comment about a woman. And from that he had realised how his finances could be brought to an even keel again. And then he had enjoyed two profitable strokes of luck.

Thank God it was over, he told himself, and wiped his brow again.

Alred Paviour was standing at the hole, peering down at the corpse when Simon brought the Coroner to view the dead man.

‘Ha! So you are the fool who left an unprotected hole, are you?’ the Coroner thundered as he approached.

Alred flinched at the tone as much as the words. ‘We did the best we could to block it off, but someone took the trestles away. You know how people can be, when they’ve had too many pots of ale.’

The Coroner scowled blackly. ‘You seek to blame others for your mistake? I dislike that attitude, man!’

‘No, I don’t mean that, it’s just-’

‘I see what you mean, Bailiff,’ Sir Richard continued, ignoring Alred. ‘You! Did you move his body?’

‘Me? Why would I?’

‘There is little you might do which would make sense to me,’ the Coroner answered cheerily. ‘So just answer me: did you or anyone else move the body?’

‘No! Of course not, Coroner. That would be to break the law.’

Simon tipped his head towards the body. ‘You’re quite sure no one turned him over to see whether he was still alive? It would be natural, and excusable.’

‘Not me, no. Even Ivo left him. Anyway, he was on his back already. What’d be the point of looking at him closer? You can see he’s gone. There’s nothing there.’

The Coroner nodded, then drew the ends of his mouth down. ‘Well, all I can say is, Bailiff, you’re clearly right. This was no accident, was it? No, someone must have deliberately killed him and then played silly buggers with the trestles to make it look natural.’

He turned from the works and gazed about him, his hands at his hips. ‘Right, we’ll hold the inquest in the morning. That will give time enough to gather the jury and also for us to break our fast. Speaking of which, we ought to be thinking about a meal to settle our bellies before bed. Where do you live, Bailiff? You will have space for another small one this night, won’t you?’

Philip Kena was in his hall with his young wife when the knock came at his door. He sat back as his servant went to open it, listening carefully to the voices. ‘Is that Master Beauley?’ he called out.

‘Yes, Philip. And how are you today?’

Kena eyed his guest with some surprise. The merchants knew each other, of course, but their connections tended to be professional only. Like many others who had trading businesses, they would often meet at the market hall and talk about their ventures, problems with markets where they were exposed to larger tolls than they had anticipated, or discuss the outrageous costs of some shipwrights, but they tended not to socialise. If Beauley wanted to discuss something, it was clearly a matter which affected them both — and that could only mean the cog which had been attacked.

‘Please, be seated,’ Kena said, and he whispered to his wife. She stood and curtseyed to the guest, before walking out through the rear door to their solar.

‘I am grateful that you can give me a little time, Master Kena,’ Beauley said. He took the proffered stool.

‘My wife married me late in my life,’ Kena said, looking after her fondly as she left the hall. ‘I can recommend it, though. You find your household grows more comfortable with a woman in it.’

‘I have not had time to seek a woman.’ His voice was so cold, it would have frozen seawater.

‘Nor did I when I was young like you,’ Kena said understandingly. He had seen over forty summers now, while Beauley could only be seven- or eight-and-twenty. It was in part that reason that made him draw attention to his young Millicent. She had married him only three years before, and he had cause to be well satisfied with her. The contract with her father for her hand had been expensive, but not ruinously so, and he had the pleasure of the girl’s beauty as well as the comfort of her gentle kindness. She was all that a man could desire from a wife, and her youth excited him more than the raddled old whores whom he had visited before, down at Lower Street. The same ones which poor Beauley must be visiting now, as he told himself.

‘These are strange times, master,’ Beauley said stiffly. ‘The sight of Pyckard’s cog was shocking, and the idea that the whole crew was slaughtered out to sea, even more so.’

‘Yes, indeed,’ Kena said. ‘We all expect the sea to be cruel on occasion, but to find that seamen could do such violence on others, that is truly shocking.’

Beauley gave the impression of being ready to leap up like a coiled spring. It was not in his nature, Kena felt, to relax. The moment spent in relaxation was a moment wasted. How different he was from himself!

‘I am here because of that. Did the same suspicions occur to you, I wonder?’

‘What suspicions?’ Kena said, his eyes widening. ‘Would you care for a little wine? I have some honeyed larks, too, which are most-’

‘No, I thank you. The bodies. Where are they?’

‘Ah,’ Kena said, and having poured himself more wine, he sat back in his chair with a benevolent smile. ‘You have some thoughts on them?’

‘If they were thrown overboard, where did they go when Hawley arrived?’

Kena frowned, not understanding.

‘Come on, man! We heard that Hawley arrived there soon after the ship was fired. It took him a little time to put out the flames, and the cargo was still there in her hold. People are saying that the pirates must have seen his sails, and rowed away quickly before he could come to grips with them. But if that’s true, where are the bodies? If they’d killed the men and thrown them overboard, they’d all have been floating about, wouldn’t they? You’ve seen enough men in the water, just as I have. No, if the bodies were there, Hawley must have seen them.’

‘So, what are you saying? That he’s lying?’ Kena still didn’t understand.

‘Either the bodies were tied to irons and thrown overboard, or they were carried away in the other ship. Hawley would have no need to lie. If there were dead men in the water, he might as well tell the truth.’