Michael Jecks - The Death Ship of Dartmouth

Another order, and now the men rushed forward to drive Hamo and the townspeople over the side, swords waving wildly as though they could intimidate free-born Dartmouth sailors. As the first reached Hamo, he swung his axe, the heavy blade shearing through the man’s cheap mail at his shoulder, and burying itself in his neck and collar bone, and Hamo grabbed his wrist, snatching the sword from him as the dying man sank to his knees. Hamo placed his foot on his chest and pushed him away, keeping the sword in his left, the axe in his right.

‘Remember the Saint John !’ he bellowed, and the cry was taken up by the others as they reached the deck. ‘ Saint John! Saint John !’

There was another order, and the enemy began to withdraw into a huddle about the mast in the face of this terrible threat. As the Dartmouth men approached, weighing their weapons in their hands, Hamo stood determinedly in front of them, his axe bloody, tapping the head against the sword’s blade.

As though aware that they were to blame for the bloodshed and could expect no mercy, the attackers looked nervous. Pirates could only expect the rope. At least they were not contesting the recapture of the Saint Denis . Hamo was glad to see that all fight seemed to have left them.

By the time Ivo arrived, they were thoroughly chastened. The sergeant pointed at them. ‘You — put down your weapons. You’re all arrested for trying to take this ship.’

It was the sneering man who spoke now. ‘We were only obeying our orders. We are here on the command of the King.’ He was scowling, as though wondering whether to run for the ship’s side and leap over. His neck was so short his chin seemed to rest on his chest, and Hamo told himself that if he fell headfirst onto one of the boats that lay bound to the cog, it could hardly make his neck shorter.

‘You tried to capture a vessel here in the haven of Dartmouth. That’s piracy,’ Ivo said nastily. ‘Drop your weapons, or we’ll take them from you and you’ll join your dead friends.’

‘We’re only here to arrest the felon. The Frenchman.’

‘What Frenchman?’

There was a pause.

‘He doesn’t seem to be here,’ the man admitted at last.

‘Doesn’t seem to be here?’ Ivo bawled. ‘And you’ve committed murder to learn that, eh? You’re all arrested. Put up your weapons.’

There was a short discussion among the men, then the first weapon rattled to the deck. Soon there was a low pile of knives and heavy-bladed swords at their feet. As Ivo ordered them all to be collected and the men to be bound at the wrist, Hamo gazed about him and pondered on the spokesman’s words. If they didn’t find him here, where was the Frenchman? he asked himself.

Simon was glad to find a boat in short order. ‘Take me to the ship,’ he commanded to the old fisherman who sat on it, a bone needle in hand as he mended a net. He was short, with a round face as brown as the boat’s timbers he sat on, and his beard was a thick, grizzled mass that spread from ear to ear and entirely obscured his mouth.

‘What?’

‘You heard me! Take me to that ship.’

The sailor looked him up and down, lingering on his smart new boots. ‘Go piss yourself. I take orders from no one.’

‘You’ll bloody take this one, man,’ Simon spat, and put his hand to his sword.

Instantly the old fisherman whipped out a short, ugly knife and flicked it up. It stayed in his hand, poised to throw. ‘You try it, you’ll be marked right where it hurts.’

Baldwin already had his hand near his hilt, and the old man shot him a look and said, ‘I can hit you too, just as easy.’

‘Perhaps. But I was reaching for this,’ Baldwin said, opening the draw-strings of his purse. He withdrew a penny. ‘For your trouble, Master Fisherman.’

‘Ah. That’s different!’ the old man said and spat. ‘Give it me. Jump in, then. Look lively!’

The three men stepped in, Baldwin with alacrity, Sir Richard with a stern look about him as though gauging the quality of both boat and shipmaster, and Simon with a wary expression. He had been sick too often in ships of all sizes to be enthusiastic about setting off in so small a craft.

To his surprise, the journey was easier than he had expected. The little boat’s mast was soon stepped, and the old sailor fitted a sail to a rope, pulled on one end, and the little spread of canvas rose, snapped taut as the wind caught it, and in a few moments they were moving through the water, the river hissing and sucking at the boat’s planking as they went. As the craft rose and fell, Simon felt none of the usual queasiness, and he could even think to himself at one point that this was quite an enjoyable method of travelling. They were at the cog in a few minutes, and it was only as they approached to within a few yards that Simon began to take notice of the men up on the Saint Denis deck. There was a group talking animatedly at the prow, their faces turned to the approaching boat.

Simon grabbed at the side as the boat thumped the others already tied up, and then he swallowed unhappily as he felt the boat sway and wobble. The sail was soon down, and the fisherman leaped about his craft like a great hound, completely at ease and unconcerned by any fears about his safety. Meanwhile the thing bobbed about until Simon felt like a demented frog on a lilypad that was too small for his weight. With that thought came an urgent desire to be off it, and he hurriedly rose to follow Baldwin and Sir Richard.

‘Dear God in heaven, man! Stop wobbling or you’ll have the boat over,’ the Coroner snarled as he grabbed Simon’s wrist from the safety of the next boat.

Simon felt himself half pulled, half toppling into the boat with them, and took a deep breath. At least he would be safe once he was aboard the cog, he told himself, and began to clamber into the next vessel. It was deeply unpleasant, but soon he was at the side of the cog and staring at the hull towering above him. He grabbed a rope and a few moments later he was up on her deck, blowing out his cheeks with relief as he took in the mess.

‘Who is in charge here?’ he called as Baldwin and Sir Richard climbed over the ship’s sheer. He took in the sight of the men who had attacked this boat, then saw the bodies and his mood hardened. ‘Who is responsible for this slaughter?’

‘Bailiff, these men attacked the ship and we had to take her back,’ Ivo said. He was standing leaning on a sword which he had liberated from the men at the mast. ‘They say they were acting on the King’s orders, but I can’t see him here. Apparently they were looking for a Frenchman, but he’s not here either. I reckon they’re mazed. Either that or they’re pirates and saw this as another easy target, like the Saint John . Bastards!’

‘We’re not pirates!’

‘Where are the crew of the Saint John , then?’ Simon demanded.

‘The …’

‘You are arrested for the murder of the crew of the Saint John , for piracy, and for breaking the King’s Peace. You will be held in the town’s gaol until you can be tried in the court.’

‘I swear you’ll see us released before that, Bailiff,’ the spokesman said with a curl of his lip.

‘And I swear you will be put on trial for your lives for all the men who’ve died as a result of your piracy!’ Simon said with vigour. ‘Ivo, bind them and take them back to shore. I want them off this ship and out of my sight!’

Sir Richard was prodding at the corpses with a toe. ‘Here was I, thinking my work was all but done here, and now I’ve another parcel of bodies to sort through and hold inquest on. This town is good for a Coroner, Simon. You do me proud down here.’