The Death Ship of Dartmouth

Chapter Nineteen

When Rob arrived at the Bailiff’s place of work, Stephen was already sitting at his desk and eyeing a set of new figures with a dubious expression on his face. The numbers were very precise, and he distrusted any figures from sailors which were precise. To his mind, that spoke of dishonesty.

‘Bailiff’s off questioning. Says you’re to get on with things,’ Rob said as he placed the pies carefully about the hearth.

‘Good. I shall. And you should return to your home and clear it up. I have heard that you leave it in a terrible state. Do you never do any work?’

‘Me?’ Rob demanded indignantly. ‘I’m always working. Look at my hands, almost completely worn away, they are. And all this for next to nothing. I tell you, if I could get on a ship, I’d sail away tomorrow. Any berth would do. I’d be better than most in climbing aloft, you know. And I can-’

‘Clear off home, boy. Get on with your work and leave me to get on with mine!’

‘You? Don’t know what work is, you don’t,’ the boy called derisively as he slipped quickly from the door, leaving it open.

A small gust blew in, lifting the corner of Stephen’s roll, and he irritably set a pebble on top before rushing to the door and staring down the road at the disappearing back of the servant. ‘Little monster!’ he muttered, and turned back to the chamber.

As he did so, he caught sight of a face in the alley, and felt his heart quicken. It was the man from the gaming room who had made Strete stop. An unremarkable man, short, almost squat, with the complexion and the rolling gait of a sailor, but with a shaven jaw that looked odd.

It was as he peered at the man that he was noticed. The sailor glared at him aggressively as though about to demand what the clerk was so interested in him for, but then he spun on his heel and hurried away.

The clerk slowly closed the door, wondering what had been so odd about the man, and then he realised that the fellow must only recently have been shaved. The flesh of his jaw was pale and smooth.

With that little conundrum settled, he returned to his desk.

Cynegils had passed a miserable night. The floor was damp, unyielding rock, and he had huddled shivering in the corner, wondering what latest misfortune could visit itself upon him.

When the trapdoor above him opened, the light flooding the cell all but blinded him, and he had to cover his face with a hand. There was a rattle and thump, and he saw that the gaoler had let the ladder down into the chamber.

‘Come on up. Apparently you’re free.’

Cynegils remained where he was for some heartbeats. The idea that he could be sprung loose had been so far from his mind that he found it hard to accommodate it. ‘Me?’

‘GET UP HERE, MAN!’

The raucous tones of the Coroner were not to be ignored. Cynegils groaned as he eased himself upright and hauled himself up the ladder to the chamber above.

‘Father!’ His daughter was there; she had been weeping.

‘I wouldn’t get too close, Edie,’ he said. The stench of the prison was on him, a foul miasma of decay, fear and excrement.

‘Who ordered you here?’ Simon demanded.

‘A knight — Sir Andrew, he called himself, off that ship, the Gudyer, in the haven.’

‘Where is he?’

‘He was at the inn last night. They took me in the street at Hardness, and dragged me to the inn, and when he was done he had me brought here.’

‘By what right?’ Simon asked in a low voice.

Cynegils shrugged. He had no idea. A man of his low status was fodder for any powerful man who chose to snare him. They needed no reason.

Baldwin glanced at Simon. ‘This man needs to be away from here. He’s a sailor. If there were a ship with a master who swore to keep him from ale while he was at sea, he should be safer.’

‘You want me to find him a place on a ship?’ Simon asked with some disbelief, staring at the noisome figure before him.

Edith was about to fall to her knees and beg, when she saw the Keeper shoot her a look.

‘I feel sure that he needs all the protection he can find,’ Baldwin said. ‘So do his children. Find him a berth on a ship and pay all the money to this excellent girl. Oh, come on, Simon! There must be a ship somewhere that needs another hand.’

‘Come with us, then,’ Simon said. ‘You can bathe and change your clothes, and then we will ask Stephen what he would recommend.’

‘And then,’ Baldwin said grimly, ‘I think we ought to go to this Sir Andrew and enquire by what right he seeks to arrest men here in Clifton and Hardness.’

‘Why are you here?’

The soft voice cut into Hamund’s thoughts as he sat with his back to the Saint Denis’s planks. He looked up at the Frenchman’s dark features and sighed. ‘I killed a man who has powerful friends.’

‘All men seem to have powerful enemies in this country now.’

‘I fear you are right.’

‘How did it happen?’

Hamund looked away, and his gaze was attracted to the sky. Even there she haunted his thoughts: he could see her sweet face in the clouds. ‘My master died, serving his lord, and that same lord now covets his lands. So, he has ordered my master’s widow to go. He will have her evicted so that he can take possession. The man sent to tell us was a foul, cruel brute, and I was disgusted. So I went to the inn where he was staying, and I killed him.’

‘In an inn?’

‘Yes.’

‘My friend, you have inherited your English race’s talent for subtlety.’

Hamund frowned. ‘You would have stabbed him in the back on the open road, I suppose?’

