Michael Jecks - The Death Ship of Dartmouth

Alred, Law and Bill had been encircled by a group of sailors, and now Bill roared at the top of his voice: ‘Go! Run!’ before he was knocked to his knees.

Pierre grasped his sword and would have turned back, and while he stood undecided, Hamund felt as though his belly had fallen from his body, leaving only a terrible emptiness. All at once he could see Pierre running back, fighting alone against the host of sailors, falling under their knives and swords. And he would be alone again, without even this companion.

But then Hamo took Pierre’s arm. ‘Seems to me that if you go back there, you’ll die, friend. And that would make anything that happens to them pointless, wouldn’t it? I think you should come with me and get to safety.’

‘They are being taken! It is wrong for me to escape and leave them to be blamed for my offences!’

‘They’re taken already,’ Hamo said. ‘Won’t help much for them to be watching you get killed, will it?’

Pierre gave a short nod, and turned back to face the river. He began to trudge onwards.

Hamund blew out a breath of relief, feeling like a felon who’d been given a reprieve even as the rope tightened about his neck. The three dragged Hamo’s boat to the water and pushed it in a short way. Pierre stepped in, then Hamund, and finally Hamo pushed and climbed in at the same time. He took the oars, and was about to sit and begin rowing, when he stopped and stared over Hamund’s shoulder.

Looking in the same direction, Hamund felt as though his bowels would melt. ‘No!’

From near the great mill-wheel, two larger rowing boats were pushing off. In the front of the first Hamund could clearly see the long, flowing fair hair of Sir Andrew. He had a drawn sword in his hand, and he was waving it about his head like a hunter urging on his steed.

Stephen ran along behind them as Baldwin and Simon hurried down the hill. They reached the gaol in time to see Ivo closing the door after him.

‘What have you done, you fool?’ Baldwin roared, grasping the unfortunate man by the throat and forcing him back against the door he had just locked.

‘What? What do you mean?’

‘All the seamen, where are they?’

‘A man came, a man with the Despenser shield on his breast — he had orders for me to release them. What could I do against a letter like his? I’m only a sergeant, I’m not a man-of-law or anything. If I’m given an order from someone with authority, what else can I do?’

Baldwin threw him back, releasing him with disdain. ‘You repel me! Which way did they go?’

‘To the shore, I think.’

‘They’ve gone to head Pierre away from the ship,’ Simon breathed.

‘Yes. And now we must hurry there ourselves,’ Baldwin said. ‘You, Ivo le Bel, and you, Stephen, search the Porpoise and the other taverns and see whether you can find Coroner Sir Richard de Welles. Is that clear? Tell him what has happened here, and that we are to go to the shore instantly. We would be grateful for his support.’

‘I will tell him.’

‘Do so. And now, Simon, are you well enough to trot?’

Simon gave a twisted grin. His head was still enormously painful, but the sickness was retreating. He tested his blade in the scabbard, and the two ran over the cobbles to the first alley. Here Baldwin ducked under a line of drying clothes, and the two skidded and slid down a path made slick. There was no kennel here, and the wastes from all the houses were thrown straight into the lane itself, to lie there until the next storm washed the mess away. Simon was only aware of a desire to keep from falling.

At the bottom, they immediately saw that something was wrong. There was a small group of men held back by a pair of grinning sailors. Two others were whistling and making lewd suggestions to a flush-faced young woman of perhaps sixteen years.

Baldwin saw beyond them a group of men ringing some others. There was a flash or two of steel in the sunlight, and he cursed. Yet he would not leave the girl to suffer the indignity of the men’s words. He put his hand to his sword, and even as he did so, there was a hoarse bellow of rage at his side as the Bailiff drew his sword and, lifting it high, roared abuse at all four sailors, running in to close with them.

‘Simon!’ Baldwin groaned, and then dragged his own blade from its scabbard, and ran to catch his friend.

There was little need. Perhaps the sight of the Bailiff filled with righteous anger was enough to terrify the sailors, or perhaps it was the realisation that if two men attacked from their side, there was little they could do to subdue the men before them too, but whatever the reason, the four suddenly took to their heels.

Baldwin was about to stop and tell the men huddled with the girl to go and find some help, when he realised that Simon had not paused like him. Rolling his eyes heavenwards, he cried, ‘Murder! Out! Out! Out! Fetch weapons, come and help!’ and took off after him at a sprint. His booted feet slapped on the hard moorstone of the way, and his ankle was jarred at one point, but he forced himself onwards, until he had almost caught up with Simon. The sailors were a short distance ahead, and now they shouted for help, and instantly two more of their companions ran back to meet them.

Baldwin bellowed, ‘For the King!’ and kept on running. His sword was ready to stab, his left hand forward, when he met the first of them. He flicked his sword up and right, knocking aside a long knife, and then he slammed his fist forward, the full weight of the sword in his hand catching the sailor over the temple. The man crumpled to the ground as Baldwin danced to his left, creating space between him and the next man. This one was joined by a fresh man; he had a short knife in each hand, while the other held a stout cudgel.

It was the cudgel he feared most. The daggers looked fearsome, but Baldwin was content that he could protect himself against them; however, the cudgel had a longer reach and could incapacitate him. He retreated a little, glancing this way and that over his shoulders, until he saw a narrow entrance to an alley. Carrying on, he waited until he could dart into it, and when the moment came, he sprang forwards.

Both had expected him to run away, and the change of direction startled them. He slipped quickly right, his sword ready, and as the man with the cudgel turned to meet him, Baldwin thrust once. His sword opened the man’s thigh, and he screamed shrilly. Even as he dropped the cudgel to grab at the wound, Baldwin was at the other. Behind him, he could see Simon hacking and stabbing with gusto, still with two men at him, and Baldwin was anxious lest his friend might come to grief. Rather than prolong the fight, he tapped the knife in the man’s left hand away, grabbed his right wrist in his own left hand, and pulled him forward, off-balance, his sword at the fellow’s throat. ‘Surrender, or die.’

‘I yield! Please!’

The knives both clattered to the floor, and Baldwin kicked them away. They went over the edge of the quay, and he heard them strike the mud.

Without thinking, he was at the men about Simon. The first he stabbed in the flank, and the man grunted with the shock. The second saw his mate falter, and turned to face Baldwin with a long knife, but Baldwin’s expression made him reconsider. In a matter of moments, all three were running away, back to join their comrades, and Simon and Baldwin followed them more slowly.

‘There are lots of them,’ Simon muttered, eyeing the crowd.

‘I don’t care,’ Baldwin said. ‘You! Stand back in the name of the King.’

‘King?’ the man sneered. ‘We work for Lord Despenser. The King is our ally.’

He was suddenly silent as a bloody sword touched his throat. ‘I am the King’s Officer, and I say, “Stand back”!’