The Death Ship of Dartmouth

Chapter Thirty

‘He knocked the poor bastard out, then ran,’ Simon summed up to the others. The sailors had followed him, and Baldwin and Richard stood near the body while the sailors stood muttering to themselves in the corridor.

Jan sneered, ‘You’ll have to answer to Lord Despenser for this. You’ve let one of the country’s worst traitors escape. I doubt whether the lord will be pleased with you for that!’

‘Right now I don’t give a shit what he likes or dislikes,’ Simon snapped. ‘The main thing is, finding him again!’

‘I for one am not convinced that this man was not struck down by your confederates,’ Sir Richard rasped. ‘You may be entering dangerous territory, Jan, if you had anything to do with this. Breaking and entering at night to assault a guard doing his duty, and capturing a man who was already under the protection of the Keeper is a serious matter.’

‘I was out in the hall with you!’

‘If you were found to have instigated or incited this crime,’ Coroner Richard continued, shaking his head menacingly, ‘you would be as guilty as the man who committed the offence in law.’

Baldwin was at the rear door. There were marks on the floor, and he lit a candle to study them. Shielding it from the wind, he stood at the doorway for some while, his eyes on the outer wall of the house. He then stopped and picked up a straw, Simon saw. Then he hurried outside as fast as the candle would permit, and traced the Frenchman’s steps all the way down the path, over some recently turned soil, past a puddle, and finally to the garden’s wall. It was there that his candle flickered and died, and he moved back to the doorway and the light.

‘He clearly left by the wall there. I can see where his feet went. See, Simon?’ he walked back with Simon and pointed. Simon and Sir Richard went to join him, and Jan and the other sailors trailed after them, glowering suspiciously at the dirt on the ground, as though Simon and Baldwin might conceal something from them. Turning back and seeing them, Baldwin rolled his eyes bitterly. ‘I congratulate you all! You have now effectively hidden any further signs he may have left! You poor examples of marine life! Do you have no understanding of hunting a man on the soil? His tracks were all over here, but you’ve hidden them all.’

Simon was surprised at his vehemence, but left him to it. While Baldwin berated them, he peered over the wall. From his own garden, the wall backed onto the small lane with another garden and house at the other side. The back lane here was narrow, and he remembered the locked gate at the southernmost end, the northern entrance which was open.

‘He must have gone that way, running out of the town,’ he said, pointing southwards.

The sailors needed no more urging. Their leader bit his thumb at Baldwin. ‘You say we’re foolish? We’ll catch this man now, without your help, Sir Knight. And we’ll do it faster because we understand real people. Signs in the mud? Pah!’

Bellowing and roaring at his comrades as though vying with a powerful gale, he led them, their horny feet slapping on the hard ground, up through the garden and out along the screens. Soon the place was quiet again.

Baldwin and Simon exchanged a glance, and then Baldwin looked up at the house. ‘You can come down now,’ he called softly.

To Simon’s surprise, there came a rustling from his roof, and soon a dishevelled Pierre was at their side. He looked at Baldwin ruefully. ‘You have remarkable powers, Sir Knight. How did you know I was up there?’

‘You stepped in a puddle there, but there was no moisture on the wall, only back there near the house. Clearly you ran to the wall, thought better of it, and darted to the house and up. Besides, if you want to clamber up a roof and remain hidden, you’d be best served not to pull handfuls of straw out and leave them scattered for all to see. Not that you need fear if you leave it for a man like that sailor. He couldn’t find his arse with both hands.’

‘They’ve gone towards South Town,’ Simon said. ‘But they’ll realise soon enough that they can’t get you down there.’

‘You told them I had gone there,’ Pierre said.

‘Yes,’ Simon said, irritated by his own actions at trying to aid this man. He felt no need to explain that he had guessed Pierre wouldn’t be able to escape that way and must have headed in the opposite direction.

Hamund and Hamo reached the watchman’s house and banged heavily on the door, shouting for Ivo.

‘What is it?’ he said, appearing at the door. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Ivo, you have to come quickly! The sailors from the Gudyer in the haven have murdered Will. He’s dead in the gaol now!’

‘You don’t … Shit!’

