The Death Ship of Dartmouth

Chapter Thirty-Two

Rob had heated more water over his little fire, and the scent of lavender was filling the room with its delicious odour as the men sipped warm, spiced wine.

‘What occurred to you when we were talking?’ Baldwin demanded. ‘It must have been a good thought, for you looked like the man who’d married a crone, only to learn she was a young virgin under an evil spell!’

Simon smiled at the idea. ‘We know that the ship was not burned severely, do we not?’

‘Of course.’

‘And we agree that sailors would invariably have ransacked the ship — yet there was no need for them to have rushed away, because so far as we can tell, there was no threat to them. If they were near the ship when Hawley appeared, pirates would prefer to attack him as well, rather than flee after setting the ship on fire.’

‘We have been over this,’ Baldwin said. ‘If they were on board, why should they flee and not remain and protect their prize?’

‘Exactly!’ Simon smiled. ‘And the final point is, why on earth would they remove the bodies?’

Coroner Richard looked from one to the other. ‘What are you two on about? Surely a pirate would happily throw all the victims overboard. Pirates are not fastidious about a soul’s protection — they wouldn’t bring a corpse back to land for burial, would they? Hey?’

‘What is your point, Simon?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Just this: what if the whole reason for the ship’s destruction was in order to conceal something else?’

The Coroner looked at Baldwin and tapped at his head with consternation. He made to move towards Simon, but Baldwin held up his hand. ‘Explain!’

‘What if the crew were not all killed … Sweet Jesus! That is it!’

‘What?’ Sir Richard snapped.

‘Only a few of the crew were killed …’ His face suddenly beamed with understanding. ‘Baldwin! You were right! The young virgin! Pyckard’s wife!’

‘That’s it!’ Sir Richard said, and sprang on Simon. ‘Sir Baldwin, he’s babbling. Best get a physician and tie him down. Seen it before. Bad bash on the head, brain gets scrambled. Poor fellow, but can’t do anything for him.’

‘Get this scurvy lobcock off me!’

‘Sir Richard, Sir Richard, please,’ Baldwin said soothingly. ‘Let us just hear him out.’

After continued persuasion, the Coroner removed himself from the Bailiff’s prostrate figure, although he stood nearby with a doubtful scowl on his face as Simon clambered grunting from the ground.

Holding his damaged elbow carefully, Simon addressed both men. ‘What if the whole affair was made up? The attack on the ship, the death of the crew — all was invented. The cargo wasn’t stolen by pirates because there were none!’

‘Who attacked the ship, then?’

‘Pyckard.’

Sir Richard moved imperceptibly towards Simon.

‘Listen to me, Sir Richard, before you try leaping on me again!’

‘Why should Pyckard invent this assault?’ Baldwin asked.

‘His wife! You remember she died in a squall? I heard that some of the men who died on the Saint John were also on that ship, the Saint Rumon, with Mistress Pyckard when she was on her last sailing. What if Pyckard had learned that there was something wrong about that sailing? How can I have been so dim!’

There was a loud knocking at the door, and the three men remained silent as Rob went to open it. He was soon back, a muddy, sweat-stained man behind him, clad in a tunic of red and green with a shield on the breast. It meant nothing to Simon, but Baldwin and Sir Richard recognised it at once.

‘Quarterly Argent and Gules, in the second and third a fret Or, overall a bend Sable,’ Sir Richard muttered. ‘Blast!’

‘Eh?’ said Simon.

‘Despenser,’ Baldwin explained quietly.

Simon swallowed, but stood and beckoned the man. ‘I am the Bailiff, Representative of the Keeper of the Port. How can I serve you?’

‘I am sent by the lord Despenser, Bailiff. I have a communication which is being delivered to all towns throughout the realm.’ The man handed Simon a rolled parchment, and he took it warily. He unrolled it and glanced down the flowing script. Modern writing he found rather hard to read. It was so often like this: rounded, each letter much like the next. Still, first he looked at the huge seal as though he recognised it, and then he absorbed the message itself.

‘This is … astonishing.’

‘What does it say?’ Baldwin demanded.

‘It says that since the hostilities with the French king, and the loss of Gascony, the realm must take care with all threats to the nation’s security. I must immediately hold any French subjects who might pose such a threat and deliver them to the Lord Despenser’s representative, Sir Andrew de Limpsfield.’

‘Aha,’ Sir Richard said without humour.

Simon re-rolled the parchment and tapped it against his palm. ‘You have travelled far. Can we offer you ale? Wine? Some food?’

When the messenger had been seated, and Rob sent to fetch a good meat pie and some more spiced wine, Simon looked at him seriously. ‘You will have more news, I am sure. Come, I am the King’s man in the port here, this knight is the King’s Coroner from the King’s own estate, and this is the Keeper of the King’s Peace. We are all his loyal subjects. Can you tell us more news of what is happening in the country?’

‘Gladly. All the Queen’s estates have been sequestered by the King. I have messages for her stewards in Cornwall from Bishop Stapledon.’

‘The good bishop?’ Baldwin said sharply. ‘He is involved in this?’

‘I heard it was all on his own advice. The bishop is anxious about the nation’s security, and recommended to the King that he take actions to protect himself. After all, the Queen is sister to the French king.’

As Simon spoke to the man, Coroner Richard adding some words of his own, Baldwin heard little of it all. He was too stunned at what he had learned.

