Michael Jecks - The Death Ship of Dartmouth

‘Who attacked the ship, then?’

‘Pyckard.’

Sir Richard moved imperceptibly towards Simon.

‘Listen to me, Sir Richard, before you try leaping on me again!’

‘Why should Pyckard invent this assault?’ Baldwin asked.

‘His wife! You remember she died in a squall? I heard that some of the men who died on the Saint John were also on that ship, the Saint Rumon , with Mistress Pyckard when she was on her last sailing. What if Pyckard had learned that there was something wrong about that sailing? How can I have been so dim!’

There was a loud knocking at the door, and the three men remained silent as Rob went to open it. He was soon back, a muddy, sweat-stained man behind him, clad in a tunic of red and green with a shield on the breast. It meant nothing to Simon, but Baldwin and Sir Richard recognised it at once.

‘Quarterly Argent and Gules, in the second and third a fret Or, overall a bend Sable,’ Sir Richard muttered. ‘Blast!’

‘Eh?’ said Simon.

‘Despenser,’ Baldwin explained quietly.

Simon swallowed, but stood and beckoned the man. ‘I am the Bailiff, Representative of the Keeper of the Port. How can I serve you?’

‘I am sent by the lord Despenser, Bailiff. I have a communication which is being delivered to all towns throughout the realm.’ The man handed Simon a rolled parchment, and he took it warily. He unrolled it and glanced down the flowing script. Modern writing he found rather hard to read. It was so often like this: rounded, each letter much like the next. Still, first he looked at the huge seal as though he recognised it, and then he absorbed the message itself.

‘This is … astonishing.’

‘What does it say?’ Baldwin demanded.

‘It says that since the hostilities with the French king, and the loss of Gascony, the realm must take care with all threats to the nation’s security. I must immediately hold any French subjects who might pose such a threat and deliver them to the Lord Despenser’s representative, Sir Andrew de Limpsfield.’

‘Aha,’ Sir Richard said without humour.

Simon re-rolled the parchment and tapped it against his palm. ‘You have travelled far. Can we offer you ale? Wine? Some food?’

When the messenger had been seated, and Rob sent to fetch a good meat pie and some more spiced wine, Simon looked at him seriously. ‘You will have more news, I am sure. Come, I am the King’s man in the port here, this knight is the King’s Coroner from the King’s own estate, and this is the Keeper of the King’s Peace. We are all his loyal subjects. Can you tell us more news of what is happening in the country?’

‘Gladly. All the Queen’s estates have been sequestered by the King. I have messages for her stewards in Cornwall from Bishop Stapledon.’

‘The good bishop?’ Baldwin said sharply. ‘He is involved in this?’

‘I heard it was all on his own advice. The bishop is anxious about the nation’s security, and recommended to the King that he take actions to protect himself. After all, the Queen is sister to the French king.’

As Simon spoke to the man, Coroner Richard adding some words of his own, Baldwin heard little of it all. He was too stunned at what he had learned.

In all the years since his return to Devon, he had trusted the integrity and honour of the bishop. He had believed the man when he had said that he was interested in this Frenchman in case he was a spy, and had been reluctant to believe Pierre when he asserted that the bishop was hand-in-glove with Despenser. But now it seemed it was all true, and his friend, Bishop Walter, was on the side of the man who would despoil the nation.

He was cold suddenly. In this room with the fire flickering merrily, he felt as though his soul had been encased in ice. It was a terrible sensation. To lose a friend like Stapledon was appalling, but he was sure now that he could not trust the bishop. Perhaps that was why Stapledon had asked him to pray with him, just to reinforce the bond that lay between them — to make it easier to pull the wool over his eyes.

‘It’s rumoured that all the Queen’s household will be reviewed. All the French subjects in it will have to be arrested and held away. We don’t want potential spies within the royal household, and it’d be too easy for her to write messages to her brother,’ the man was saying.

Arrests without evidence, without trial. This was not the behaviour of a monarch who had respect for the law and the people: it was the action of a despot. Baldwin felt a sour nausea rising from his stomach. The Queen was being persecuted, unfairly and unreasonably, and he was revolted by it.

What sort of country was this to live in, to raise children in, when a reckless and malevolent King could on a whim deprive his own wife of all her friends and protectors? Isabella’s closest companions were all French, so these were the people King Edward II was bound to arrest. But they were not spies, they were merely her circle of friends, those on whom she depended. If the rumours were true, she’d seen little enough of her own husband recently. He reflected on the relationship between Despenser and the King. Only a cruel and implacable enemy would put this idea into the King’s mind.

‘I need to walk to clear my head,’ he blurted out, and stood.

The messenger looked bemused, not realising how his words might have affected the knight, but Simon saw his alarm and would have gone with him, only his feet stumbled even as he stood.

Baldwin shook his head. ‘No, Simon. You remain here with our guest. I shall go for a short walk. I won’t be long.’

‘Where are you going?’ Simon murmured.

‘I don’t know. Anywhere away from him and Sir Andrew,’ he said harshly.

Leaving Simon’s house, Sir Baldwin walked out through the weed-infested garden to the small barn, which he entered; he then climbed the ladder. Up in the hayloft, he saw Pierre sitting in the far corner, a thick blanket over his shoulders, watching him with a smile. Hamund lay near his feet, curled up in a nest of hay like a dormouse.

‘You have some news, I think?’ Pierre asked, studying his expression.

‘Pierre, we have received orders to have you captured and give you to Sir Andrew. We can delay his release from prison for a short while, perhaps, but the orders are explicit. All Frenchmen are to be watched and arrested.’

‘This order comes from …?’

‘It was signed by the King — but the messenger comes from Despenser.’

Pierre stood. ‘Then you have no choice. I would not expect you to hold me safe when that monster makes his demands. You have to give me up.’

‘No . At present no one knows where you are. Last night you saved the life of my friend Simon. We must help you as we may. I will not send you back to be tortured or murdered.’

‘This is a very different song from the one you sang only yesterday,’ Pierre said. ‘What has changed your mind?’

‘I have heard that Queen Isabella’s estates are to be sequestered, at the suggestion of Bishop Stapledon. If I was wrong about him, I was wrong about much. I cannot save you if you fall into Despenser’s clutches, but I can at least help you escape to France from here. The ship is still in the haven. Let us go to it now. Once you are aboard, it should be easy enough to set sail and you will be secure, I hope.’

Pierre knelt and took Baldwin’s hand. ‘I am your servant, Sir Knight. You risk much to save me.’

‘In the Queen’s name, I believe it is only right,’ Baldwin said.

As the messenger left the chamber Coroner Richard walked to Simon’s bench and sat heavily. ‘I am sorry about this. I would prefer to have Sir Andrew kept in gaol and tried for murder, but what can we do?’