Michael Jecks - The Death Ship of Dartmouth

‘And I am glad to say that there are times when you can do more, eh, Sir Andrew?’ the Coroner boomed as he nudged the knight at his side.

‘Quite,’ Sir Andrew said. He sniffed, then motioned to one of his men, who began to unwrap the head of the corpse. ‘Ah, yes. I know him.’

‘Who is he?’

‘His name is Guy de Bouville. He was a man-at-arms in the service of my lord Despenser. I knew him quite well.’ Sir Andrew frowned. ‘He was with one of my lord Despenser’s bailiffs, a man called Flok. A bookish, studious knight, he was competent to help with accounts and affairs of law, so he was very useful to my lord. What he was doing here, I do not know. He ought to be up north of the moors, I believe.’

‘Well, I am glad. So you are a friend of his?’ the priest asked.

‘No. I knew him.’

Coroner Richard smiled broadly, his beard moving alarmingly. ‘And the good knight here who “knew him” quite well will be delighted to pay for the burial of the body, I am sure. Otherwise Lord Despenser may wish to learn why it was that one of his men-at-arms was not properly treated after death when one of his own servants was here in the area and perfectly ready to do so. Isn’t that so, Sir Andrew?’

‘I have better things to be doing with my time, you understand?’ Sir Andrew said stiffly as he pulled some coins from his purse.

‘So have I, Sir Andrew. Just now I think I ought to be searching for the bodies from that cog, don’t you?’

‘They were all killed far from shore, Coroner. You have no authority in that, do you?’

‘Strange how many people keep saying that to me. Reminds me of a joke I once heard. About a terrible story being told in a church in a sermon, and the whole congregation listening burst into weeping and lamentations. All that sort of nonsense. But there was one fellow who was untouched, and the priest turned to him, and said, “Aren’t you affected by this terrible tale of woe?” and the churl responded, “Bless you, Father, no.” “And why not?” the priest thundered. “Well, sir, I’m not from this parish,” the man replied. As though it matters whether you’re from the same parish or not to be saddened by a story of despair and misery.’

‘What does that have to do with all this?’ Sir Andrew asked.

‘I am not from this parish either, you see. I grow anxious when I learn that a ship’s complement is taken and slaughtered, whether it’s legally my jurisdiction or not.’ The Coroner smiled, his teeth showing brightly amongst the thatch of his beard. And he leaned towards Sir Andrew slightly as he added, ‘In fact, Sir Andrew, I can grow more than simply anxious, I can grow downright choleric. And when I tend to hot, dry humours like that, I don’t give up. Not when threatened, not even when ordered.’

‘You would do well to remember that my master is Lord Hugh Despenser,’ Sir Andrew hissed. ‘He would not like to hear that a rural knight has taken it into his head to command one of his own knights, let alone that this knight dared to threaten a man of his household.’

Sir Richard looked down at that, suitably chastened. Or so Sir Andrew thought at first. When he looked up again and met Sir Andrew’s gaze, there was no fear. His eyes were fixed and unwavering, unblinking in their conviction. ‘I say to you, Sir Andrew, that I am a King’s Officer and cannot be made to turn aside because of your threats. I believe that there has been evil work here in this town and on the seas about it, and I will find the men guilty and bring them to justice. If you do not like my statement, so much the worse for you. But be you the Despenser’s man or the devil himself’s, I care not a whit. I serve the King. You would do well to remember that.’

‘Oh, I shall, Sir Richard,’ Sir Andrew said smoothly. ‘I promise you I shall not forget that in a hurry.’

Bill peeped around the wall and stared cautiously down the lane towards the haven. In the distance he could still see the cog at anchor, but there was no sign of anyone else. He beckoned with his hand urgently, and the other three slipped down the cobbles towards him.

He had already been to three taverns trying to find the man whom Pierre called Gilbert, hoping that the seaman would be drinking his dead master’s health still, but there was no sign of him. Pierre prayed that Gil was on the ship already, and hadn’t disappeared somewhere else.

‘There’s no one about,’ Bill said with a frown. ‘I suppose many must be in the gaol watching the captured sailors, while others are in the taverns praising their courage in catching such a prize. Others will still be at Pyckard’s wake. So, maybe you’ll find it easier than you thought to get away.’

‘I am very grateful to you, my friend,’ Pierre said earnestly. ‘I am sorry that you have been given so much trouble at my account.’

‘Just make sure you escape and that’ll be enough for me,’ Bill said gruffly.

‘I will do my best,’ Pierre smiled, but not without anxiety. He kept throwing looks at the ship, hoping that there was not a trap there. It would be all too easy for a man to sit up there and wait for him. And then they were moving down the hill as swiftly as they may. There was a short interlude when Bill ran into a low shaft that projected from a wall, and had to stop, hugging his shin in silent anguish, but then they were off again, and soon they were at the end of the alley. From here Bill could glance in both directions up and down Lower Street, and he saw nothing to give him concern. There was no one about.

‘Come with me,’ he said, and set off for the shore. His plan was to borrow a boat, row the two out to the ship, and then bring the boat back. No one would be harmed by the loan, and hopefully it would not be noticed as missing. Down on the shingle they went, and soon selected a fair-sized craft. Law helped Bill to turn the thing right way up, and then they all carried it to the water. Here they put it in, and all clambered in, only to realise that it was resting on the stones with all their weight inside. Grumbling, Bill and Law climbed out again, and this time they pushed the little vessel into deeper water, standing up to their shins, and tried to climb in again. Law hopped up and tumbled in headfirst, and Pierre had a job turning him upright again. Bill attempted a more elegant entry, but almost caused the boat to tip over. At last he was in, and then, as the boat began to drift, the men smiled at each other for a moment before their smiles froze. There were no oars.

Swearing low and mean, Bill jumped back into the water. It was almost to his armpits now, and he grabbed the painter and pulled the thing back towards the shingle. When he was far enough in, Law jumped out with a great splash and missed his footing, disappearing from view. He bobbed back up, spluttering, and hastily made his way to dry land, drenched and shivering. Soon he was back with two large oars, and at last the four were on their way to the ship.

It was harder than Law had realised to steer a little vessel like this one. He had thought the things must be easy, because no sailors ever had trouble, and it wasn’t as though sailors were particularly bright, by and large. For some reason, though, as Bill pulled his oar, the boat bobbed and dodged, and then seemed to go its own way.

‘There is a small group of men at the shore watching us,’ Pierre said with restrained anxiety. They were pointing at the four, and one man was all but hopping from foot to foot. ‘I think one is the man who owns this boat.’

‘What do you expect us to do about it?’ Bill panted.

Gradually the thing began to come under control. It was much like a small pony in many ways. It would go its own way, but after having its head a while, it would obey them. Slowly but surely they were approaching the great Saint Denis , and at last an enormous shadow fell over them all, and they were in the lee of the huge hull.