Michael Jecks - The Death Ship of Dartmouth

‘There is not much more to relate,’ Pierre said. He described how he had returned to Pyckard’s house, how Moses had fed him and then taken him to the old stable and hayloft, where he stayed until told of his passage on the next ship of Pyckard’s to set sail. ‘I would have left on that ship this morning, but when the crew heard of their master’s death, all wished to drink his health and attend his funeral. They all came to the shore, and it took little money to persuade a man to bring me and my companion to visit the church.’

‘You are being sought by this knight Sir Andrew de Limpsfield,’ Baldwin said. ‘Who is he to you?’

Pierre’s face paled, but not from fear. ‘He is my most mortal enemy! He seeks my destruction.’

‘He asserts that you …’

‘I know the lies he has spread about me. They are all untrue. I am no felon, and I would like to force him to take back his foul allegation at the point of my sword!’

‘No doubt. In the meantime, he accuses you of spying and taking letters to France to aid our enemies,’ Baldwin pressed.

‘It is a lie. Who are these letters from, hey?’

‘He does have authority on his side. He can force us to give you to him, if he commands it,’ Baldwin said.

‘Do not give me to him! He is a vassal of Lord Despenser!’

Simon and Baldwin glanced at each other. There was no need for them to speak: each knew the other’s mind. While Baldwin detested the man for the stories which were circulating about Despenser’s brutality and avariciousness, he was not yet a traitor, and no matter what a man said about Despenser, he was still the King’s advisor. Baldwin’s sense of honour would not allow him to openly flout the King’s will. He had a family to think of.

Simon had a subtly different view. In his world, Lord Hugh de Courtenay was his liege-lord. It was that simple. Lord Hugh had not broken from Despenser and the King, so Simon was unwilling to risk supporting any man against the King.

‘If you are against my Lord Despenser …’ Simon began, but Pierre cut him off.

‘I am a loyal servant of my Lady Isabella, your Queen. And she is being sorely tried by this man Despenser. He has refused to pay her the money he owes her for the farm of Bristol, for example, and denies owing arrears. They have taken her castles and brought her to low poverty. If you give me to him, you will see me dead, and my lady the Queen brought lower. Can you do thus to your Queen?’

‘If she’s in such a terrible state, why isn’t her husband doing anything about it?’ Simon asked cynically.

‘He can do nothing against the Despenser,’ Pierre stated. It was true. The King was so infatuated with his lover, he could see nothing wrong in any action the man took. Despenser stole, ransomed and tortured at will; he was Edward’s favourite and could do no wrong.

Pierre looked about him at the faces in the room. The knight Baldwin sat studying him from dark and serious eyes; his companion the Bailiff was less analytical and more sympathetic to his position; the shipmaster was scowling with concentration, making sure that no snippet of potentially useful information passed him by.

Baldwin sniffed, sitting back at last. ‘Well, my friend, I feel anxious for you, but I’m equally convinced that we have to do our duty. I am afraid that you must be held until we hear from Sir Andrew about what he would have us do.’

‘If you give me to him, you will give me over to my execution,’ Pierre said with finality.

‘If we don’t, we may be signing our own death warrants,’ Hawley pointed out. He stood. ‘You want me to take him to the gaol now?’

‘No. He will be safe here,’ Baldwin said. ‘We have servants and guards enough.’

‘If you are sure.’

‘Wait, Master Hawley,’ Baldwin said. ‘Perhaps you could just ease my mind on a couple of other points? I believe you were not alone in being at sea on the day you found the cog burning. Is that correct?’

‘Yes. I think all the ships were at sea. Mine, Kena’s and Beauley’s. Why?’

‘I am merely trying to understand what may have happened to the unfortunate crew on that ship.’

‘Do you think one of them killed the crew and fired the ship?’ Hawley demanded, and chuckled to himself. ‘I promise you, any of us would have made a more seamanlike end to the Saint John .’

‘Yes. That is fine. I know that,’ Baldwin said.

‘So why ask about them, then?’

‘Because it interests me. The idea that the cog could be taken and all her men killed with such ease, that seems most odd. The fact that the men all disappeared is also strange, as is the matter of the cargo.’

‘It was all there.’

‘Precisely.’

Hawley eyed him for a few moments, and then shrugged. He turned to Simon. ‘I’ll take my leave, Keeper. Let me know if there’s anything more you need from me.’

Gil stood on the Saint Denis with his legs braced and took a long swig from a jug of wine. ‘We will set sails in the morning,’ he declared. ‘If we hang about any longer, we’ll miss the market.’

‘Good,’ Moses said. ‘It’s for the best.’

‘What of the Frenchman?’ Hamund asked.

Moses turned to the abjuror and looked him up and down with slow deliberation. ‘You are a sailor for this trip, friend. Do not test our patience, or you will remain here. Do you want that?’

‘No, but our master wanted him taken to France, didn’t he? Wasn’t it one of his dying wishes? And now you’re proposing to leave him here.’

‘He has been arrested. What do you expect us to do?’

‘The men took him from this ship with someone’s agreement! Who allowed them aboard?’

Gil controlled his temper with difficulty. ‘I would shut up now while you still have your teeth, sailor. Now get off my deck!’

Hamund sniffed, wiped his nose, and walked away. There was no point in continuing this argument, but as he stood and glanced about him, he was reminded of the story of the death ship’s arrival in the haven. Others had spoken of it at length in the tavern while Gil was trying to find more crew-members, and the tale of the poor man who’d been grasped by the cold, dead hand of the corpse in the hold had mesmerised all who heard it. The man had all but died of terror, apparently, and his hair had turned white on the spot. True!

Less inclined to believe the stories of ghosts than most of the others, Hamund was sure of one thing as he stood there on the deck, and that was that there were plenty of opportunities for a new sailor like himself to fall overboard on the voyage to France. Perhaps he should be silent. The man Pierre was not worth dying for.

He found a quiet corner near an immense coil of thick rope, and settled dejectedly beside it. In all the time since he had left Mistress Sarra and come down here, only one man, Pierre himself, had spoken to him kindly. Gil had been generous enough while he wanted sailors, but now Hamund was gaining the impression that his kindness and courtesy would last only as long as the shore was visible from his deck. No, it was only Pierre who had been good to him for his own sake. Perhaps it was because the two of them were all alone and despised by everyone else, one because he was a confessed murderer and abjurer, the other because he was thought to be a rapist. Despite knowing of his crime, the Frenchman had offered to help Hamund start a new life. That counted for a lot.

‘What can I do to help him ?’ Hamund muttered dismally. He gazed back towards the shore. Torches flickered, and the water reflected the pin-pricks of yellow light. The cooper was working still, his braziers lighting the front of his shop.

An idea began to come to Hamund, gradually at first, but then with more force.