Michael Jecks - The Death Ship of Dartmouth

‘Who could it be, though?’ Simon wondered aloud.

Baldwin smiled. ‘Well, I do wonder about this Sir Andrew. He is seeking the Frenchman, and he has a ship in the haven.’

Sir Richard harrumphed. ‘I know the man. He’s a toady of the worst sort. If you have money and power, he’ll clean your boots with his tongue. Or your arse. No sense and no breeding. Reminds me of an alaunt I had once. Had to kill the thing in the end. Mad as a baiting mastiff, he was, and just as vicious. Some alaunts can be loyal creatures, good at hunting, good at holding at bay. I’ve known many which have been ideal for boar … but this one, he was mad. He’d go for anything at all.’

‘It hardly sounds as if Sir Andrew is like that,’ Baldwin observed mildly.

‘You don’t think so? This alaunt, he’d stay with me, then when I wasn’t looking, he’d go and kill the neighbour’s cat or attack some churl’s hog. And when the crime was recognised, he’d come back to me, wagging his tail, and grinning like an innocent. He’d lick my hand as gentle as a lamb, and then go off and kill something else. It was when he tried to have a go at my steward’s little boy that I thought enough was enough, and had his head taken off. Shame, though. Damn good hunter, he was.’

Simon looked over at Baldwin, shaking his head in disbelief.

The knight was smiling faintly. ‘So you consider that this man Sir Andrew could have attacked the cog?’

‘You mentioned that this Frenchie wanted to get away and he was being watched. Someone wanted him stopped. Sir Andrew was sent down here to flush the man out, or kill him. He found the ship, fired it, killed the crew in the hope of finding the man, and when he didn’t, he came here to look again, with some cock-and-bull story about a rape. I think that about explains the whole matter,’ the Coroner stated with calm satisfaction.

‘Apart from Danny,’ Simon noted.

Baldwin was about to respond when he saw a small dustcloud up at the top of the hill. ‘Aha! Who can this be?’

A short while later, the three saw a man on horseback appear at the crest of the hill. He pointed the horse down the hillside and was soon scattering people on either side as he cantered down towards the mill’s dam. When he drew nearer, Baldwin called, ‘Whom do you seek?’

‘Sir Baldwin de Furnshill, sir. Is that you?’

Baldwin nodded. He vaguely recognised the man from Bishop Walter’s household. ‘You have a message for me?’ he asked.

It was always hard to be the bearer of sad or evil tidings, and Baldwin had no doubt that when his messenger had reached Bishop Walter, the poor man would have been appalled to learn that his rash decision to send his own nephew to spy on this Frenchman could have brought about his death.

Baldwin was just putting his mind to the manner of transport of the coffin back to the bishop’s household when the messenger grinned at him.

‘Yes, sir. My lord Bishop sends his greetings, and offers you his best wishes for your journey, as well as his apologies for wasting your time. The man whom you sought? His nephew is back at home. Bishop Walter hopes and trusts that you have not been seriously inconvenienced by your journey down here, and wishes me to tell you that you may consider your mission at an end.’

Baldwin felt a sense of shock, followed by several other emotions. Then he voiced the question uppermost in his mind. ‘In that case, who was the dead man?’ he muttered.

Cynegils had spent the morning in a state of bemusement. First he’d been rescued from the stinking gaol, then taken up to Stephen’s chamber, where he was given clean clothes and some food and water (to his disgust) and then he was led to Master Pyckard’s house. He was seated while the others discussed what to do with him, Stephen arguing that he should be taken aboard ship as soon as possible.

‘You can sail with Gil,’ the clerk said. ‘He can do with all the help he can get.’

Cynegils shivered. ‘What, and be killed by the devil like the crew of the Saint John ?’

‘You have to make up your own mind, it’s true. Still, the risk of a possible attack at sea is one thing; dying here at the hands of this Sir Andrew could be far worse, I’d have thought.’

‘What of money?’

‘You think I’m foolish enough to give you some? You’d spend it on ale in an instant, wouldn’t you?’ Stephen laughed. ‘No, friend, you’ll have to wait until you return for that. I’ve given orders that you’re not to have any drink on board, and when you land in France, if you go ashore to drink ale, the ship will leave you there. It would be a terrible shame if you were left behind on a foreign coast, but that’s what will happen if you fail to obey.’

‘What now?’ Cynegils said sulkily.

‘I should go and make your way to the Saint Denis . There’s nothing to keep you here. There’ll be a wake, I expect, and I don’t want you to be here for that. The Bailiff has done all he can for you. Whether you take advantage of his kindness is up to you.’

Cynegils was determined just now to take advantage of anything and anyone who could save him from the cold-eyed blond man. ‘I will, I swear. I’ll go now and make my way to the ship.’

‘Good. You do that. In the meantime, I have work to be getting on with,’ the clerk said. He left Cynegils and trotted hurriedly towards the alley that would take him back down to Lower Street, where he worked.

Cynegils hunched his shoulders, for it seemed to him that the sun was chilly today, and set off towards the lower town. He had made it down past the main thoroughfare, when he suddenly thought that his daughter would be wondering what had happened to him. In order to prevent her and the other children from worrying, it might be best to tell them he was going on board ship again. Edith would be pleased to learn that he was employed again.

It was with a spring in his step that he moved on. On the way, he passed a tavern and looked longingly at it, thinking of the ales inside waiting to be bought. But he had no money and they would lend him none. No one would believe him if he said he was to be sailing again.

Once back at the house, he found the door open, and he peered in, a little wary of his reception. He hoped that the wind was blowing from the right quarter in his daughter’s disposition. Women!

‘Edith? I’m home.’

There was no answer, and he walked through the house to the little yard at the rear; no sign of the children. They were probably out helping mend nets, he told himself, and he walked back to the front of the house, standing in the roadway while he considered what to do. Perhaps one of the neighbours would help? He knocked at the house next door and spoke to the mistress. From her he learned that all the men locally had been called to repel a force attacking a cog, and he stared out to sea, wondering if this was yet another attempt by Sir Andrew on his life.

He thanked his neighbour, left a message to explain that he had a job again, and wandered away.

It would put Edith in her place, to hear that he had won a sailor’s work again. She’d said some hurtful things yesterday — for instance, that no one could trust him — but he’d soon show her. There wasn’t much he could be taught about sailing. He had a wealth of experience, unlike some of those little arseholes who were half his age and who refused to listen to a man like him who had been sailing these waters for many years. They thought they knew it all, the fools!

Striding back across the dam again, he was almost at the far side when he caught sight of a young man, and nodded at him civilly. Continuing, he suddenly stopped, turned and stared after the man, and then he shivered with alarm.