Michael Jecks - The Death Ship of Dartmouth

‘You have been a good servant, Moses. I am sorry to leave you.’

Moses felt as though his throat would burst under the strain of unshed tears. ‘I am glad you’re happy, master.’

‘I will not live much longer. My affairs are in order.’ His face wrenched with a spasm of pain, and he collapsed. ‘Ach! God save you from such agony, Moses.’

‘Can I fetch you anything?’

‘Ale or wine, I don’t care which — but hurry!’

Moses scurried to the jug and brought it back. He held Pyckard’s favourite goblet to his mouth while the man slurped clumsily.

‘Moses, my friend, this is the worst. A man gets used to being able to pick up a drink, stab a slice of meat or wipe his own arse, but the nearer he comes to death, the more he behaves like a muling brat. I feel pathetic. I was once a man with power and authority, damn my eyes!’

‘You still are, master. You have many who love you, you have-’

‘When I have died, I want a tomb that shows what I am really like. Just a sack of bones, that’s all,’ Pyckard said without noticing his servant’s comment.

Moses bowed his head and wept, both for this man and for those other parents long lost to him and Dan.

‘Don’t cry on my account, lad,’ Pyckard said with some asperity. ‘I’ve not yet gone.’

His tone made Moses grin through his tears.

‘I wish I didn’t have to leave you alone, lad,’ Pyckard said more kindly. ‘I know you miss your brother.’

There was no one now. He had lost his mother, father, brother, and now his master. It felt as though the whole of his own life was close to ending. Moses sank his head into his hands.

‘Aye, well,’ Pyckard coughed. ‘I’m the last of my line, so perhaps I shouldn’t be sad to hear that one man grieves for me. At least you still have nephews and nieces, eh? Ach, this pain! More wine, please. Thank you!’ He rested his head a short while, staring up at the ceiling. ‘Moses, look after him. He reminds me of her . Will you do that for me?’

Moses said nothing, but he nodded emphatically as the tears coursed down both cheeks. Pyckard lifted his hand and patted the young man’s head absently. ‘And now, perhaps you should fetch me the priest, old friend. My son.’

‘ALL THOSE WHO HAVE BUSINESS HERE, DRAW NEAR!’ Sir Richard de Welles bellowed.

He stood at the front of the gathering men, arms crossed over his enormous chest, both arms partly covered by his beard, and eyed the crowd appreciatively. ‘My God, Bailiff, they may be seashore peasants, these, but they can dress well. D’you think any of ’em aren’t pirates?’

Simon burped, all too aware of the acid in his belly grumbling away, and tried to grin. ‘I don’t know about that, Sir Richard. They are generally law-abiding down here.’

‘That’s because they refuse to acknowledge any laws they don’t approve of,’ the Coroner muttered knowledgeably. ‘NOW LISTEN TO ME! CAN YOU ALL HEAR ME AT THE BACK?’

Simon closed his eyes and shivered as the roar died away. At that moment it would have taken little to persuade him to pull out his dagger and end the Coroner’s life.

The freemen of the town were all present, and Richard and Simon’s clerk soon made a selection from all there of the men who would be required for the jury.

‘That’s better!’ Richard said happily. ‘I wouldn’t want to have to shout all day. Now, do you all swear on the Gospels to answer my questions honestly? Yes? Good. Does any here know this man?’

There was a noticeable silence following the question. The jurors stood shuffling and avoiding each other’s looks.

‘Are you seriously telling me that a young fellow like this is completely unknown in the town where he’s died?’ Coroner de Welles demanded. ‘You two — come here!’

The lads he had pointed at were a pair of grinning teenagers who had come along to enjoy the spectacle.

‘Undress him.’

One of the boys, a slender, dark-haired fellow, looked down at the body, his grin frozen upon his face, while the other stared at the Coroner in shock. ‘Us?’

‘Get on with it!’ Richard de Welles had occasion to use one of his famed scowls. He was proud of them. They invariably succeeded in persuading the reluctant or recalcitrant to obey him, and it worked again now. While the darker of the two slowly climbed down into the hole with his lighter-haired companion, in order to heave the body out of it, the Coroner began talking again.

‘Hear me, now! This man was found lying as you see him now. Be careful with him, there, lad. He’s suffered enough! You can see his head was resting alongside that large cobble there, as though he had fallen and broken his head on it. Except that would mean he fell in backwards. It’s possible he did — that someone pushed him, and he struck his head, say. But I doubt whether he just toppled back into the hole and happened to kill himself. More likely he was attacked and fell in. So that means it may be murder, and someone here in the town knows what happened.’

He glanced down at the two lads in the roadway. ‘Haven’t you got him out yet?’ he snapped.

Simon would have found the sight amusing, were it not for the feelings of cold and heat that chased themselves through his frame. He felt much as an old man would, after sitting too long, his muscles complaining and bones aching. Just now, all he wanted was a rest, with plenty of time to close his eyes. Instead he was getting over-familiar with yet another corpse.

‘Bailiff! Come and look at this!’ the Coroner called. He was pointing down at the corpse’s naked breast. Simon looked. There was no stab wound, but clear on the breast stood a large bruise. Even as he watched, the Coroner reached down and pressed. ‘Ha! Yes, someone clobbered him good and hard. The bones are broken. And yes! — if I press the man’s skull, the whole side caves in. Look, I’ll do it again. Did you all see that? Haha, and there’s not much doubt there, is there … Oh, mind that. Sorry, didn’t expect his juices to squirt like that …’

Mercifully, as Simon spun on his heel, his attention was taken by the horse trotting along the roadway from Hardness and he heard no more.

‘Baldwin! Thank God!’ he managed, and then had to leave the inquest to go to the tavern a few doors away, and demand a strong ale urgently while he waited for his friend.

Hamund Chugge had reached the area above the town as the sun gained its highest point, and he passed through the fertile lands until he came to the bottom of a hill. Here there were some thick woods, and he made his way through them, tramping on stolidly until he reached the top of the hill. Suddenly, the trees stopped and he could see the river laid out below him, and then, as he surveyed the land, he saw the glittering sea.

He could only stand and stare in astonishment. Hamund had never been near the coast, and the largest mass of water he had ever seen was the Taw River as it passed by his old home. It was nothing in comparison to this, though. This, if proof were needed, showed that God’s power was absolute. It was daunting to think that before long he would be sailing on that twinkling expanse to a new land. Terrifying.

As the sun scorched the ground about him, he gradually came to his senses again and set off, awed, following the road. It took him down past a little church, St Clement’s, and the village of Tunstal, and then down Tunstal hill itself and into the town of Hardness. He made the sign of the cross as he passed by the chapel of St Clarus, and then found himself at the water’s edge.

It was tempting to kneel and dip his hands into the water. There was a suck and slap of little waves as he watched, and the boats which had been left beached on the shore were moving and shifting as the tide came in. It was also here that he began to smell the familiar stench of fish. Fishermen were cleaning and gutting their hauls, mending nets, salting and curing their catches, and they stopped and stared at him as he passed by, curiosity and suspicion mingled on their tough, tanned faces.