Michael Jecks - The Death Ship of Dartmouth

At least by travelling to France he would provide the Queen with some sort of service. More importantly, it might save his lady from being discovered as an adulteress with him. That in itself was enough to justify his exile.

Hamund insisted on walking into the sea before he did anything else. His acquaintance told him his name was Gilbert, or Gil, and he was the shipmaster of the cog Saint Denis .

‘That’s her out there.’

‘A fine-looking craft,’ Hamund said, although in truth he was wondering how such a lumbering great vessel could possibly sail across the vast expanse of water he had seen from Tunstal earlier that day.

‘Better than that. She’s fleet, she’s got a clean keel, and she’ll outsail even the worst of the Lyme privateers. Yes, she’s a lovely little thing. Are you sure you want to walk into the sea? It’s not too warm, you know.’

‘I will not fail in my oath,’ Hamund said stolidly.

‘Walk down here, then. It’s a slip for new ships to be launched,’ Gil said, indicating the stone roadway that led straight to the water and sank beneath.

Hamund gripped his cross until his knuckles were white, then strode forward into the water. It was cold, Gil had not deceived him. He felt a chill tendril float over his ankle, then some flotsam drifted past, and he felt a sudden terror of the water. Quelling the urge to turn and fly from it, he stood a while with his eyes closed, up to his thighs in the sea. The Coroner had told him to do this, and he would do everything as ordered, because otherwise any man could execute him legally. A picture of Guy de Bouville’s face came into his mind and he shuddered. It was only when he heard Gil’s voice that he opened them again and with relief made his way out.

‘Thought you’d fallen asleep in there,’ the shipmaster grunted.

‘No, no. I was just thinking about a man who wanted to kill me, to avenge his master — the man I killed. If he was to find me doing anything other than climbing aboard the first ship out of here, he’d kill me. I’m sure of that.’

‘It is no matter! I am seeking three more men, and won’t have some arse murdering you here when I need you on the ship. So! Enough of this meandering, come! We have to get to the taverns before all the men are too drunk.’

Sir Richard sat back and belched after consuming the best of the food Simon’s boy had been able to find.

Rob was still smarting. When his mother had been called by the lady of her house to repeat the Coroner’s words: ‘If that lazy bratchet doesn’t get up now, I’ll have the steward beat him from his bed!’ she had been furious to have her position in the place put at risk, and had kicked him from his palliasse. Then, as soon as he arrived in the Bailiff’s house, he had been bellowed at by this huge stranger, who told him to scramble to the pie shop immediately if he didn’t want a boot up his arse and to be kicked from one end of Upper Street to the other. When he glanced at the Bailiff for support, all he saw was a look of sheer fury. Simon’s eyes were narrowed to slits, and his mouth was a thin line, he was so cross. Rob ran.

He hadn’t expected them all back so soon this morning. Usually the Bailiff went out to an alehouse for a drink and took a pie from the shop on his way back to his counting-house. Not today, though. Today these three men had descended just as he was thinking about wandering over to the Blue Dolphin himself. He nodded sulkily when he was commanded to seek out pies and honeyed thrushes, six, as well as a capon. And a loaf, and was there any ale in the house? Or wine? At that point he hurried out before they could think of anything else he might carry.

‘Glad that lad’s sorted,’ the Coroner boomed. ‘Seems more inclined to work now. You can’t let the idle buggers wander about as if they own the house, Bailiff. Can’t imagine how you could have let him get so above himself. Still, he’ll be more cautious now. You all right? You look as if you could do with a drink, man.’

‘I am fine,’ Simon lied. He walked slowly to his chair and settled himself in it, his elbow on his knee, hand supporting his head. It felt appallingly heavy.

Baldwin looked from him to the Coroner, and suddenly understood his friend’s malady. He had thought Simon was simply queasy as a result of the sight of the two bodies, knowing the bailiff’s horror of corpses.

It was a matter they rarely discussed, but Baldwin himself had seen too many bodies for him to be upset at the sight of another one. He looked upon the dead as mere husks of the people who had once inhabited them. Once the soul had fled, the flesh remained as food for worms. In his youth he had travelled out to Acre in a fit of Christian enthusiasm, seeking to hold back the tide of Saracen hordes which were throwing the Crusaders from the kingdoms of Outremer. He had arrived in Acre as the siege was nearing its end, and he had witnessed the full brutality of war at its worst. He had seen women and children squashed to a splash of crimson by the rocks of the massive catapults; men flung against walls by the enormous bolts of the machines the Arabs fired. They could pass through one thickness of a gate, snatch up a man, and pin him to the stone behind. Yes, Baldwin had seen enough death to last many lifetimes.

When he looked at a body, he did not generally feel grief. The time for that was when the man or woman was still living, and his sympathy or support could save a person from pain. No, when the corpse was in front of him, he was more interested to see what it could tell him about the manner of its death. Some said that when a man died, the last image he saw was imprinted within his eyes, but although Baldwin had peered closely at many dead men over the years, he had only ever seen himself reflected. Yet there was always something to be learned if the man searching was open to clues, no matter how small.

‘I am parched!’ Sir Richard exclaimed. ‘Good God in heaven, you live like a pauper, Bailiff! D’you have no wine in the house fit for a thirsty Coroner?’

Simon gave him a sour look. ‘Until last night, yes. Now I fear there is nothing left.’

‘Was that all you had?’ Sir Richard showed surprise. ‘It was such a small-’

‘And after the ales and the burned wines, I should have thought there would be no need for more,’ Simon said. He felt a little bilious again at the memory.

‘Let’s hope that idle beggar of yours gets back soon with some vittles, then,’ Sir Richard said. ‘Ha! Sir Baldwin, did I ever tell you the story of the peasant, the merchant, the knight and the bishop? They were all in a small boat, and the wind built up, and it was clear that they must sink, so the first man, the peasant, said, “I am unimportant. I have done many ill deeds in my life: once I even took my neighbour’s sow and knew her carnally, before killing her and curing her. I feel remorse, and I am sure it is my fault God is punishing us for my sin, so I shall jump into the sea to save you, if you all pray for my soul and beg for God’s forgiveness,” and so saying, he prayed with them, and leaped into the waters. But the weather deteriorated.

‘Then the merchant stood up, and he said, “I do not matter. I have made men suffer. When they have owed me money, I have demanded high profits in usurious transactions. I am detested by Christ because I am mercenary and seek to make money from war. But if I jump into the waters, He may relent and let you live, and I may be saved for that one good deed. If you pray for me, I shall go.” So saying, he prayed with them, accepted their thanks, and jumped.

‘But it did no good. If anything, the weather grew still worse, and the two remaining men stared at each other. It was plain that they must die if both stayed in the boat. Only one could live.