The Death Ship of Dartmouth

Chapter Fifteen

Telling her sister to keep an eye on the other children, and not to open the door in case they ran into the lane, the older girl passed the smallest child to her sister and pulled the door to behind her, eyeing Baldwin and the others suspiciously all the while.

She led them along the alley and the river, until the road curved sharply westwards again, up the hill to Tunstal. Here there was a grassy lane that led to a little beach. Here they found him.

‘Thank you, maid,’ Simon said grimly.

Cynegils was lying in a broken boat, one leg cocked over the thwarts, the other over the side of the craft. Near it lay a leather wineskin, and from the heavy snoring that made the timbers of the boat shake, it had only recently been emptied.

‘Father is a good man,’ the girl said defensively. ‘He was a good sailor, too, with his own boat — until it was wrecked in a storm. He was on shore, but the winds caught it and pulled it free of the anchor. Now he does what he can, but how is a man to earn enough for all his children when his trade’s gone?’

‘He could find a new master and work for him.’ Simon was unsympathetic. From the look of the man he had a strong conviction that the anchor was loose because the drunk hadn’t taken time to tie it off securely.

‘What do you think he’s been doing?’ she snapped. ‘How many round here will pay a man to fish for them when they can fish themselves?’

Sir Richard was unconcerned by the troubles of others. He stood beside the boat staring down at the slack-mouthed figure snoring in the foul water at the bottom of the rotten craft, then kicked the side heavily. The boat rocked under the buffet, a timber cracking, and the man inside jerked awake. He tried to spring up with his alarm, but the leg dangling outside the boat prevented him. It flapped and waved, and the man rose to the height of his knee, his face red with wine and exertion, eyes popping as he took in the sight of the three men, before giving a loud gurgle and belch, and falling back with an audible crunch as his head struck the timbers. He wailed.

‘Get up, man!’ Sir Richard called, and reaching down to grasp Cynegil’s shirt, he hauled him up and over the boat’s side, then let him drop. ‘This boat’s rotten. Someone should burn the damned thing.’

‘It’s all we have left!’ the girl retorted. ‘Some day, perhaps, we’ll be able to mend it and start fishing again.’

‘Child, that boat will never sail again,’ Simon said as gently as he could.

‘What do you know!’ she flared.

Sir Richard listened to none of this. He was shaking his head at the sight of the man on the ground before him. ‘You are Cynegils? I should ask you why you didn’t appear before me at the inquest, man, but looking at you I can only feel a sense of relief. Christ’s ballocks, you cretin, will you stop that moaning?’

‘Don’t hit him!’

Simon turned to the girl again. ‘What is your name?’

‘Edith,’ she replied after a moment’s hesitation.

‘That’s a good name,’ he said. ‘I named my own daughter Edith. Listen, now. Your father may be able to help us to learn more about a man who was murdered. We aren’t here to hurt him in any way, but we have to talk to him, so if you can persuade him to sit up and stop that infernal whining, the sooner we can leave you both. Is that clear enough?’

She stared at him. ‘Father, please, just listen to them and help them,’ she said.

Cynegils, who appeared to have persuaded himself that the three were angels or demons (his precise conviction was hard to establish), had tried to burrow himself under the boat with his bare hands, whimpering like a whipped cur all the while.

Sir Richard had been aiming his boot at Cynegils’s posterior, but on hearing Edith’s words, he pulled his foot away again innocently.

‘Father?’

‘Leave me alone! What are you doing here, Edie? Get back away home. What’ll the childers do with you here?’

‘Millie can look after them,’ Edith said, walking to her father and sitting beside him, taking his hand in hers. ‘I think you need me more than they do just now.’

He stopped his attempts at tunnelling and sat back, blinking warily. ‘Who’re all these?’ he slurred.

‘I am the Coroner, man!’ Sir Richard boomed. ‘And we want to learn all about the man you trailed inside the inn. Who told you to go there, why, and how much were you paid to find him?’

Cynegils’s face fell. ‘All I did was watch a fellow, like the man told me. He said he’d pay me three shillings if I’d go inside and keep an eye on him. That was all. The man stood up and went out to the back, and I went to make sure he was there …’

‘What did you do first?’ Baldwin asked. ‘Did you go straight out?’

‘Well, I had an ale, if that’s what you mean. And then I went out front to talk to the man who told me to go there, to tell him. He said to make sure where the fellow was, so I went out and listened at the door, and while I was there, someone clobbered me. I woke up in the yard behind the inn with a sick headache and a lump the size of a duck’s egg. Look, it’s still here. And it’s giving me grief.’

‘Shut up!’ Sir Richard said unsympathetically. ‘Who was this patron? Did he tell you why he was following the man?’

‘He said he was from the Bishop of Exeter and that the man he followed was a traitor to the King. That’s what he said. And he promised to pay me three shillings if I found a stranger arriving here. Told me to follow him and let him know. He was staying in the Dolphin, I could find him there. Three shillings, Edie. It would’ve been enough to keep you lot in food for a month or more.’

