Michael Jecks - The Death Ship of Dartmouth

‘What do you want?’ Hawley asked, surprised and annoyed.

‘The Keeper has asked you to come and see him, master.’

‘Why?’

‘There’s been a murder. There are some sailors abroad in the town, and he wants to catch them — quietly.’

Hawley nodded as he pulled his baldric over his head, settling his sword at his hip. Then he followed the lad out into the street and up the road. At the gaol he found Kena and Beauley waiting for him, and Baldwin explained what he intended.

‘The men we seek have run off to the south. We may be able to catch a number of them. If so, all well and good. They can be held in the gaol again. The one I want, though, is their master, Sir Andrew de Limpsfield. He it is who incited murder, and he killed the poor gaoler here as well. He’s on his ship. I want him arrested for this killing.’

‘I will come too in my capacity as Coroner,’ boomed Sir Richard.

‘It’s a large ship,’ Kena commented, eyeing the big man doubtfully. He was wondering whether such a bearlike fellow could climb her sides.

‘We can take it,’ Beauley said. ‘We’ve done it before, haven’t we, Master Hawley?’

Hawley nodded, but gave Beauley a hard look. Capturing ships was a part of their job, should they come across an enemy vessel, but it wasn’t something that was spoken of too much, especially in front of men like a Keeper. He wondered whether Beauley had intended to make him sound like the attacker of the death ship.

‘Do you go and prepare, then,’ Baldwin said. ‘I want that man arrested by dawn.’

‘Very well,’ Hawley said. ‘Beauley, I’ll see you at the shore with the men.’

He strode off from the marketplace and hurried to his house. There he roused his steward and told him to gather as many of his crew as could be found quickly, before taking a long draught of wine. Cynric was already back from his mission to the Porpoise, and grinned wolfishly at the thought of the fight to come. Hawley’s belly felt as though he had swallowed liquid fire as the wine hit it, but then a warmth spread through him.

When he had finished the wine, he went out into the street. The steward had done well. There were five-and-twenty of his stoutest men gathered there, all equipped with their favourite weapons. He beckoned them to follow and set off, explaining what they must do.

The ship stood out clearly from here. Lights sparkled over her deck and two on her mast, and Hawley mused on the best means of attack as he went. The shore was empty: the others weren’t here yet, and he studied the vessel while he waited for them. Before long the Coroner himself arrived, and he and Hawley spoke in low tones, trying to make sense of the defences and plan the assault. As if they needed any warning, they heard a guffaw from the ship, and a man speaking to another, causing a loud explosion of laughter. Sound travelled well over the still water, much better than over land. They spoke in careful whispers.

By the time Kena and Beauley had arrived, the two had made their choice. The Gudyer was lying with her bow pointing up river. If they rowed straight to the ship, their vessels would be shown clearly against the lights of the town behind them. All the flickering torches and lamps would make glittering reflections on the soft waves of the river; their oars would leave a fine phosphorescence, and even if the men crouched low, a half-awake watchman must see them clearly. In preference, making use of the darkness that lay on the opposite, eastern shore, they would be almost entirely hidden.

Kena and Beauley agreed with the outlined plan. Hawley and Beauley would circle about the ship. They were the younger and more vigorous men (a comment with which Kena was content to agree) and would mount the main attack with the fifty men at their disposal. Kena’s team of a further twenty-two would wait until the main attack was underway, and then race for the ship themselves, arriving as a mobile reinforcement. Using their boats they could aim straight for the part of the ship where Hawley and Beauley needed them, ideally.

‘We’ll go down the coast until we’re level with Kingswear, and then cross over,’ Beauley said quietly. ‘Then make our way upriver.’

Hawley shook his head. ‘Go upriver from here. It’ll be slower and harder work, but when we go down towards the ship, we’ll have the river with us, making the approach faster. As soon as we reach the ship, it’s grapnels out and all aboard as quickly as may be.’

Ordering their men to keep all their weapons quiet and prevent them knocking or rattling, the commanders led them to the water’s edge. There were many small rowing boats here, hauled up on the shingle, and the men made a great effort to enter them silently. Even when one man slid under the water, his feet losing their grip on the slippery stones, he held his tongue. All Hawley could see were two anguished eyes gazing at him before they disappeared. Instantly Coroner Richard pulled him up again, and the man stood, mouth clamped shut, shivering with the cold and his shock.

Then they were in the boats. Sir Richard joined Hawley in his, sitting a little ahead of the merchant, who took the steering oar at the back.

At a signal from Hawley, his men began to row slowly upstream, pulling away firmly in time to his fist’s pounding on his thigh. Other boats followed in the darkness, one overhauling another and making the oars tangle, but they were soon sorted again, and continuing up the river.

Hawley watched the ship from narrowed eyes as they went, convinced that someone must realise the danger, but the watch on the ship appeared to be unaware of them, or, if he had seen them, thought nothing of a group of small rowing boats making off up river towards a fishery on a poaching expedition. They carried on until Hawley considered that they were safe from view. Unless they had a watch in the prow itself, it was unlikely that a sentry would notice them. The man on the main deck would have his view of the river obscured by the jutting castle at the front.

‘ Now! ’ he hissed, and the boats turned swiftly and began the race to the Gudyer . Hawley crouched down, the steering oar gripped firmly in his left fist while his right played with the hilt of his sword. The ship was a small, black shape in the distance, a curious round-sided lump with a projecting spike that looked as though it reached up to the clouds that fleeted by. Horn lanterns glowed at the mast and on the deck, making the prow stand out in relief against the blackness beyond.

When Hawley saw that they were nearly at the ship, he hissed a low command and the oars were raised and shipped. The vessel now was a growing mass of wood and spars, ropes thrilling to the wind.

Hawley risked a quick look over his shoulder and saw the boats catching up with him, and the Gudyer was near enough now to see the separate strakes of her clinker hull.

He let the boat move on until it reached the rear of the ship, and only then did he nod to the man in the prow.

He stood easily, balancing on the balls of his bare feet, a rope with a grapnel in his hand; swinging it, he eyed the ship and then hurled it upwards. There was a clatter, a rasp of metal on wood, and he had it firm. Another man grabbed hold of a dangling rope and pulled, and then others had their own handholds and were swarming up the sheer side of the ship like so many spiders.

A face appeared, frowning with disbelief that turned to horror. It was whipped away and a high, screaming noise came to Hawley’s ears. He went up at a run, his sword a clattering encumbrance at his hip, until he was at the top and could throw a leg over. A bell rang once, twice, and then there was a shrill cry, and silence. Hawley sprang down on to the hard wooden deck and drew his sword.