The Death Ship of Dartmouth

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Gil stood on the Saint Denis with his legs braced and took a long swig from a jug of wine. ‘We will set sails in the morning,’ he declared. ‘If we hang about any longer, we’ll miss the market.’

‘Good,’ Moses said. ‘It’s for the best.’

‘What of the Frenchman?’ Hamund asked.

Moses turned to the abjuror and looked him up and down with slow deliberation. ‘You are a sailor for this trip, friend. Do not test our patience, or you will remain here. Do you want that?’

‘No, but our master wanted him taken to France, didn’t he? Wasn’t it one of his dying wishes? And now you’re proposing to leave him here.’

‘He has been arrested. What do you expect us to do?’

‘The men took him from this ship with someone’s agreement! Who allowed them aboard?’

Gil controlled his temper with difficulty. ‘I would shut up now while you still have your teeth, sailor. Now get off my deck!’

Hamund sniffed, wiped his nose, and walked away. There was no point in continuing this argument, but as he stood and glanced about him, he was reminded of the story of the death ship’s arrival in the haven. Others had spoken of it at length in the tavern while Gil was trying to find more crew-members, and the tale of the poor man who’d been grasped by the cold, dead hand of the corpse in the hold had mesmerised all who heard it. The man had all but died of terror, apparently, and his hair had turned white on the spot. True!

Less inclined to believe the stories of ghosts than most of the others, Hamund was sure of one thing as he stood there on the deck, and that was that there were plenty of opportunities for a new sailor like himself to fall overboard on the voyage to France. Perhaps he should be silent. The man Pierre was not worth dying for.

He found a quiet corner near an immense coil of thick rope, and settled dejectedly beside it. In all the time since he had left Mistress Sarra and come down here, only one man, Pierre himself, had spoken to him kindly. Gil had been generous enough while he wanted sailors, but now Hamund was gaining the impression that his kindness and courtesy would last only as long as the shore was visible from his deck. No, it was only Pierre who had been good to him for his own sake. Perhaps it was because the two of them were all alone and despised by everyone else, one because he was a confessed murderer and abjurer, the other because he was thought to be a rapist. Despite knowing of his crime, the Frenchman had offered to help Hamund start a new life. That counted for a lot.

‘What can I do to help him?’ Hamund muttered dismally. He gazed back towards the shore. Torches flickered, and the water reflected the pin-pricks of yellow light. The cooper was working still, his braziers lighting the front of his shop.

An idea began to come to Hamund, gradually at first, but then with more force.

‘Leave us,’ Baldwin said to the man at the door. The latter looked to Simon for confirmation, and the Bailiff nodded.

‘We are in no danger from this fellow.’

When they were alone, Baldwin drew up a stool in front of Pierre. ‘Now tell us the truth, fellow. If you do, it may help me to see how to aid you as well.’

‘What, you would deny me to the Despenser? You would stand in his way when his man Sir Andrew came to demand me?’ Pierre said doubtfully.

‘For my part I have no wish to see another man destroyed in Lord Despenser’s search for personal aggrandisement. What of you, Simon?’

Simon stood and leaned against the wall near the window. ‘I am a servant of the King, but I despise all I’ve heard of Despenser. If you tell us the truth, we may be able to find a means of evading him.’

‘What do you wish to know?’

‘First, I want your assurance that you are not seeking to aid the French king against our nation.’

‘How could I?’

‘A spy can help in many ways. You are as aware of that as I am,’ Baldwin said sternly. ‘Now: do you seek to bring about the end of the realm?’

Pierre gazed at him unwaveringly. The knight had intense, dark eyes, and Pierre found them unsettling. It was as though he could pierce a man’s breast and read what was written on his heart. Pierre considered for a long moment, then nodded. ‘I will tell the truth. I have nothing to lose. If you sell me to Despenser, I am dead. There is nothing I can do to save myself. I do not seek the end of England. I serve my lady, your Queen. All I can do to protect and serve her, I will.’

‘That does not mean you will protect the King,’ Simon observed.

‘No. Nor Despenser. You know he demanded that Queen Isabella should swear to live or die with him? He wanted her to swear this!’

‘I believe there is no friendship between the two,’ Baldwin said diplomatically.

‘None! She hates him …’ Pierre was quiet for a short while, then, ‘It is said in the court that he and the King …’

‘That is rumoured through the whole country,’ Simon said shortly.

‘It is also said that Despenser has raped her,’ Pierre said.

Baldwin and Simon were instantly still.

The knight was first to recover. ‘Are you sure? It is a very serious charge to lay against any.’

Pierre shrugged, but his mouth was tight. ‘If you had seen how she reacts to the man, how she recoils when he draws near her, you would not doubt my word. I have no proof, sir, but I think that she was attacked by this man, and that her husband did not care and did not stop it. I am sad to have to say this, because it is a shameful thing to confess that I could know such a thing had happened to my mistress and be unable to prevent it or protect her, but what can one man like me do against a magnate like Despenser? There is nothing!’