‘He didn’t pay you?’ Simon asked.

‘I was going to be paid when I was done. But I was knocked out cold. Don’t know what happened to him, but I never got a penny.’

‘Describe the man you followed,’ Baldwin said.

‘Tall, well made, with rich clothes, all crimson and blue, really expensive-looking. He had a French sort of face — dark and swarthy, you know? Eyes close together, too. I wouldn’t trust a man like him.’

‘What of the man who told you to trail him?’

‘He was younger, and a pleasant-sounding gentleman. Perhaps twenty-two or — three, with dark hair and a bit of a nervous manner. I think he was unused to this sort of work.’

‘Did he say what he intended to do?’ Baldwin asked.

‘No. I thought he’d be off to call the Hue and Cry, but he didn’t while I was there. He was just watching to see what the man did.’

‘I wonder why?’ Baldwin said.

‘What?’ Sir Richard demanded.

‘I should have expected him to call the Watch and have the man arrested if he thought that this was the French traitor whom he was seeking. Why leave him in a tavern and wait?’

‘Because he wanted to make sure it was the right man?’ Simon hazarded.

‘Or he wished to see who the fellow would meet with?’ Sir Richard said.

‘That is perhaps more likely,’ Baldwin agreed, wondering whether the bishop could have held back some detail which could be useful now. He gazed out at the river, his brow lined with thought. ‘But why should he care who the man was going to meet here, if all he intended was to leave the country and get to France?’ he added in a low voice to himself.

Yet he already knew the answer. If this Frenchman was meeting someone here, then that someone could well be a traitor to the King … and any spy watching the Frenchman would soon learn the identity of that man.

Baldwin felt a sinking sensation in his belly as he realised that he was being hurled into a quagmire of political intrigue against his will.

The sun began to sink behind the hills, throwing Clifton and Hardness into that early twilight that lasted so long each day. Pierre had been left up here in the hayloft for the whole day without any more food or drink, and the tedium was making him fretful. When he heard footsteps approach, and the gate squeaking open as Moses pulled it wide, he slipped quickly down the ladder.

‘My friend, you are most welcome,’ he said.

‘I have some more bread and meat, and a little wine. I hope it will be enough for you,’ Moses said.

‘It is better than I could have hoped.’

‘There is a ship which will be finishing victualling tomorrow. Perhaps tomorrow night, or the day after, I can get you to her. The ship’s one of my master’s, so you will be given a safe passage.’

‘That is marvellous! I am most grateful.’

‘There are men looking for you all over the town, though, you know?’ Moses continued. ‘The man you killed in the road was found, and now people are talking about you and the fact you killed him. They don’t know your name yet, but they soon will. If you are found you will be arrested and hanged, and so will I, probably.’

Pierre was quiet. ‘What man? I know of no dead man! I was being followed when I tried to find my way to Master Pyckard’s house, but I attacked no one.’

‘Let’s hope you don’t have to explain that to the Coroner. He’s looking for the murderer.’

‘You must tell your master that I had nothing to do with this. I am no murderer!’

Moses had been emptying his basket. Now he stopped for a moment, not meeting Pierre’s eyes. ‘I wish I could,’ he said quietly. ‘My master died this afternoon.’

‘What else do you know, I wonder?’ Baldwin said aloud.

‘I know nothing, lord. What can I know? I was told to watch a man, and I did, that’s all.’

‘You are a poor man, Cynegils,’ Baldwin said.

‘He’s a good man!’ his daughter exclaimed.

‘And you are a loyal child, but you are scarcely able to judge him,’ Baldwin said coldly. He approached Cynegils. ‘Churl, you reek. If we pricked you with a sword, you would bleed ale!’

‘What of it?’ Cynegils mumbled. ‘Can’t you leave me alone?’

‘I do not think so,’ Baldwin said. Then he snapped, ‘What did you do when you came to?’

‘I was cold for a long time.’

‘He was hit by that madman! His poor head was hurt!’ Edith spat, and threw her arms around her father. ‘He’s been taken for a fool, but that’s no reason to keep on at him.’

Baldwin ignored her outburst. ‘I didn’t ask that. What did you do after you had recovered from your knock?’

‘I went home.’

‘Which way did you go?’

Edith shouted, ‘Leave him alone!’ but none of the men were listening.

Cynegils hung his head. ‘Down the hill straight homewards. I live over at Hardness.’

‘We know,’ Baldwin said unsmilingly. ‘So you would have passed right by the hole in the road where this man was found, wouldn’t you? Did you notice a body there?’

‘I was rolling drunk by then,’ Cynegils said, spreading his hands in a sign of honesty.

Baldwin peered down distastefully at the filth encrusted in his palms, and Cynegils hastily closed them again.

