Michael Jecks - The Death Ship of Dartmouth

‘What did she do, then? Accuse you?’

‘I wish she had. You don’t know how often I’ve prayed that she had. But she didn’t, no,’ Bill sighed. He slumped down to sit on the road’s edge. ‘No, instead she stayed there by the river that evening. Some time that night she took her little knife and opened both her wrists. I’ve seen some women and men commit self-murder, you know, and always they try to kill themselves several times.’ He held up his wrists. ‘Both wrists will have parallel lines of cuts from slashes, as though they need to test their resolve before they can cut deep enough. Not her. She cut both wrists to the bone. She must have died quite quickly. God, I hope so.’

‘So you weren’t found?’

Bill swallowed. ‘Someone had seen her with her lover, Law. It wasn’t me, I swear, but the lad was accused of raping her. She loved him, and I think he loved her. If he’d taken her, she’d not have argued. Instead, I took her and she killed herself. I might as well have killed her with my own knife.’

‘What happened to him?’

‘He was a poor cottar. What could he do? He ran to the church and claimed sanctuary, and when the Coroner arrived he abjured the realm. Me? I stayed there like an innocent, until sour self-loathing forced me to leave. I’ve never been back again.

‘So when you hear someone say that a man is plainly innocent or guilty, Law, you remember that. The man here — me — is guilty. The man who bolted and I hope who’s alive now in a better land, he was innocent. But he’s the one who could have been hanged, because of the way he had been seen with the girl. And I was safe.’

‘Bill, I’m sorry. I didn’t know, though, did I?’

‘No. You couldn’t have known,’ Bill agreed. And then he put his hands to his face and sat very still until the need to sob had subsided.

Law wanted to go to him and show him some compassion, but Law was only half Bill’s age, if that. He didn’t know how to help. Instead he took the next best alternative to a show of sympathy, and carefully looked everywhere but at his friend.

Then: ‘Sweet Jesus, Bill! Look over there!’ he hissed.

‘Come, we should return to the ship, or at the least find Gil and he’ll tell us when we can,’ Pierre said.

There was nothing to be learned from the house. The two had loitered cautiously outside, but from the street there was nothing to be heard, and when they tried to wander down the alley at the side, there was no access to the house from there either, or at least, none that appeared to help them.

He led the way back up the street, and the two of them were in time to see the Coroner and Sir Andrew leave Simon’s house and make their way along the street down towards the mill.

‘Should we follow them?’ Hamund asked as Pierre stopped and stared after them.

It was tempting; in God’s name, it was tempting. To see Sir Andrew swaggering happily away in the company of the Coroner — it was intolerable ! The man deserved to have his mouth silenced for ever for what he had said about Pierre, dishonouring him just when he was trying to reestablish some modicum of honour. He wanted to draw steel and stab the liar and traitor in the back for what he had done.

But if he did, it would cost him his life, and it would mean the messages must become known, and that must itself harm his lady. Dear God, what a man must do to remain loyal!

He said quietly, swallowing his pride, ‘For what purpose? If we go across that bridge and they hear us, they may see us. You have been behind that man almost half day, and if he sees me, he will remember me, I am sure. No, I think we should forget them and get back to safety. At least I achieved what I needed to this day: I paid my respects to Master Pyckard.’

‘I wonder where Gil will be now?’

‘In the tavern if he is not already at the ship,’ Pierre guessed. He stared over towards the haven. ‘I only hope he hasn’t decided to leave without us.’

‘He can’t without more sailors,’ Hamund said with confidence he didn’t feel. ‘He needs us.’

Pierre did not respond to that. So far as he was concerned, the shipmaster would be happy to leave without embarrassing supercargo like them, and now that the reason for Pierre’s berth had been removed, because surely it was only Pyckard’s insistence which had persuaded Gil to take him in the first place, Pierre was uncertain of his reception at the ship.

He led the way hurriedly after Sir Andrew as soon as he and the Coroner had disappeared at the bottom of the hill and had started to cross the mill’s dam. From here he could see the ship still sitting out in the haven, which was some relief, but he and Hamund still had to find a means of reaching it, and although he could see several small boats at the shore, he could not simply take one. That would bring yet more attention to him, and it was bad enough, so he felt, to be walking about in broad daylight like this. No, better by far that he should find a man who would be prepared to row them to the cog and then …

His ruminations were interrupted by a cheery call at his side. When he looked down at the scruffy man there, the first thing that caught his notice was the short dagger poised near his belly.

‘Now, Sir Whoever you are, me and my friend here would appreciate a few moments of your time.’

Pierre was within a twitch of pulling his sword from its scabbard, but as he stood momentarily stunned, he was astonished to see the blade taken away and sheathed.

‘We saved you once, friend. Now we’d like to know whether we were right to do so.’

Master Hawley had watched as the men from the Gudyer were brought back slowly in the boats, their guards watching over them all the way. When they reached the shore, he went down and eyed them suspiciously as they were pushed from the boats. Several stumbled, three fell, one at his feet, and when the man was grabbed by the arm and pulled up, there was a blotch of blood on the ground where stones had mashed his nose and lips. He still looked dazed as he was taken, lurching away.

Hawley felt no sympathy for them. Why should he? The fools had tried to overrun a private ship. Christ’s bones, if he’d been on the Saint Denis he’d have had every one of the bastards strung up from his mainmast as soon as blink. They were filth! Felons every one of them, they deserved to be killed for trying to steal a ship.

Cynric was with him, and as his master stood staring down at the blood, Cynric tentatively said, ‘What do you think about Strete?’

‘You saw him in the tavern, didn’t you? I don’t think you’re a liar, Cyn. You’ve been with me as long as I can remember. No, it was him who lied. In truth, if he hasn’t lost me money, it doesn’t matter if he plays at gaming. What he does with his own cash is his concern. It’s only if he takes mine that I worry. And if you’re right and he is a laughing stock for his losses, I don’t see how he can afford to pay his debts on his own. So either he took my money and hid the theft, or …’

‘He replaced it.’

‘How could he do that?’ Hawley took his mind back to the hall. In there was his sideboard, with a profusion of plate on display. ‘No, if he’d stolen from me and pawned a plate or two, I’d notice. It can’t be that. How else could he hope to gain money, though?’

Cynric grunted. He wasn’t a great creative thinker. That sort of business he left to Hawley himself.

And with good reason. Hawley’s wrinkled brow suddenly cleared. ‘The bastard could have been telling someone else about the business. Except who would pay for untested information? That would be mad. I can’t see Kena or Beauley coughing up. Pyckard would have done if it was juicy enough, but what information could Strete have sold him about me? There’s nothing that would have interested the old goat.’