Michael Jecks - The Death Ship of Dartmouth

Coroner Richard was already running over the slippery planks towards the cabin under the stern deck. As he passed the mast, a man jumped at him, and Hawley saw the Coroner whip his sword about. There was a wet, sucking noise, and the man’s arm was parted from his body. It fell to the ground, twitching like a worm cut in half, and the huge man lumbered on his way as though nothing had happened. Hawley ran to join him, finishing off the wounded sailor on the way. At sea there were no prisoners: it was kill or be killed.

The door was barred, and Sir Richard pounded on it to no avail. When Hawley reached his side, he too battered the timbers, and then whistled. His carpenter, a man with oak for arms, ran to his side, then took a hatchet from his belt and swung it at the panel beside the door. Three blows and a great crack opened as he turned the hatchet and levered the panel away. Another swing, and the panel fell inside. He hacked at the morticed plank beneath, then kicked the bottom panel, and there was an opening.

‘Come out now, master,’ Hawley called through the hole. ‘If you come out, you’ll live.’

‘You will pay for this piracy , man!’ shouted Sir Andrew. ‘You’ll be flayed alive for the damage done to Lord Despenser’s ship, and I’ll be delighted to witness your dying agonies!’

‘You’ll see nothing at all if you don’t come out now!’ the Coroner roared at his side. ‘I have the authority and duty to arrest you, and if you don’t come out at once, I will have your body dragged out.’

Even as he bellowed, Hawley heard the shouting from the other end of the ship. The sailors who’d been woken by the bell were appearing, and a ferocious fight had broken out. Steel rang on steel, and men’s voices, hoarse with rage or fear or both, bellowed defiance or hatred. Hawley turned to see that his men were winning. The crew were already so depleted, with half of them still wandering about the town, that the outcome was inevitable.

‘Your men cannot win. Come out and you may live,’ the Coroner declared.

‘So you say. How do I know you will hold to your word?’

‘YOU DARE ACCUSE ME OF BAD FAITH? It was you who murdered a man from this town, Sir Andrew! You won’t leave here alive while there’s a man in Dartmouth to stop you, and you only have a small crew. If you come out now, you can save some of your men and perhaps save yourself from disaster too. But if you make me go in there to get you, I’ll make damn sure you die.’

Hawley stepped back as a burly figure ran at him. He had already stabbed the man in the breast when he realised the body was headless, and he withdrew his sword distastefully, kicking the corpse towards the ship’s side, where it toppled into the water.

‘You have no crew, Sir Knight. You are going nowhere.’

The bar at the door slid back, and the door opened to show Sir Andrew, clad in tunic and gipon, sword at his side, that sneering expression on his face still.

‘What now? Will you bind me?’

The Coroner stepped forward and clenched his fist, holding it underneath Sir Andrew’s nose. ‘You contemptible little shite. If you tempt me, yes, I may have you put in chains. Or I may pass you over to the mob here in Dartmouth for them to deal with you. So don’t tempt me, Sir Andrew.’

Alice, Danny’s widow, was sitting on her stool at the table, trying to sew by the light of a flickering candle. She could barely see to thread her needle, but with the children having no father, and with her losing her husband, there was no money. She must pull herself together and set to, to mend all their clothing, and perhaps take in other people’s mending too.

There would be work when the ships came in. The fishermen always needed help in gutting and salting down the hauls, while sailors would always be glad of extra hands to repair torn sails or nets. Yes, there would be work — and the older children must look after the younger. In God’s name, it would be hard, though. The church would offer alms, and the food would be useful, but she would have to spread herself to survive.

Her eyes suddenly misted. God, how she missed her gentle Danny. Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she then closed them in defeat. She could do no more tonight. Glancing at the children asleep on the floor, she forced the tears away. There was no time for sorrow. She must plan the next day’s work so that she might collect some money.

At the knock on the door, her heart pounded in fear. No one came visiting this late: whoever it was must have some evil purpose.

Taking hold of her knife from the table, she rose and went to the door, peering through the gap at the side to see who was there. As she did so, a shiver tore through her frame with the speed of a plummeting hawk.

She dropped to her knees and gasped with horror. One of the children snuffled in her sleep, and Alice went to her on all fours, even as the door rattled. If she could, the terrified woman would have recited the Paternoster , but she wasn’t educated enough to have learned such recitations. She simply called on God to save her, to protect her children, and meanwhile the door thudded as a fist struck it.

‘Go away!’ she cried. The children were all stirring now, and the youngest began to sob.

A whisper reached her, like the soughing of wind through the branches.

‘Adam! You’re dead,’ she sobbed, averting her face. ‘Go back to the hell you came from!’

Baldwin and Simon had a fair-sized force when they left to seek the sailors. It did not take long to guess where they might be. Screams and shouting were coming from over towards South Town, and the two of them waved to the others to join them as they hurried on.

The town of Clifton had grown to join South Town, but where the two had originally met there were some rough areas of land. Beyond these were the beginnings of the old town that had once been separate. Simon knew it moderately well, although he tended to keep to the Clifton end of town, for that was where the bulk of his work was. He was aware that there were brothels down here, and several taverns that catered for other tastes, with cock-fighting pits, dog-baiting, and gaming rooms where a man might sit and lose his month’s income in one game of chance.

The crew from Sir Andrew’s ship were involved in an altercation with the owner of a small alehouse, with the slatternly drab who tried to ply her trade there standing before the door screeching at the sailors who were trying to gain admittance.

‘Keep off, I say! Ow! You think you can barge in here and do what you want? I say you can …

Simon chose this moment to exercise his authority. ‘Good evening, Malkin! I think you have no more to fear. As for you lot, you were to be held in the gaol, I think?’

‘Piss on you! We’re trying to find the Frenchie,’ the leader of the sailors shouted.

From his complexion and speech, it was clear that Jan and the others had drunk a quantity of liquid bellicosity since leaving his house, and Simon smiled with relief that this was one opponent he need not fear. ‘Him? Oh, he’s here with us,’ he said glibly.

‘We’ll take him, then,’ the man declared loudly, stepping forward.

‘First we’ll escort you back to the gaol. Not only have you attempted to take a ship in the haven here, but you have also helped in the murder of a man who was guarding you on behalf of the King. You are all arrested. Drop your weapons!’

The ringleader stood in front of him, befuddled and bleary. He eyed Simon with a frown, then looked down at his sword, swaying slightly before spitting at Simon’s feet and rushing forward at Pierre with a yell. Three others lifted their weapons and followed him, and Simon was buffeted from the path of the first two, before coming to blows with the third, who gripped a long knife in one hand, an axe in the other.