Michael Jecks - The Death Ship of Dartmouth

‘First, Tom, we don’t yet know what happened to the Saint John ,’ Gil responded calmly enough. ‘Second, even if we knew for certain it was the men of Lyme who took her, that wouldn’t change anything, would it? If you allow them to scare you all into remaining in here, cuddling up to each other, you’ll have no livelihood to speak of. What’ll you do, stick to fishing until the big bullies of Lyme come here to take your fishing as well? Or fight them now, while you’ve a chance? I’ve got the Saint Denis kitted and fitted, and she’s carrying as many men as I can put aboard her. Any who can handle an axe or sword is welcome, and we’ll soon put the Lyme men to flight if they try any funny business. Come on, now! Are you all going to give up the sea because of some bandy-legged bastard sons of she-goats from Dorset?’

‘Fine words, Gil, but if I was going to sea now, I’d want at least three or four ships with me so that they could protect each other,’ the man called Tom said, and immediately others cheered or spoke in approving tones. ‘Let the Saint Denis wait a few days and we’ll come too, along with Master Hawley’s ships. Then there’ll be enough men to send even the Brittany pirates packing!’

Gil smiled, but Hamund could see he was rattled. His eyes were moving constantly over the men in the room now, gauging the mood. ‘So, you’re happy to let the Lyme bastards feel that they’ve won, eh? You’ll let them get away with the murder of the crew of the Saint John ? Even young Danny from Hardness?’

‘Better that than adding our names to the list of their victims,’ Tom said.

‘There’s no point opening my master’s purse for you lot in here, then,’ Gil said, and pulled out a purse from inside his shirt. It rattled with coins. ‘That’s a shame. Still, I’ll have a quart of ale for me, and another for this man here. He’s not scared of a few pirates. It’ll be good to sail with a man who’s got ballocks.’

‘Let’s hope he doesn’t get them cut off, then,’ Tom said coldly.

It was soon after their meal that Sir Richard rose, spat and scratched at his thick beard. ‘It’s time I had a short rest before carrying on,’ he said, and yawned hugely. ‘Holding inquests and riding about the countryside is exhausting work, d’ye know? I’ll to my bed for a nap. Try to keep the noise down while I’m snoozing. I’m a very light sleeper.’

Simon watched him go with eyes that felt sore and rough. ‘That man is intolerable!’

‘You drank too much last night, then?’ Baldwin said with a chuckle.

‘It was not my fault!’

‘I suppose that cruel Coroner forced you to the floor, sat on your chest and poured the wine into your throat?’

‘It was just that he kept on and on drinking. He is quite relentless! If he had two pints, he had to have four. I am amazed that the old devil can function.’

‘My friend, Sir Richard de Welles has lived to such a ripe old age because he has the constitution of an ox and a capacity to match. He could consume all the ale in this town and still waken fresh as a rose on a summer’s morning.’

There was already a low rumbling. Simon cast his eyes upwards. ‘And he snores like a hog.’

This time Baldwin laughed outright. ‘Come, Simon, let us go and get some fresh air. That’s what you need.’

Simon grunted. Just now what he really wanted above all else was to copy Sir Richard, and even with the loud snoring that was filling his house, he was sure that he would fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Still, his companion was probably right. If he was to close his eyes for a moment, he would sleep for the rest of the day.

‘Very well. After the wine I could do with clearing my head.’

Baldwin privately thought that wine and strong ale was the cause of much that was wrong. As a Knight Templar, he had learned to moderate his drinking, and he had discovered the delights of watered juices pressed from fresh fruits. However, in Britain, most men preferred to drink only good ale or wine. Since returning, he had observed that most fights began and ended with alcohol, and he was sure that if there were no inebriating drinks, the world would be a much more peaceful place.

They left Simon’s house up on Higher Street, and turned right, wandering aimlessly, and for the most part speaking little, until they reached the hole in the road where the paver and his team were mending the road surface.

‘Good day to you, Alred,’ Simon said pleasantly. ‘I expect you are glad to be working again?’

‘Aye, that we are. We have to complete this stretch and get on to the next town, Bailiff. There’s never an end to our task when so many heavy carriages keep rolling by with metal-shod wheels.’

Baldwin observed the other two men with Alred. Bill was spreading gravel evenly over the base of the hole, while Law listened at the hole’s edge, where he was supposed to be stacking cobbles. ‘You must be glad to see them, as they keep you in business!’

‘That I am, Sir Knight. I sometimes think I should pay into a collection for all those who use the heaviest bullock-carts and wagons! They keep us three going nicely.’

‘Tell me, Master Paviour,’ Baldwin said, smiling easily, ‘this body that appeared here — it was clearly some time after you had left the area?’

‘Oh, yes. We were finished here just at the time of the ninth hour. You know how it is during the summer, with the greater payments for the working day? Our contract here expects us to work from the ringing of the church bell in the morning to the ringing for the last service.’

Baldwin nodded. All labourers were paid more for the summer months because they were expected to continue working through the hours of daylight. A summer’s day was officially separated into twelve daylight hours and twelve hours of darkness, hence the better pay.

‘What happened when you finished here? Did you stay nearby?’

‘We packed up everything as usual. You can’t tell what sort of thieving scrotes you’re going to have in a town you haven’t been to before, and our tools are our most important belongings.’

‘We always pack them carefully,’ Law said.

‘Who are you?’ Baldwin enquired mildly.

‘Lawrence, from Crediton, sir. I’m apprenticed to Alred here.’

‘Yes, so stop interrupting, lad, before I clout you one for rudeness,’ Alred said sharply. ‘After we packed up, we went to a tavern for a drink.’

‘Which one?’ Baldwin asked.

‘That one down there,’ Alred said, pointing. ‘The Porpoise. It’s got a good ale in there, and we were thirsty after working hard all day.’

‘You set out trestles and boards all round to stop people falling in, my friend says,’ Baldwin noted, glancing about him.

‘Of course. We couldn’t leave the hole and nothing to warn people.’

‘I put them up myself, sir,’ Law said. ‘They tried to say I didn’t, but I did.’

‘So someone took the trestles away after you left here?’

‘Yes. They hid them over there by the building,’ Alred said. There was an alley between a house and a large barn nearby. ‘Some idiot must have thought it’d be a good laugh to take them and see someone fall in and hurt themselves. Probably a drunken sailor out for some fun.’

‘Possibly. Now, you stayed at the tavern for how many drinks?’

‘We had a good few,’ Law admitted with a grin. ‘Master Alred felt rotten the next day, didn’t you?’

‘So it was late when you walked back past here, and you were very happy?’

‘There’s no law against that yet, thank the Lord,’ Alred said, glaring at his insubordinate apprentice.

‘No indeed,’ Baldwin agreed. ‘But were you so drunk you wouldn’t have noticed the trestles being gone?’