‘No, I don’t think I am inclined to trust you,’ Baldwin said after a moment’s sad contemplation. ‘I think that you are habituated to lying, and that you find it hard to confess to what you found there in the road. How much did you steal from him?’

‘I stole nothing!’

‘I think you found this man, struck him, left him for dead, and stole all you could from his purse.’

‘I would hardly do that and stay here in poverty!’

‘Because there was much in it?’

‘Eh?’

‘Who here has mentioned how much was in his purse, my friend?’

‘No one!’

‘No, and yet you think it was enough for you to find a new life? You have betrayed yourself.’

‘I’ve done nothing!’

‘You have enough money to be drunk today. Is ale free at Hardness?’

‘My daughter works a little. I took it from her.’

‘You can do better than that!’ Sir Richard said.

‘It’s true! She helps nurse children …’

‘Good for her!’ Sir Richard said with a chuckle, glancing at the girl.

If Cynegils felt a momentary relief at the expression of amusement in Sir Richard’s eyes, it was gone when he noticed his daughter’s face. Edith never looked so much like his wife as when he had let her down again. And now he had. He’d lied about the body, about the money — about everything. And now he had demeaned her in front of these men.

Instinctively he turned towards the man whose face he trusted the most. ‘I’ll tell you all.’

Hamund was happier than he had been for an age as he sat and listened to the stranger calling to the men there for information.

He was, so he said, Sir Andrew de Limpsfield, the master of the cog, Gudyer, which had just sailed into the haven. This Frenchman had raped a gentlewoman in the north, and was fleeing justice. If any man knew of the felon’s whereabouts, he should say so now, because there was a good reward.

‘I wish I’d seen him,’ Hamund said, and burped. ‘Could do with some silver.’

‘When was the last time you had ale?’ Gil asked.

‘Oh, about three weeks or so,’ Hamund declared lightly. The world felt so much better now that he had found this excellent friend.

‘Leave off that, then. You’re pissed.’

Hamund was going to furiously deny the accusation, but Gil had already drained his cup and stood. Rather than be left behind, he trailed after his new companion, out into the road. The sudden cool made his head whirl, and he was forced to cling to a post for a moment.

‘God’s teeth!’

Muttering curses against all land-dwellers and especially the morons who committed murder and got themselves discovered, Gil took Hamund’s hand, ducked his head under his arm, and supported the abject abjuror as he walked down the hill.

Hamund was in no position to observe the route they took, but he noticed after a while that they were travelling sharply down the hill towards the water again. They passed along the mixed houses until they reached a place that was, even in Hamund’s befuddled state, considerably better decorated than the others.

‘In here,’ Gil said, and propped Hamund against a post while he banged on the door. In a moment or two it opened, and light spilled out into the darkening street.

‘Moses, I’ve got one man for the journey. We’re still light three good sailors, though. God only knows what we’ll do about that. Is the master here?’

‘Gil, I am sorry.’

Hamund watched with bemusement as Gil gaped, and then pelted along the corridor to the hall’s entrance. Touching the wall all the way, he followed behind Moses and Gil, leaning on the doorway as Gil ran to the far end of the hall and out through a small door. He could hear steps above him, and muttering, and a while afterwards Gil came back downstairs. He clung to the rope that had been set by the stairs to ease Pyckard’s way, head hanging, and he wiped at his eyes several times as he stood before them.

‘He was a good master to us all,’ Moses said.

‘It’s hard to believe he’s gone.’

Hamund listened as the two spoke in low voices. It was clear enough that they had lost a man whom they esteemed highly, and it was no great intellectual leap to guess that the man they mourned was the owner of the ship he was hoping to sail in.

‘What now?’ Gil said.

‘We’ll have to wait until his body is set in the ground and the Will read out, and then we’ll have to see what happens. Hopefully we’ll be looked after.’

‘Sweet Jesus! And here I was, trying to see to the last shipments. The Saint John’s already lost, and there’s no point trying to break my cods filling another cog with crew.’

‘Why do you say that? You must set sail as planned.’

‘Set sail? When there’s no master to pay me and the men? What chance do I have of persuading men to join me when the merchant behind the sailing is cold in his coffin?’

‘It was his last wish, Gil.’

‘What was? That we should make money for his executors? He has no children, no wife!’

‘But she leaves relatives,’ Moses said. ‘And one of them is nearby.’

Gil frowned at him. ‘You’re saying he wanted his money to go to her family?’

‘One half, I think, will be disposed in favour of all those who worked for him, for the Church and for the poor. The other will go to his lady’s family.’

‘And so the ship will sail?’

‘With a new member of the crew,’ Moses nodded. ‘So you will only be two men short.’

He left the room, and Hamund heard him walking along the corridor to the back of the house. There was a long pause, and then steps approached from outside. Hamund looked up to see a tall, swarthy-skinned man with eyes set too close in a narrow face staring at him. A man in particoloured hosen and tunic.

‘The rapist,’ he hissed to himself.