Michael Jecks - The Death Ship of Dartmouth

‘I dare say you could try,’ Hawley said with a short baring of his teeth. ‘But whether or not I’d choose to believe you is a different matter, isn’t it? All I can see right now is that you have robbed me, Peter. I don’t like that.’

‘I haven’t robbed you!’

And his voice carried his conviction. He hadn’t. How could he rob his master? No, he had made a foolish error and tried to make good that error by borrowing to replace the money lost, but he would return it. As he had.

‘I have heard before now how you enjoy the gaming at the Blue Boar and Porpoise, but I was too trusting. I never thought you’d actually steal from me to finance your fun. You’ve been well looked after here, Peter. Very well. I pay my men well to keep their loyalty, and if I was seen to let a man like you escape after taking my treasure, what would others think? They’d think I was soft, wouldn’t they?’

Hawley stood and marched to the chest. The great box was almost emptied now, and the two men at its side were ticking off the last coins and making a total of the full sum. The clerk glanced at the sailor, who nodded, and then both looked up at their master, the clerk holding up the amended roll. Hawley took it, ran his eye down the columns, and scowled. ‘Sweet Jesus!’

Strete felt as though his bowels were about to open. Perhaps if he’d been standing, they would have done. As it was, all he could do was swallow and wipe his forehead with his sleeve. How his master had come to suspect him like this was beyond him — he’d been so careful.

‘It looks as though I owe you an apology,’ Hawley said gruffly. He passed the parchment back to Strete. ‘The accounts are wrong by exactly three pennies. I don’t know where they came from, but your accounting is out by that much.’

‘I am sorry, master, I-’

‘Shut up, Strete. I’m in credit three pennies, not debit. Take the money as an apology for the way I spoke about you just now,’ Hawley said. He shook his head. ‘It’s this matter of the Saint John . It’s making everyone nervous. Hmm. Yes.’

Strete watched as he turned abruptly on his heel and marched from the room, irritably beckoning the three sailors to follow him.

‘Who’s a lucky boy, then?’ the other clerk said quietly.

‘What do you mean?’ Strete demanded.

‘You must have made a killing last night to pay back all you owed. I’ve seen you gaming and I’ve heard how much you’ve had to pay out. You’re the laughing stock of the inn, you are. Everyone wants to play with you.’ He grinned. ‘Best not try it again, mind. Our master will have his eye on you from now on!’ Touching a finger to his cheek under his eye, he laughed aloud as he walked from the room.

Strete fell back on his seat, and suddenly began to shiver uncontrollably. If he hadn’t received that money from Paul Pyckard just before the merchant died, he would have had a hole of seven marks in the accounts. As it was, he was five shillings short until he’d found the body in the pavers’ hole and took the purse. That had been a real stroke of luck! And that would have been enough for Hawley to have him dragged from his door all the way to the gaol under the market house. No man robbed Hawley with impunity, and if he had learned that his own clerk had fleeced him, his rage would have been uncontrollable.

Thank God he had made good the money with his payment from Pyckard and what he found in the dead man’s purse.

Hamo arrived back at his cooperage and grabbed for an axe. Already, when he looked back over the water, he could see that the crew of the cog had been overwhelmed; the cries of the attacked suddenly grew silent, as did the ringing clashes of iron and steel, and now all that could be heard was an occasional bellow to disturb the normal noise of slapping water at his feet.

He set off at a fast pace to Hawley’s house in Upper Street, and beat on the door with his axe’s haft. ‘Master Hawley? Master Hawley!’

‘Who is that?’ An elderly sailor appeared in the doorway and glared at him. ‘What do you want?’

‘It’s me, the cooper, Hamo,’ he panted. ‘The cog in the haven — three boats have just overtaken her. Don’t know what’s happening, but tell your master urgently.’

Without waiting for a reply, he turned and fled along the road and down to the mill’s dam. He hurtled along the path, past the silent wheel, over the sluice gates, and up into Hardness. Here he saw Ivo le Bel.

‘Ivo! You have to raise the men of the town!’ he gasped. ‘Someone’s just attacked Master Pyckard’s cog the Saint Denis . Three boats, full of armed men.’

The sergeant sneered. ‘You been drinking? What boats?’ Then he looked past Hamo’s shoulder towards the haven, and suddenly his smile left his face. ‘Christ’s cods!’

Baldwin stood watching the slow progress of the funeral party up the hill. ‘Who died?’ he asked.

‘One of the merchants here — a man called Pyckard.’ Then Simon reverted to their former conversation. ‘First, how did you guess Danny wasn’t supposed to be sailing?’

‘His wife said so. Sailors don’t normally just up and leave their wives without saying their goodbyes, in my experience. A man will rarely go to sea without taking a sentimental leave of his woman. That may mean that Danny was killed on shore and thrown onto the ship as we had thought. It’s a small detail, but important. Now, this merchant, Pyckard — he died naturally?’

Simon nodded. ‘Aye. He was a good enough man, I think, and successful generally.’

‘Why “generally”?’

‘Well, Pyckard was the owner of that cog, the Saint John . He owns other ships too, but that was one of his best, and it’s partly lost in salvage now.’

‘You said it was this fellow Hawley who found the vessel?’ Baldwin asked. ‘Do you think that he could have …’

‘Taken it, slaughtered the crew, chucked ’em overboard, bar our Danny, and brought the ship back to port? It’s possible. The two of them were rivals in business, so perhaps there was enmity between them — although to be fair I never saw much sign of it. There are some I’d not put past business like that, but Hawley seems to be an honourable man.’

Baldwin pulled a face. ‘Ah, well. It was worth a try!’

The Coroner was standing a short distance from them, watching over the town with a proprietorial eye. ‘A good place that. I had fun there when I was a lad. So! What do you two think of all this?’

‘I think that there is a vessel out there which tried to burn the cog, but it wasn’t the work of pirates,’ Baldwin said. ‘Nor was it a foolish attack by a different town. The burning was to conceal the crime of killing all aboard. But the sailor, Danny, he was not killed in that attack. If I had to guess, I’d say he died here in the town while the ship was moored.’

‘And we can’t speak to the men who worked with him because they’ve all disappeared,’ Simon noted.

‘Their bodies will turn up eventually,’ Baldwin said with sad confidence.

The Coroner scratched his head. ‘You don’t think that they have been taken as hostages, then, or as slaves?’

‘If this was all about making money, the attacker would have taken the whole ship, not a few crew members,’ Baldwin pronounced. ‘No, I believe that all the men were removed from the cog to be questioned as their ship burned, and now they’ll have been killed.’

‘Why, though?’

‘They sought something or someone,’ Baldwin said.

‘This Frenchman you mentioned?’ Simon prompted.

‘If I had to guess, yes. Someone thinks he is dangerous and must be stopped from reaching French shores, and that someone is prepared to kill many men in order to do so.’