Michael Jecks - The Death Ship of Dartmouth

‘No … that’s not possible,’ Moses said, but he had taken a step back as though struck by a physical blow.

Baldwin was pensive. ‘I still don’t understand. When the Saint John sailed, your master had given instructions for her to be fired as though she had been raided?’

‘Yes. It was always his plan.’

Baldwin frowned. ‘And Adam knew of that?’

‘He knew the ship must be afire when Master Beauley arrived, yes. Although he didn’t realise that he was only to make a poor job of it. I know that the day they sailed, my master was keen to send me to explain that the ship was not to be burned to the waterline.’

‘Why?’

‘Oh, I think Adam said something to Odo and Vincent about leaving them in the ship to burn to nothing, and my master thought he didn’t appreciate that the two were to be thrown into the sea. The ship wasn’t to be harmed, after all. Perhaps he thought he was to destroy the whole thing, now I think of it.’

‘Where is Adam now?’ Baldwin demanded. ‘He is the final link in the chain.’

‘I’m not sure,’ Moses declared. He had paled under the onslaught, but he stood with an attitude of defiance, a hand stroking the wooden chair’s back.

‘Essay a guess,’ Sir Richard said. He drained his mazer, peered into the jug and when he saw it was empty, set it down with a sigh. Taking hold of his sword, he walked over to Moses. ‘But be quick, eh?’

The house he directed them to was another not far from Cynegils’s own in the street at Hardness. It was a shabby building, much like the other, but there was no sense of misery about the place. This was not a home filled with hunger, but one where the master was regularly employed.

‘Think he’s in?’ Sir Richard asked Baldwin in what he fondly imagined to be a discreet whisper.

Baldwin rolled his eyes at Simon, and then nodded his head once; Simon returned the nod, and then they nodded a second time, a third, and both launched themselves forward.

‘I expect he’s out, wouldn’t-’

Hearing the splintering crunch as the two men hit the door together and burst through it, the Coroner was quiet for a moment. Then he sniffed disdainfully and stepped forward to the doorway. ‘Proud of yourselves?’

‘He’s not here,’ Simon declared, coming back from the rear of the house. ‘He could have got away over the fence.’

‘We shall have to seek him in the town, then,’ Baldwin said. ‘We could fetch Ivo, I suppose, but he’s as much use as a kettle made of ice.’

‘You two are so impatient all the time,’ the Coroner stated, eyeing them reprovingly. ‘Why don’t we just go to where he’s bound to be?’

‘What are you on about?’ Simon asked a trifle wearily.

‘Good God, man! He was brother to Danny’s wife, wasn’t he? And he was friend to this man Ed, whom we were told was also saved from the ship. Is this Ed in the town?’

‘He lives with Widecombe Will’s family,’ Simon said.

‘Well, I should check both houses. Adam is going to be hiding himself, isn’t he? So let’s flush him out!’

He had left Ed with his wife. The lad was gormless, thick as the oak of a keel. All he saw was that he was alive. He didn’t care about anything else. Even though Adam had tried to persuade him to lie low, remain hidden, disguise himself as Adam had, shaving, washing, changing his hair, wearing different clothes, the fool could think of nothing but dipping his wick in his woman.

Adam was content that he had survived. It hadn’t been easy to think of a story to save himself. When the Saint Rumon had foundered, he’d thought it was a miracle of good luck when he found a spar and floated away, washing up safely on the sand. Only one or two men could have witnessed what had happened, and he was sure that they were dead. Later, when he’d seen Odo, there had been only praise from the latter for managing to survive, and from Vincent too. No one had spotted him with Pyckard’s strumpet.

She’d been good. He had wanted her for months, ever since he first saw her, but he couldn’t do anything about it, except take the occasional whore from the stews to slake his desire. Then Pyckard had sent him to escort her over to France. And he had done what he’d wanted for ages.

It’d been easy. She was weak from vomiting, and hardly even noticed when he walked in. He’d thought she might even want him, as when he’d put a hand on her back, she hadn’t recoiled or anything, just stayed there, kneeling over the basin. He rubbed her, his hand going lower and lower, and when she finally realised what was happening, she tried to jump up and away. Only his hand clenched over her skirts, and he pulled her back, slapping a hand over her mouth when she tried to break free. He kept his hand there while he lifted her skirts and forced his other hand up. Her eyes widened in horror, and they stayed like that all the time until he had finished. Just staring at him. And all the while there was that moaning, low in her throat, like a dog with a broken back. A keening sound that made him ashamed.

That was when he knew he couldn’t let her live. Master Pyckard would see him hang for this. He took his knife and stabbed once, carefully, in her breast. She’d thrashed, her body spasming in death. But still her eyes were on him. Accusing.

He’d been going to throw her over the side when it was dark, but the squall flew up and he’d had to leave her body there and go to help the others. And then the wave came, and the wreck, and that would have been the end of it, had Danny not remembered something crucial, years later.

Pyckard had never suspected Adam. Why should he? Adam was his best sailor. The old skinflint never guessed how much the jealousy tore at him. Adam should have been a merchant. At the least he should have been granted more the profits from the sailings he made, risking his life, his health, so that Pyckard could make money. And he made tons of it. Without his wealth, he couldn’t have afforded to win Amandine, either. It was only fair that the man who helped Pyckard get the money that won him his bride should share in the spoils. And since Pyckard wouldn’t share his money fairly, Adam took his wife. Simple as that.

Danny’s tale had made sense to everyone, especially when told by that tub of lard Strete, and Adam had volunteered to look into it. First of all, though, he’d made sure that Strete understood that Pyckard and Adam knew it was Odo and Vincent. Then he went with two others and snatched the pair of them from outside a tavern. It took some effort to make them confess, but first Vincent and then Odo admitted killing her, just to stop the pain. They’d been held for a day and then brought to the ship. Meanwhile, Adam had Danny taken there too, and while he was aboard, Adam sought him out. It was easy to kill him. Danny was the only remaining person who could accuse him. And he died quietly.

The damned fool, Pyckard. He had agreed to let the ship be burned, and Adam thought hiding Daniel there in the hold would be safe enough, but no! His master had to try to save the ship so that his profit wouldn’t be lost, didn’t he! So the ship returned home under Hawley’s crew, and the body was soon discovered. If not for that, Adam might have been able to return and live happily enough, but now he had only danger at every step.

For the first time, Adam wondered whether he would ever escape. He sipped ale moodily, and tried to smile when his sister returned.

‘Still feeling miserable?’ Alice said. ‘You couldn’t do anything to save them. You did your best, Adam.’

‘I tried.’

‘It’s just a miracle that you escaped the pirates and made it back home.’