Ivo disappeared and they heard shouting, a woman’s voice petulantly arguing, and then the rattle of a sword in a cheap scabbard and the thump of boots on stairs. Soon he was back, gripping a staff in his hand with the look of a man who wanted to use it.

‘You sure about who did this?’ he growled.

‘He was still alive when we found him, and he told us it was the fair-haired knight from that ship.’

Ivo stopped. ‘I thought you said it was a sailor, not a bleeding knight!’

‘What difference does it make?’ Hamo demanded. ‘He killed our Will.’

‘Aye, and he may kill us next, you fool,’ Ivo pointed out. ‘How many men do you think he has on that ship of his?’

‘Could be forty or fifty, I suppose.’

‘And he’s got the Lord Despenser’s papers. All he does, he does in Despenser’s name.’

Hamund frowned disbelievingly. ‘You mean you’ll do nothing about it? The man’s got papers, and that means he can murder who he wants?’

‘No, of course not. Not unless he’s got good reason.’

‘You reckon Will would have given him good reason?’ Hamo choked. ‘Gentle old Widecombe Will?’

Ivo gestured peevishly as he struggled to think what to do. ‘I can’t just jump on a ship and arrest a knight. He’d have us all taken off and hanged.’

‘He might be dead before he could do that,’ Hamo said.

‘You think so?’ Ivo said icily. ‘Look — the bloke’s a friend of Despenser. Haven’t you heard anything about him? He’ll just sign a paper releasing his friend, and then we’ll be hanged. The Sheriff won’t dare to do anything to help us. Who’re we to him?’

‘Right. If you won’t come, I’ll get help elsewhere.’

‘Tell me where, and I’ll come too,’ Ivo said.

‘The Keeper of the King’s Peace — he’s staying with the Port’s Keeper.’

‘Another knight …’ Ivo mused.

Hamund was keen to see the Keeper for his own reasons. ‘Shall we go and see him, then?’

Ivo chewed at his lip uncertainly, then without speaking led the way up the road to Simon’s house, where the three found the door standing wide. ‘Bailiff?’ Ivo called. ‘Bailiff?’

There were voices in the hall, and he entered slowly, fearing what he might find. No man left his door gaping in the middle of the night unless there had been some disaster. He peered round the doorway into the hall. ‘Sir?’

‘Get in here, man,’ Simon snapped. ‘What do you want at this time of night?’

Hamund followed him inside and saw his friend. ‘Pierre! Thank God, you’re all right!’ he cried in delight.

‘I am so at present,’ Pierre smiled, glad to see Hamund again.

‘What is all this about?’ Baldwin demanded.

‘The gaoler, a good man called Will, is murdered,’ Hamo said, bowing his head respectfully to the knight. ‘There were sailors held there, but their master, the knight Sir Andrew, freed them and killed Will because he took too long to open the door. That’s what he thought, anyway. He died a little while after telling me this.’

Baldwin and Simon exchanged a look, but it was Sir Richard who snorted, shifted his sword, and hooked his thumbs on his belt.

‘Keeper,’ he said, ‘I know that this is a dangerous affair, and we don’t know where it might end, but this man Will has to be avenged. It is our duty to catch the murderer.’

Simon said nothing, but took up his sword and buckled it about his waist. ‘Take us to the gaol first,’ he said to Ivo.

Hawley had spent some time going through his chest with his second clerk, who spent much of his time when he thought his master wasn’t looking, staring at the bound and gagged figure on the floor rather than keeping tabs on the money.

A small sack of coins had been found in Strete’s tunic, hidden at his breast, and at last, when Hawley had the tally, he sat back on his heels and nodded to himself. He put the sack back in his chest and locked the lid. The key he weighed in his hand a moment, then he reopened the lid, took out three pennies, and locked it again.

‘These are for him. Stick them in his purse,’ he said to the clerk.

It was tempting to hang the bastard or, more sensibly, to stab him and leave him in the woods over the town where he wouldn’t be found until his bones had been picked clean. Or take him to sea and dump him there. The man had been as treacherous as any could be, and he deserved to die for that. Any sailor found stealing at sea could be summarily dealt with, and a man who stole from his master here on land deserved the same fate. That was Hawley’s view, and he held to it rigidly.