‘With a man who could do that to the widow of a comrade, I would have challenged him on the road, and I would have killed him,’ Pierre said, but then he grinned. ‘Or perhaps I should have paid another to do it … Footpads are so cheap, I believe, since so many have lost their homes. It would be good to give one of them some real employment.’

Hamund was not inclined to trust this foreigner, and he didn’t know whether the man was speaking with genuine sincerity or was being flippant. ‘Rapists are not usually considered so subtle.’

‘Rapists?’ Pierre’s face hardened in an instant. ‘If I ever meet a man who accuses me of that, I shall castrate him!’

‘You didn’t rape a lady?’

‘On the Gospels, I swear it,’ Pierre said.

‘Then why do they hunt you down?’

‘I loved a lady who was as far above my station as the moon is above the earth!’ Pierre exclaimed, and then his voice dropped. ‘You have loved. You know what it is to love and leave the object of your desire. My lady was honourable, and would not consider leaving her household for fear of the shame. And I would not torture so sweet a creature by remaining. So I thought to leave the country and return to my native land where I may find some peace.’

‘I am sorry. You are in the same position as me, then.’

‘Yes.’

Hamund shook his head slowly and sadly, but then his eyes narrowed. ‘But why are they chasing you? Did they realise you were in love with this lady? You didn’t-’

‘Neither of us committed adultery,’ Pierre said flatly. ‘I would have, but she would not. She is honourable. No, they chase me because I am French, my friend. I think that all Frenchmen will be pursued from the realm before too many weeks have passed.’

‘Our Queen is French.’

‘And that is why the King harries all her countrymen. He despises her, and would see her shamed. He is a cruel man, this King of yours.’

‘Not of mine,’ Hamund said sadly. ‘I have no liege now. I am outlaw.’

Pierre glanced at him, and saw to his surprise that the fellow was weeping with silent despair, the tears trickling steadily down his cheeks. It was an odd sight. Pierre had seen many men cry with pain, or heard them sob with sorrow, but never to his knowledge had he seen a man give himself up to hopelessness in such a manner. For a while he stared, and he became prey to a sudden whirl of thoughts. First loathing and disgust that a man could display such weakness at all, let alone in front of a stranger; then plain contempt. And yet even as he sought to look away he seemed to hear his own lover’s sweet voice and see her thick brown tresses, and he felt the prickling at his own eyes to think that he would never see her again either.

He knew what it was to have lost, just as had Hamund. And as he thought again of his lady, he understood what Hamund must feel. Except Hamund had lost his woman, his livelihood, his property and his King. He was outlawed and alone in the world.

‘My friend,’ he said quietly, ‘you are alive. Much may still happen. Do not lose heart. There is always the hope that you and I will again meet our loves, if not here, then perhaps in heaven.’

Hamund blinked and wiped at his eyes, then nodded.

Pierre patted his shoulder. ‘When we arrive in France, my friend, you will come with me. You will be safe with my protection.’

Hamund could say nothing. These were the first words of genuine compassion he had heard since leaving his lady and fleeing to the church’s sanctuary. All he knew was, as Pierre stood and stalked away on his long legs, that Hamund could follow him to the ends of the earth and back for those words.

There was a shout from the stern and Gil appeared clad in his best tunic and cote-hardie, his head decorously covered with a cowl. He stood near Hamund and gave a command. Three of the sailors joined him then climbed over the side down to a small rowboat that wallowed in the lee of the cog. It had rowed out to them a short while earlier, and the rower, a cleanshaven, older man, sat in it waiting.

‘What’s this? Where do you go?’ Pierre asked Gil as he cocked his leg to follow them over the side.

‘My master’s body has to be taken to the church. His servants will carry him to the funeral.’

The house of the dead sailor was out at the fringe of Hardness, on the road up to Tunstal.

Simon thought that it was a typical cottage of a reasonably well-paid sailor. All the timbers were limewashed to preserve them from the worst the sea could throw at them, the walls were patched, but not haphazardly. All the daubed areas were themselves coated by limewash, and the thatch was renewed where necessary. It was a house whose owner had lavished attention upon it.

The front was given up entirely to a neat, well-laid out garden, with leeks and cabbages growing well in the sunshine. There was a profusion of leaves of all kinds: alexanders, parsley, and salads, while the first crop of peas hung from the rafters of the little log-shed at the cottage’s side. They would dry there on the vine and be threshed from the pods in the winter. Onions and garlic grew in ordered ranks, and Simon was reminded of the little vegetable patch he had at his home at Lydford. The sight of the plants here, so mundane, brought home to him how far he was from his wife, and he felt a momentary pang at the separation.

But his separation was nothing compared to that which afflicted this house. There was a turf bench built into the garden on their left as they entered. From there the seated woman would have a fine view of the river and the hills opposite. Near her was a small herber, surrounded by fragrant flowers, in which a small child rolled and gurgled in the sun while she sewed.