‘I am shocked,’ Baldwin whispered. ‘Surely even Despenser would not dare to lay hands on her …’

‘She says that someone has come between her and her husband, trying to separate them by every possible means. She means Lord Hugh Despenser.’

Simon shook his head. ‘This is too much for me. What can we do against a man who’d dare that, Baldwin?’

‘Little enough,’ Baldwin said. ‘Sir, you have not answered: do you swear you do not intend to go to France to aid the French king?’

Pierre closed his eyes and swallowed, considering. It was hard to keep calm as he thought back to that time, but after so long being mistrustful of all, to unburden himself would be to remove an intolerable weight from his soul. His inclination was to remain secretive, but he didn’t dare. Not now. If he remained in possession of this last confidence, it might cost him his life. It could do no harm to speak now, surely.

‘Masters, I was forced to leave my native land. I did not come here to England just because of love for my mistress. I had to leave. I would never do a thing that might aid the French king.’

‘Why?’ Baldwin asked quietly. He was struck by the man’s manner. It was as though a strengthening beam within him had been removed, and the Frenchman suddenly sagged. Exhaustion and defeat could do that to a man. He had seen it all too often before. Pierre looked like a man who had been stripped bare not of his clothing, but of every little deceit which had made up his character over time.

‘There was a dreadful matter. A terrible, awful stain on my family. You must know that I come from an area near Caen. I had two older brothers. I was the younger, and more foolish, but I always revered my brothers Philippe and Gautier.’

Baldwin started. ‘You were their brother?’

‘Who?’ Simon asked, bemused.

‘My brothers were not evil,’ Pierre said, his hands held palms up in a show of openness. ‘They were young, vigorous men, and their hearts were ready for love always. Who is not when he is young? They had no thoughts for their danger, or the danger they would put others to.’

‘I don’t understand any of this,’ Simon said pointedly. ‘Come to the point, sir.’

Baldwin answered, his eyes fixed on the French knight with a certain sadness. ‘The Queen gave some silk purses to her sisters-in-law when she was in France on a diplomatic mission, Simon. And then she saw them being worn on the belts of two brothers.’

‘She had embroidered them herself,’ Pierre said. ‘She recognised them immediately she saw them. Of course, many men would be granted favours of such a type by the lady they serve, and it is not proof of anything, but it alarmed her, and she was persuaded that there was something wrong. So she told her father the King, and he had Philippe and Gautier watched, and then tortured until they confessed.’

‘They’d been committing adultery?’ Simon breathed, shocked. ‘I had never heard of that.’

‘It rocked the foundations of the House of Capet,’ Baldwin said quietly. ‘My friend, I am sorry.’

‘They had committed the crime,’ Pierre said dully. ‘They confessed.’

‘Under the torture,’ Baldwin said. He recalled the discussion with Stapledon before setting off for Dartmouth. ‘And they died most horribly.’

‘Flayed alive, castrated, their limbs broken, and finally decapitated,’ Pierre whispered.

‘And the Queen who did all this welcomed you to her household?’ Simon asked with suspicion.

‘There was no suggestion that I had had anything to do with the affair,’ Pierre said. ‘And I could not blame her for noticing the crime and telling her father. She mentioned a strange thing, simply that her gifts had been spurned and given to knights in his household, no more. It was King Philippe who had my brothers watched and followed, and who had evidence collected.’

‘Philippe is dead,’ Baldwin observed.

‘Yes!’ Pierre said with a cynical laugh. ‘You think his son would trust me more? King Charles hates all my line. He would be suspicious of anything I could say to him. My family is marked with the same foul suspicion as my poor dead brothers. More! King Charles would think me keen for revenge. For me to go to him with news … it would do little good, I think. I would be distrusted and perhaps killed. It is because of me that his wife is still incarcerated in Château Gaillard. He cannot remarry until she dies or the Pope annuls their marriage. He has no reason to love my family.’

‘You deny taking information to France to succour King Charles, then?’ Simon said.

‘Absolutely!’

Simon turned to Baldwin. ‘I don’t know what to do with this. I wonder whether we ought to keep him here and seek advice from someone else. Could we write to Bishop Stapledon and ask him to intervene on this fellow’s behalf?’

He had mentioned the idea as it entered his head, thinking that at least Bishop Walter would be able to provide support at a high level, taking a little of the responsibility for this decision away from them, and acting as a buffer and protection from Lord Despenser. The vehement response of the Frenchman startled him.

‘No! No! You would throw me to the dogs? You inveigled my story so you could destroy me? Do not send me to that evil man Stapledon! It would be giving me to my murderer!’