However, he was on land — and killing men willy-nilly in Dartmouth would be sure to be frowned upon. God damn it.

‘Get Cynric and bring him to me,’ he said to the clerk. ‘You can go back to your bed.’

The man scuttled away, relieved to be free of his stern-faced master. Before long Cynric appeared in the doorway, saying laconically, ‘He told me what’s happened. You want me to string him up?’

‘No. I’ve a better idea. Take him to the Porpoise and leave him in there by the gaming room.’

‘They’ll not like him being unable to repay his debts,’ Cynric smiled, seeing how Strete was shaking his head in shock and horror, moaning through the gag.

‘He has three pennies — perhaps they’ll help him a little.’

‘Yes. It’ll make them keep him to entertain themselves that bit longer,’ Cynric chuckled, and grabbed Strete by his ropes. He swung the body up and over his shoulder with arms that had muscles standing out like cables. Then he turned and left the house.

The gaoler remained on the floor, the blood slick on the ground all about him. Baldwin felt his anger rise as he took in the sight. ‘This is a disgrace,’ he muttered coldly. ‘He was only doing his job.’

‘They released all the men, and then Sir Andrew just pushed the knife into him and ripped it up to kill him,’ Hamo said.

‘I will not let a damned butcher like this escape,’ Coroner Richard grated.

Baldwin glanced at Pierre. The squire and he had both seen such killings before.

‘It’s a slow way to kill an enemy,’ Pierre said. His face was twisted with disgust. ‘The slowest, perhaps.’

‘And the most cruel. This was the act of a man without honour or compassion. He must be caught.’

Simon, who always had qualms about viewing the more unpleasant corpses, stood at the door with his arm at his nostrils to keep the smell of opened bowels and blood at bay. The thought of a knife slicing through the belly and intestines of this old chap Will was appalling, and he felt himself filled with a righteous fury.

‘RIGHT!’ Sir Richard said, speaking slowly and precisely. ‘Sergeant, I want you to gather some men and go to the inn. If Sir Andrew is there, arrest him. If he attempts to escape or refuses to go with you, you have my authority to use all force necessary. Is that clear?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Baldwin added, ‘If he is not there, come straight back here at once. You — Hamo, isn’t it? You must go to the houses of Master Hawley, Master Kena and Master Beauley. Tell them that the Gudyer’s crew has attacked and murdered this man, and that we need a force to protect the town against them.’

‘I will, sir.’

‘What of us?’ Hamund said.

Baldwin glanced at him, then at Pierre. ‘It is for you to decide what you wish to do. I would ask you to help us, but if you feel you cannot, I will understand.’

Pierre nodded. ‘I thank you for that. I would like to help you against this man.’

They had only a short wait before Ivo came hurrying along the street with a couple of extra men at his side.

‘He’s not there, Sir Baldwin. They reckon he must be on his ship.’

‘Then we shall arrest him there,’ Baldwin said.

The man at Hawley’s door was a scrawny sailor Hamo had seen about the town often enough, usually drunk. Hamo pushed past him and marched into the hall.

‘What do you want?’ Hawley asked, surprised and annoyed.

‘The Keeper has asked you to come and see him, master.’

‘Why?’

‘There’s been a murder. There are some sailors abroad in the town, and he wants to catch them — quietly.’

Hawley nodded as he pulled his baldric over his head, settling his sword at his hip. Then he followed the lad out into the street and up the road. At the gaol he found Kena and Beauley waiting for him, and Baldwin explained what he intended.

‘The men we seek have run off to the south. We may be able to catch a number of them. If so, all well and good. They can be held in the gaol again. The one I want, though, is their master, Sir Andrew de Limpsfield. He it is who incited murder, and he killed the poor gaoler here as well. He’s on his ship. I want him arrested for this killing.’

‘I will come too in my capacity as Coroner,’ boomed Sir Richard.

‘It’s a large ship,’ Kena commented, eyeing the big man doubtfully. He was wondering whether such a bearlike fellow could climb her sides.

‘We can take it,’ Beauley said. ‘We’ve done it before, haven’t we, Master Hawley?’