In her middle twenties, the woman was sun-burned to the colour of a nut, but her brown eyes still stood out clearly in comparison. They were startlingly distinct, as though they belonged to another face, and when they lighted on the men walking up her path, they showed no recognition, only stolid resignation. ‘What did he owe you?’ she said.

‘Nothing, madam, I assure you,’ Baldwin said.

‘You may call me Alice. You’ll be the first, then. Everyone else has come demanding money for tools or drinks.’ She set aside her work listlessly. ‘May I serve you some ale? With my man dead, there isn’t much else I can give you.’

‘That sounds very …’ Sir Richard began.

Baldwin glared at him. ‘We wouldn’t dream of taking what little you have.’

‘What do you want, then?’

‘We wondered about the cause of your husband’s death. Of course it is likely that he died during a fight for the ship, but-’

‘Yes? But?’ she asked coolly.

‘There is no apparent reason why he should have been left aboard the ship. All the other men were removed.’

‘They were slaughtered, you mean,’ she said, and there was a break in her voice. ‘Oh, God in heaven, why have You done this? All those men … good men. And me with three children! What will I do now?’

‘You knew many of the men on the ship?’ Baldwin asked.

‘One was my brother, Adam. I have lost husband and brother in the same night!’ Her tone was growing wilder. ‘What can a woman do without a husband? If he is gone, there’s nothing!’

‘He had been with Master Pyckard for some years, I heard?’ Simon said.

‘Yes. Danny learned all about the sea on Master Pyckard’s ships.’

‘So he began with Master Pyckard early on?’

‘When he was orphaned, the master took him in. Danny started as a cabin-boy, and gradually worked up to being a trusted sailor. He was lucky, too, and the men liked to have him sail with them.’

‘Why lucky?’ Baldwin asked.

‘He was in dreadful storms once or twice. He used to say that he was like a cat: he had many lives.’

‘Was he shipwrecked on Pyckard’s ships?’ Baldwin frowned.

‘Yes, the once. And he was in terrible squalls a few times. The storm that killed Master Pyckard’s wife, he was there then.’

‘What happened?’ Simon said.

‘There was a sudden storm, and the ship was blown onto rocks. It was mere luck that they didn’t all die. He never spoke of it afterwards, and I think the memory was terrible. He was floating about for days holding on to a lump of timber. The others never thought he’d survive. Sailors are often like that, they don’t want to talk about the worst weathers.’

‘How long ago was that?’

She went blank for a moment. ‘A long time — maybe fifteen years.’

‘What can you tell us about this last sailing?’ Simon asked.

‘Nothing! I know nothing about it.’

‘When did he leave you here?’

She looked at him, a depth of despair in her eyes. ‘I didn’t even know he was going. He always used to tell me when he was about to sail, but this time there was nothing. I hadn’t even known he’d been asked to join the ship!’

Baldwin’s head snapped up. ‘Are you quite sure? You say you had no idea he was going anywhere … Did he usually take anything special with him when he went on ship?’

She shrugged. ‘Just odds and sods. You know what sailors are like. He always had his lucky charm about his neck — it was a lead badge of St Christopher — and a spoon. He was so proud of that spoon. He bought it ages ago in France from a metalsmith. Nothing else much, just a spare shirt and …’

‘Is his spoon here? Have you noticed whether it has gone?’ Baldwin asked urgently.

‘I haven’t had time to worry about that!’

‘Look for it, mistress, please. It could be important.’

She stared at him, huffed a deep sigh, and rose. ‘Wait there.’

Disappearing inside, she left Simon with the impression that she thought Baldwin had lost his mind. He glanced at Baldwin. ‘What in God’s name?’

‘Well considered, Sir Baldwin,’ Sir Richard muttered in an uncharacteristically quiet tone. ‘I hadn’t thought that through.’

She was back a few moments later with a confused expression on her face. ‘You are right,’ she said, and opened her fist. In it lay a long, thin-handled spoon with a broad bowl, and a lead badge like the pilgrims wore, set on a thin chain. ‘Why did he leave these behind?’

‘Madam, I am sorry that you have lost him, but I think we may be able to explain more later. Do you know whether your brother was expecting to sail?’

‘Oh, yes. I know he was. I had thought Danny might have been asked to join the ship because they were short-handed, but he always told me when he was sailing! And he would never have sailed without these. Oh, God, what does this mean?’

Her sudden wail caught Baldwin by surprise, and as she slipped down to her seat again, he heard a sound at the door. Startled by her cry and the suddenness of the noise, he automatically reached for his sword as he snapped round seeking danger, but all he saw was a girl of maybe five or six and a little boy. The children stared fixedly at Baldwin as though expecting him to launch an attack on their mother.

‘Look at them!’ she added. ‘They think everyone coming here is trying to steal a few more pennies from my husband just because he’s gone. We can trust no one! No one!’

As she began to sob, the three children began to cry as well. It was for Baldwin one of the most appalling scenes he had ever witnessed. The distraught weeping youngsters, and their mother, bent over, arms cradling her belly, racked with deep sobs that wouldn’t go away.