Michael Jecks - The Death Ship of Dartmouth

‘I was in the tavern at the top of Smiths’ Street, when he came in. He was looking for someone who had knowledge of the town and the people who lived in it, and came to me.’

Baldwin glanced at Edith, then back at Cynegils. ‘So he knew of you? How can that be? Was he a friend of yours?’

‘No! I don’t know how he’d heard of me. Could have been anything.’

‘Hardly!’ Coroner Richard said derisively. ‘A spy should be someone unremarkable, who can blend into a crowd. Not a drunken sailor with shit for brains!’

Baldwin eyed Cynegils reflectively. ‘You have spied before, have you not? And this man had heard of you because of that.’

‘I’m no spy! But a man will do what he must for some money.’ This with a sidelong glance at his daughter.

‘So you have done work like this before?’

‘I suppose. Only a couple of times. When there has been reason.’

‘For whom?’

Cynegils shrugged. ‘I was paid by the last Keeper of the Port to watch the fisheries and keep an eye on foreigners in the town.’

Baldwin called, ‘Simon, who was the last Keeper of the Port?’

‘It was poor Sir Nicholas until his death, I think.’

Cynegils was nodding. ‘That was him.’

‘Who did he work for?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Sir Nicholas was always the King’s own man,’ Sir Richard said. ‘I never heard a word against his loyalty.’

‘I see,’ Baldwin said. ‘Well, then, spy: what have you heard about the destruction of the ship? And the men who’ve disappeared?’

‘Nothing! I was here — how can I tell what was going on out to sea?’

‘Do you know of anyone who might have wanted the sailor Danny dead?’ Baldwin asked. ‘It seems curious that he alone was left behind.’

‘Danny had no enemies! He was a pleasant lad, kindly and good-hearted,’ Edith declared.

‘I’ve heard of no one hating him enough to do that,’ Cynegils acknowledged.

‘Yet he was murdered.’

‘In the tavern they’re saying that it was the devil came and took the crew.’

‘Why not Danny too?’ Simon asked, trying to conceal the shiver that ran up his spine at those words.

‘Because Danny wasn’t a foul sinner like the others. Vincent and Odo were hard men, you understand me? They’d slit your throat soon as look at you. Adam was known for a good fighter, and the others, well they were …’

‘Adam?’ Simon asked, remembering the name Pyckard had mentioned.

‘Yes. He was Pyckard’s right-hand man. They’d been together since the first sailing Pyckard had made.’

‘The others were foreigners, weren’t they?’ Baldwin said.

‘Yes. Kena managed to bribe some of Master Pyckard’s crew to leave him and join his ship. They’re always trying to stuff each other, those merchants.’

‘Would Kena have tried to buy in a man like Adam too?’ Simon guessed.

‘I expect so,’ Cynegils belched, ‘but Adam would never accept. He had a good berth with Pyckard. Danny wouldn’t either: he’d remember how well his master had treated him from the moment his father died. A man doesn’t turn traitor to someone who’s protected them, does he? No, Adam and Danny wouldn’t be bought. Master Pyckard had no choice but to hire some strangers.’

‘Who would naturally have been evil souls whom the devil would wish as company,’ Baldwin said dismissively. ‘No. These deaths were conducted by some human agency, of that I am assured.’

Yes, he thought inwardly — and if the Frenchman has killed Bishop Walter’s nephew, I must take some sort of action, surely. No matter how troublesome, wouldn’t Walter want him brought to justice?

He realised the others were watching him, and he pulled a smile to his face. ‘I am grateful for your patience, maid. And sorry to have taken so much of your time.’

‘That’s all right,’ Edith said, but ungraciously. He leaned towards her and she was about to move away, when she felt something in her hand.

‘I hope your family is fortunate,’ he said, his dark eyes serious, and then he was gone, striding back to his companions.

She said nothing, but helped her father over the rough ground until they reached the street. Only there did she open her hand and see the pennies resting there. It was enough to make her heart pound with gratitude, and she kept her booty hidden from her father as they made their way up the street.

Usually at twilight there would be people busy clearing up after the day’s work, stray dogs barking, and children screaming, women shouting, men bellowing. Tonight there was an odd calm, and Edith wondered whether a new ship had entered the port. Sometimes when a rich vessel arrived, the people would go to gawp at it.

Sure enough, when they could peer along the street, she could see a great cog in the harbour. Even in the dull light it was plainly a beautiful craft, with richly painted hull and gold gleaming.

‘I should go for a job with one of them. Get some money in,’ her father said. ‘I’m sorry, Edie. God, I’m so sorry!’

‘Shut up, Father. You’ve had too much to drink again,’ she said impatiently. It was always the same when he’d got drunk at lunchtime. When he woke he’d be maudlin and apologetic. Later he’d be foul-tempered and threaten her and the others. At least for now he was still docile.

‘If I had a job on her, I’d be able to put food on the table.’

‘You don’t, though,’ she said. And he wouldn’t. He was too well known as a drunkard for any shipmaster to want to take him on.

They were at their door. Edith pushed it wide and stumbled over the threshold with her father’s arm over her shoulders, and then, as her eyes grew accustomed to the light, she began organising her brother and sisters. Millie helped as usual, and at least today they had some bread and a small piece of salted cod which Millie had earned helping the men down by the shore. Edith had been given an egg, too, so she carefully mixed it with the fish and some dried bread to make a thick gruel. For once she did not give the larger proportion to her father. She was still smarting that he could have taken so much money — four whole shillings! — and used it to drink himself to oblivion instead of looking after them.

All the hard months she and the children suffered pangs of hunger and went without to make sure that he had a full belly so that he could work — but he didn’t. It was they who laboured always, and he took advantage of their efforts to subsidise his drinking. Never again! This time she would ensure that her brother and sisters had enough to eat.

‘A good meal, child,’ Cynegils said as he used the last of his bread to mop up the juices.

‘It’s all there is.’

‘The Church will provide a little, and there are wealthy houses who will pass out their scraps. We won’t starve.’

‘For how much longer, though? We’ve got little enough to live on, and when you do earn something, it goes into your bladder and you piss it all away!’

‘Come now, Edie, that’s not right.’

‘Isn’t it? Ach, what do I know. Why should I care? I ought to find a man to marry and leave you to this pit. Take the others with me and leave you to drink yourself to your grave.’

‘Edie, it’s not like that. I would get work if I could, you know that.’

‘But you can’t , can you? You can’t take a job and keep it because no one will trust you on their ship.’

‘Don’t talk to me like that, Daughter. I won’t have it,’ Cynegils said, and now his face was growing darker with anger.

‘Oh, so you’ll beat me now, will you? Then go ahead, Father. You are so brave, indeed, to beat me when I show you the truth. If you don’t do something soon, we’ll all be dead anyway, so beat away. You want a rope to beat me with?’ She stood and went to an old rope at the wall, where it had hung for as long as she could remember. There was a knot wrought into one end which was heavy enough to hurt a man when it hit him.