Michael Jecks - The Death Ship of Dartmouth

Simon had ordered that the door should be locked so that there was little chance of Pierre escaping by that route, and when Rob had left, the door had been firmly closed and barred behind him. Now it rattled under the determined pounding of weapons. A more solid crash declared that the men had found something substantial amongst the rubbish that littered the street, and Baldwin watched in silent dismay.

‘It must be Sir Andrew and his mob. We cannot hold the place against them,’ he murmured.

‘I am reluctant to free the Frenchman,’ Simon countered. ‘If Despenser heard, we’d have our necks stretched. Baldwin, I don’t like it, but for the sake of the King’s Peace and commonsense, preventing bloodshed, we’ll have to give him up to them.’

‘If we do, those fools will tear him apart,’ Baldwin said, grabbing Simon’s arm. ‘Listen to them! These are madmen baying like hounds. Think of the Saint John . These men may have killed the crew; they would have done the same in the haven today. In God’s name, I wouldn’t leave a ravening wolf in their company.’

‘Well, there’s no way out through the garden,’ Simon said. ‘And any escape simply means his capture is deferred. There is nowhere for him to hide, not if Despenser’s men are all over the town. If we mean to save him, it’ll be at the sword’s point.’

Baldwin nodded. He motioned to the guard at the door, and then drew his sword. Glancing at his friend, he hesitated, and then put his arm about Simon’s shoulder and clapped it.

‘Open the door,’ he said quietly to the guard, and the man leaned forward and pulled the bar free. Immediately the door swung open, and three men almost fell inside, gaping at the swords held open in Simon and Baldwin’s fists.

‘Who are you, and what do you mean by this intrusion?’ Baldwin demanded loudly. As he spoke, he stepped forward, his peacock-blue blade flashing wickedly in the light. Now that he could see the men in the street, he realised they were the ones from the ship. ‘Who released you?’

‘Our master. You had no right to hold us. We want the traitor!’

‘And what is his name?’

‘Eh?’

‘I said, “What is his name?” If you expect a man to be thrown to you, you can at least dignify him by title and name.’

‘The Frenchman. That’s the one!’

‘A Frenchman?’ Baldwin enquired. ‘Which one would that be?’

‘Don’t play games with us! We want him now. Fetch him out or we’ll get him ourselves. We have the King’s warrant.’

‘GOOD! LET’S SEE IT, THEN!’

Baldwin felt as though the weight that had formed on his shoulders was suddenly fallen away. The man in front of him was peering up the road with consternation on his face. ‘Who’re you?’

‘My name is Sir Richard de Welles, my fellow,’ the Coroner boomed as he approached, the sword in his hand a glistening, grey wraith in the darkness. ‘But “Sir” will do. What are you doing here? I believe that waking a poor Keeper of the King’s Peace is probably an offence. What say you, Sir Baldwin?’

‘I would say it is definitely an infringement of the law,’ Sir Baldwin said. ‘Any man who tried to break into a Keeper’s residence without permission should be publicly castrated, I’d have thought.’

As he spoke, his sword’s point dropped until it was aimed in a painful direction. The sailor opposite him swallowed noticeably, his Adam’s apple bobbing. ‘We’ve been told to fetch the traitor.’

‘Which traitor?’ the Coroner demanded. He was at the man’s side now, and the fellow’s companions retreated some little distance, away from the swords of Baldwin and Simon with their guard at the door, and the Coroner’s own blade at their flank.

‘The one who’s been searched for. The one from the ship. It’s on the order of Lord Hugh Despenser. He’s the King’s advisor now, and he’s given us written orders to fetch the Frenchman. He’s a spy and felon.’

Baldwin muttered something, and the Coroner glanced at him. ‘Eh?’

Happily, Simon was able to elucidate. ‘He said: “My arse”.’

Sir Richard nodded. ‘Quite right, too. Now, I think you ought to come back in the morning for this French fellow. We may give him to you then. If we deem it right.’

‘We have orders. We have the right!’

Baldwin set his jaw. It was tempting to ignore the parchment Sir Andrew had shown him, but that would be to invite serious risks. ‘It’s no good, Sir Richard. I think we shall have to let the fellow go with these fine men.’

At his side, Simon nodded. ‘We have no choice.’

‘Very well,’ Sir Richard agreed. ‘In that case, before anything else, I want a full list of your names right now, and then I’ll personally deliver him to your hands.’

With much reluctance, the men waited while Rob was sent to knock up Stephen. The tousled cleric appeared some minutes later, and he set to immediately with a reed and ink, scrawling the names of the sailors onto a sheet. As soon as he was done, Simon took the parchment and passed it to the Coroner, who grunted agreement. ‘Fine. Master Jan? You may take him, I suppose.’

Disconsolately Simon walked back along his screens passage to the room where the Frenchman had been installed.

‘Baldwin! Get here, quickly!’ he bawled back along the screens as he took in the sight of the fallen figure by the door. He ran to the man’s side and felt for wounds, and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the man’s breast rise and fall. Then he spotted the bloody lump on his head. ‘ Shit !’

Hamo was no fool, and he could feel danger when it was sitting in front of him and drinking a cup of his warm spiced ale, but the mere fact of a man being a danger to others was not reason necessarily to throw him out. In his time, Hamo had traded with men who had killed many others, especially at sea. He never found them a risk, although some had flexible concepts about paying on time for a contract.

This one was clearly no immediate threat to Hamo. If anything, he was an embarrassment, sitting there so skinny and white, with his clothes steaming near the brazier, while he shivered in a heavy rug. ‘So you can’t tell me what you’re doing here?’

‘I was on that ship, but a friend of mine was caught earlier, and I wanted to learn why.’

‘The Frenchman?’

‘You know of him?’

‘News doesn’t have far to travel, does it?’ Hamo said sarcastically. ‘He was arrested on that ship of yours, wasn’t he?’

‘Do you know where he is now?’

‘Surely he must be in the gaol.’

‘I just want to see if my friend is all right.’

‘I’d cool your ardour, friend. If he’s banged up in the gaol, he’ll stay there until the Bailiff reckons he can go.’

‘I can do nothing to save him?’

Hamo eyed him. Hamund sat with his head bowed in misery. ‘Why not tell me about this friend of yours. I may be able to help.’

‘You can’t help. No one can,’ Hamund declared miserably.

‘Not if you don’t try them, no,’ Hamo agreed affably. ‘However, I’m told I’ve a good ear for listening, and since we’re both here, we may as well humour each other, eh?’

Hamund began to tell his story: how he had killed Flok, taken sanctuary, abjured at the church in front of the Coroner, and came directly here to Dartmouth as he had been commanded, and now hoped to flee with the man who alone had helped him.

‘You should return to your ship,’ Hamo said. ‘This is no refuge for you, is it? If you’re found, you could be executed on the spot for not remaining on the ship.’

‘But what of my friend?’

Hamo considered a fresh strake of oak. He weighed it in his hand, thinking. ‘If he’s been taken by the men from that ship Gudyer , you can kiss his arse goodbye. I could go and see whether he’s in the gaol, I suppose. If he’s not, he’s probably been taken by the pirate bastards to their flashy cog.’ Hamo had strong opinions about men who tried to storm and take a Dartmouth ship.