Hawley nodded, but gave Beauley a hard look. Capturing ships was a part of their job, should they come across an enemy vessel, but it wasn’t something that was spoken of too much, especially in front of men like a Keeper. He wondered whether Beauley had intended to make him sound like the attacker of the death ship.

‘Do you go and prepare, then,’ Baldwin said. ‘I want that man arrested by dawn.’

‘Very well,’ Hawley said. ‘Beauley, I’ll see you at the shore with the men.’

He strode off from the marketplace and hurried to his house. There he roused his steward and told him to gather as many of his crew as could be found quickly, before taking a long draught of wine. Cynric was already back from his mission to the Porpoise, and grinned wolfishly at the thought of the fight to come. Hawley’s belly felt as though he had swallowed liquid fire as the wine hit it, but then a warmth spread through him.

When he had finished the wine, he went out into the street. The steward had done well. There were five-and-twenty of his stoutest men gathered there, all equipped with their favourite weapons. He beckoned them to follow and set off, explaining what they must do.

The ship stood out clearly from here. Lights sparkled over her deck and two on her mast, and Hawley mused on the best means of attack as he went. The shore was empty: the others weren’t here yet, and he studied the vessel while he waited for them. Before long the Coroner himself arrived, and he and Hawley spoke in low tones, trying to make sense of the defences and plan the assault. As if they needed any warning, they heard a guffaw from the ship, and a man speaking to another, causing a loud explosion of laughter. Sound travelled well over the still water, much better than over land. They spoke in careful whispers.

By the time Kena and Beauley had arrived, the two had made their choice. The Gudyer was lying with her bow pointing up river. If they rowed straight to the ship, their vessels would be shown clearly against the lights of the town behind them. All the flickering torches and lamps would make glittering reflections on the soft waves of the river; their oars would leave a fine phosphorescence, and even if the men crouched low, a half-awake watchman must see them clearly. In preference, making use of the darkness that lay on the opposite, eastern shore, they would be almost entirely hidden.

Kena and Beauley agreed with the outlined plan. Hawley and Beauley would circle about the ship. They were the younger and more vigorous men (a comment with which Kena was content to agree) and would mount the main attack with the fifty men at their disposal. Kena’s team of a further twenty-two would wait until the main attack was underway, and then race for the ship themselves, arriving as a mobile reinforcement. Using their boats they could aim straight for the part of the ship where Hawley and Beauley needed them, ideally.

‘We’ll go down the coast until we’re level with Kingswear, and then cross over,’ Beauley said quietly. ‘Then make our way upriver.’

Hawley shook his head. ‘Go upriver from here. It’ll be slower and harder work, but when we go down towards the ship, we’ll have the river with us, making the approach faster. As soon as we reach the ship, it’s grapnels out and all aboard as quickly as may be.’

Ordering their men to keep all their weapons quiet and prevent them knocking or rattling, the commanders led them to the water’s edge. There were many small rowing boats here, hauled up on the shingle, and the men made a great effort to enter them silently. Even when one man slid under the water, his feet losing their grip on the slippery stones, he held his tongue. All Hawley could see were two anguished eyes gazing at him before they disappeared. Instantly Coroner Richard pulled him up again, and the man stood, mouth clamped shut, shivering with the cold and his shock.

Then they were in the boats. Sir Richard joined Hawley in his, sitting a little ahead of the merchant, who took the steering oar at the back.

At a signal from Hawley, his men began to row slowly upstream, pulling away firmly in time to his fist’s pounding on his thigh. Other boats followed in the darkness, one overhauling another and making the oars tangle, but they were soon sorted again, and continuing up the river.

Hawley watched the ship from narrowed eyes as they went, convinced that someone must realise the danger, but the watch on the ship appeared to be unaware of them, or, if he had seen them, thought nothing of a group of small rowing boats making off up river towards a fishery on a poaching expedition. They carried on until Hawley considered that they were safe from view. Unless they had a watch in the prow itself, it was unlikely that a sentry would notice them. The man on the main deck would have his view of the river obscured by the jutting castle at the front.

‘Now!’ he hissed, and the boats turned swiftly and began the race to the Gudyer. Hawley crouched down, the steering oar gripped firmly in his left fist while his right played with the hilt of his sword. The ship was a small, black shape in the distance, a curious round-sided lump with a projecting spike that looked as though it reached up to the clouds that fleeted by. Horn lanterns glowed at the mast and on the deck, making the prow stand out in relief against the blackness beyond.

