James McGee - Rapscallion

"It'd be a foolish man who tried to second guess the Almighty, Captain Hooper."

"Not to mention the clergy," Hawkwood said.

"Indeed. Especially Reverend Starkweather. His Sunday sermons are particularly well attended." Morgan paused and then grinned. "Not that he should complain, considering I am at least carrying on the St Anselm tradition."

"How's that?"

"I'm still taking in pilgrims."

"Pilgrims?"

"They used to shelter here on their way to Canterbury, until King Henry had the monks all thrown out. Now we provide sanctuary for the likes of you. Curious how things come to pass, isn't it?"

"There've been other prisoners brought here?"

Morgan smiled. "Only those that have shown promise."

"Were they offered a proposition as well?"

Hawkwood sensed Pepper, who had halted up ahead, stiffen. Morgan's smile did not falter, though his laughter lines may have shortened a little. Hawkwood saw that the dogs had paused too. The brindle ran across to the grass to sniff energetically at its companion's rear end.

"How did you know about the fight on the ship?" Hawkwood asked.

"I have my sources."

"The guards?"

"They're useful for looking the other way or passing messages, but any number of people are involved in maintaining the ships, and I can afford to employ a wide net — ashore and on the water. Money talks."

At that moment a hand bell rang somewhere in the cloisters.

The dogs' heads swivelled.

Matins? Hawkwood thought wildly. Don't tell me Morgan holds prayers as well.

"Ah," Morgan said cheerfully, resting the walking stick across his right shoulder. "Time we were heading back." He gave a whistle that sent the dogs running towards him, then started walking towards the house. "We'll leave you to rouse Captain Lasseur. You can tell him breakfast will be provided in the refectory. It'll be our first chance to introduce you to the others."

"Others?" Hawkwood said.

Morgan smiled. "Your fellow pilgrims."

"And this is Lieutenant Gilles Denard," Rousseau said, his eyes blinking earnestly behind a pair of wire-framed spectacles.

Denard, a pleasant-looking, balding man in his late thirties, extended his hand across the table. "An honour, Captain."

"And for me," Lasseur said. "Allow me to present Captain Matthew Hooper, one of our American allies. His French is excellent, by the way."

Denard shook Hawkwood's hand. "Welcome, Captain. I've a great liking for your country. I've sailed into Boston a number of times. Do you know the city? It has some splendid inns. A particular favourite of mine was on Washington Street. The Lion, run by a Colonel Doty, I think his name was. Are you familiar with it?"

"I think you'll find that was the Lamb," Hawkwood said. "The Lion was further north."

Denard frowned and then laughed. "Why, I do believe you're right! Well, it's been a while since my last visit."

"Gilles served with Surcouf," Rousseau said.

"When were you taken?" Lasseur asked.

Denard pursed his lips. "June '08. I was in Cadiz, then transferred to the Prudent in Portsmouth for a year before I wound up on the Poseidon. That's where I met Rousseau, here."

With the exception of the Poseidon, the names of the ships meant nothing to Hawkwood. He knew of the Poseidon because it was another Chatham hulk and one of several Medway-moored ships mentioned by Ludd during his briefing at Bow Street.

They were in the refectory which was situated on the opposite side of the cloister garth from the wing housing Hawkwood and Lasseur's cell. It was long and rectangular in shape, with a low, black-beamed ceiling. Two heavy oaken tables — one long and one short — formed a T which occupied the centre and ran almost the full length of the room. There was food on the tables: fresh baked bread, eggs, ham, sausages and coffee. Morgan had not stinted on the victuals.

"The two of you escaped together?" Lasseur asked, reaching out and pouring himself a mug of coffee. He looked at Hawkwood. Hawkwood nodded and Lasseur poured a second mug.

Rousseau nodded. "We behaved ourselves until they granted us parole and then we went for a walk one day and never went back. You?"

"We died," Lasseur said, grinning, and explained.

Denard looked at Lasseur in awe.

Hawkwood took a swig of coffee. It was very strong with a bitter aftertaste. It reminded him of the camp-fire brews he'd had to endure.

One by one, Rousseau introduced the men around the table. There were eight in total.

"Lieutenants Souville and Le Jeune from the Bristol. Leberte is from the Buckingham. Louis Beaudouin, there, made it off the Brunswick and Masson and Bonnefoux at the end, there, you may know or have heard of. They're from your ship, Rapacious.'" Rousseau chuckled. "I wouldn't like to be in her commander's shoes, not with the number of prisoners he's had that have made a run for it."

"Lieutenant Hellard sends his regards," Lasseur said. "He wanted me to tell you that he's missing you and to hurry back."

While Lasseur joked, Hawkwood took another sip from his mug and mentally ticked off the names from the list that Ludd had given him. Including the two men who'd been murdered and disposed of on the hulk, the number tallied. With all

Ludd's escapers accounted for, that was one mystery solved at least.

He wondered if Masson and Bonnefoux knew about the murdered men. There was nothing to be gained by telling them, he decided.

"How did you get off the ship?" Hawkwood asked the former Rapacious prisoners.

It was Masson, a thin-faced man with a prominent Adam's apple, who replied. "We hid out in a couple of empty water casks. What's so funny?" he asked, perplexed by the expression on Lasseur's face.

Lasseur shook his head.

"How did they cover your escape?"

"They'd have disrupted the count," Bonnefoux replied without hesitation. "You don't know?"

Hawkwood shook his head. "Our departure was… hurried. We never found out."

Bonnefoux grinned. His teeth were surprisingly clean and even.

Over a period of time, using augers filched during work-party duties and a saw fashioned from a barrel hoop, bevel-edged holes had been cut in the deck planking between the upper, gun and orlop decks. As prisoners were counted down into the lower decks, a designated number returned to the upper deck through the holes and rejoined the men waiting to be counted. When the count was complete, the holes were sealed to await the next departure.

So damned simple, Hawkwood thought. And as long as the prisoners kept their nerve and the guards didn't discover the trick, there was no reason it couldn't be used time and time again.

Hawkwood presumed Murat and the others had planned to conceal his and Lasseur's escape using the same method, after transferring the two substitute bodies from their bunks back into the side cabin to await the next burial party. Then he realized the ruse would only have worked if the militia guards failed to notice their absence for a while, which didn't seem a likely scenario, given Hellard's decision to transfer Hawkwood and

Lasseur to the Sampson. In fact, the early discovery of their escape had prevented the miscounting ruse from being used, which was probably a good thing in the long run, lessening the risk of the holes in the decks being discovered, at least until after the next successful escape.

Souville and Le Jeune had employed almost the same method to escape from the Bristol. Using similar tools they had cut a hole in the side of the hulk close to the waterline, below the level of the sentry walkway. It had taken them four weeks to fashion and stain a square of timber to place over the hole to hide their handiwork and to cut through the hull. They'd jumped ship under the cover of darkness then made their way to shore and a pre-arranged rendezvous with one of Morgan's intermediaries.