When Hawley saw that they were nearly at the ship, he hissed a low command and the oars were raised and shipped. The vessel now was a growing mass of wood and spars, ropes thrilling to the wind.

Hawley risked a quick look over his shoulder and saw the boats catching up with him, and the Gudyer was near enough now to see the separate strakes of her clinker hull.

He let the boat move on until it reached the rear of the ship, and only then did he nod to the man in the prow.

He stood easily, balancing on the balls of his bare feet, a rope with a grapnel in his hand; swinging it, he eyed the ship and then hurled it upwards. There was a clatter, a rasp of metal on wood, and he had it firm. Another man grabbed hold of a dangling rope and pulled, and then others had their own handholds and were swarming up the sheer side of the ship like so many spiders.

A face appeared, frowning with disbelief that turned to horror. It was whipped away and a high, screaming noise came to Hawley’s ears. He went up at a run, his sword a clattering encumbrance at his hip, until he was at the top and could throw a leg over. A bell rang once, twice, and then there was a shrill cry, and silence. Hawley sprang down on to the hard wooden deck and drew his sword.

Coroner Richard was already running over the slippery planks towards the cabin under the stern deck. As he passed the mast, a man jumped at him, and Hawley saw the Coroner whip his sword about. There was a wet, sucking noise, and the man’s arm was parted from his body. It fell to the ground, twitching like a worm cut in half, and the huge man lumbered on his way as though nothing had happened. Hawley ran to join him, finishing off the wounded sailor on the way. At sea there were no prisoners: it was kill or be killed.

The door was barred, and Sir Richard pounded on it to no avail. When Hawley reached his side, he too battered the timbers, and then whistled. His carpenter, a man with oak for arms, ran to his side, then took a hatchet from his belt and swung it at the panel beside the door. Three blows and a great crack opened as he turned the hatchet and levered the panel away. Another swing, and the panel fell inside. He hacked at the morticed plank beneath, then kicked the bottom panel, and there was an opening.

‘Come out now, master,’ Hawley called through the hole. ‘If you come out, you’ll live.’

‘You will pay for this piracy, man!’ shouted Sir Andrew. ‘You’ll be flayed alive for the damage done to Lord Despenser’s ship, and I’ll be delighted to witness your dying agonies!’

‘You’ll see nothing at all if you don’t come out now!’ the Coroner roared at his side. ‘I have the authority and duty to arrest you, and if you don’t come out at once, I will have your body dragged out.’

Even as he bellowed, Hawley heard the shouting from the other end of the ship. The sailors who’d been woken by the bell were appearing, and a ferocious fight had broken out. Steel rang on steel, and men’s voices, hoarse with rage or fear or both, bellowed defiance or hatred. Hawley turned to see that his men were winning. The crew were already so depleted, with half of them still wandering about the town, that the outcome was inevitable.

‘Your men cannot win. Come out and you may live,’ the Coroner declared.

‘So you say. How do I know you will hold to your word?’

‘YOU DARE ACCUSE ME OF BAD FAITH? It was you who murdered a man from this town, Sir Andrew! You won’t leave here alive while there’s a man in Dartmouth to stop you, and you only have a small crew. If you come out now, you can save some of your men and perhaps save yourself from disaster too. But if you make me go in there to get you, I’ll make damn sure you die.’

Hawley stepped back as a burly figure ran at him. He had already stabbed the man in the breast when he realised the body was headless, and he withdrew his sword distastefully, kicking the corpse towards the ship’s side, where it toppled into the water.

‘You have no crew, Sir Knight. You are going nowhere.’

The bar at the door slid back, and the door opened to show Sir Andrew, clad in tunic and gipon, sword at his side, that sneering expression on his face still.

‘What now? Will you bind me?’

The Coroner stepped forward and clenched his fist, holding it underneath Sir Andrew’s nose. ‘You contemptible little shite. If you tempt me, yes, I may have you put in chains. Or I may pass you over to the mob here in Dartmouth for them to deal with you. So don’t tempt me, Sir Andrew.’