In all the years since his return to Devon, he had trusted the integrity and honour of the bishop. He had believed the man when he had said that he was interested in this Frenchman in case he was a spy, and had been reluctant to believe Pierre when he asserted that the bishop was hand-in-glove with Despenser. But now it seemed it was all true, and his friend, Bishop Walter, was on the side of the man who would despoil the nation.

He was cold suddenly. In this room with the fire flickering merrily, he felt as though his soul had been encased in ice. It was a terrible sensation. To lose a friend like Stapledon was appalling, but he was sure now that he could not trust the bishop. Perhaps that was why Stapledon had asked him to pray with him, just to reinforce the bond that lay between them — to make it easier to pull the wool over his eyes.

‘It’s rumoured that all the Queen’s household will be reviewed. All the French subjects in it will have to be arrested and held away. We don’t want potential spies within the royal household, and it’d be too easy for her to write messages to her brother,’ the man was saying.

Arrests without evidence, without trial. This was not the behaviour of a monarch who had respect for the law and the people: it was the action of a despot. Baldwin felt a sour nausea rising from his stomach. The Queen was being persecuted, unfairly and unreasonably, and he was revolted by it.

What sort of country was this to live in, to raise children in, when a reckless and malevolent King could on a whim deprive his own wife of all her friends and protectors? Isabella’s closest companions were all French, so these were the people King Edward II was bound to arrest. But they were not spies, they were merely her circle of friends, those on whom she depended. If the rumours were true, she’d seen little enough of her own husband recently. He reflected on the relationship between Despenser and the King. Only a cruel and implacable enemy would put this idea into the King’s mind.

‘I need to walk to clear my head,’ he blurted out, and stood.

The messenger looked bemused, not realising how his words might have affected the knight, but Simon saw his alarm and would have gone with him, only his feet stumbled even as he stood.

Baldwin shook his head. ‘No, Simon. You remain here with our guest. I shall go for a short walk. I won’t be long.’

‘Where are you going?’ Simon murmured.

‘I don’t know. Anywhere away from him and Sir Andrew,’ he said harshly.

Leaving Simon’s house, Sir Baldwin walked out through the weed-infested garden to the small barn, which he entered; he then climbed the ladder. Up in the hayloft, he saw Pierre sitting in the far corner, a thick blanket over his shoulders, watching him with a smile. Hamund lay near his feet, curled up in a nest of hay like a dormouse.

‘You have some news, I think?’ Pierre asked, studying his expression.

‘Pierre, we have received orders to have you captured and give you to Sir Andrew. We can delay his release from prison for a short while, perhaps, but the orders are explicit. All Frenchmen are to be watched and arrested.’

‘This order comes from …?’

‘It was signed by the King — but the messenger comes from Despenser.’

Pierre stood. ‘Then you have no choice. I would not expect you to hold me safe when that monster makes his demands. You have to give me up.’

‘No. At present no one knows where you are. Last night you saved the life of my friend Simon. We must help you as we may. I will not send you back to be tortured or murdered.’

‘This is a very different song from the one you sang only yesterday,’ Pierre said. ‘What has changed your mind?’

‘I have heard that Queen Isabella’s estates are to be sequestered, at the suggestion of Bishop Stapledon. If I was wrong about him, I was wrong about much. I cannot save you if you fall into Despenser’s clutches, but I can at least help you escape to France from here. The ship is still in the haven. Let us go to it now. Once you are aboard, it should be easy enough to set sail and you will be secure, I hope.’

Pierre knelt and took Baldwin’s hand. ‘I am your servant, Sir Knight. You risk much to save me.’

‘In the Queen’s name, I believe it is only right,’ Baldwin said.

As the messenger left the chamber Coroner Richard walked to Simon’s bench and sat heavily. ‘I am sorry about this. I would prefer to have Sir Andrew kept in gaol and tried for murder, but what can we do?’

‘There is nothing we can do when a fellow like him has such powerful friends,’ Simon said flatly. ‘He has escaped us, Coroner.’

The idea that the arrogant prickle could escape all justice was sickening, and Simon felt a wave of revulsion. Sir Andrew would continue with his bullying and threatening. No one would be safe from him. No one at all. Anyone who dared to stand in his path would be removed. As would Pierre.

‘What can we do to protect the Frenchman?’ he asked.

‘He is naturally at risk all the while he remains here,’ the Coroner said slowly. ‘Once he is aboard a ship bound for a foreign port, he could be followed by another ship, but only if the ship is ready to let her sails fall and has provisions …’

Simon shouted for Rob. ‘Get over to my place of work and tell Stephen to come here at once!’

‘You do that, and I’ll just go and make sure that the men in the gaol are all well enough,’ Sir Richard said. ‘We wouldn’t want any of them to be held up because of a minor scratch or two after the fighting last night. And I may drop into the Porpoise on the way, to order a barrel of ale for them all. Perhaps they would appreciate some refreshment before I tell them they are free to sail.’

‘An excellent idea. Don’t hurry yourself,’ Simon smiled.

‘I didn’t intend to,’ the Coroner admitted. ‘This reminds me of the old joke about a recruiting sergeant. He was sent to fetch some men for the coming battle, and in he marched, ready to pay any man he found to come and fight with him. “Men, are there any among you here who’d join his lordship’s host and protect our lands from the dreadful invasion of the enemy? I have a shilling here for every man who will come with me and fight.” Well, there were twenty men in there, and they all put up their hands and joined him. And before they left the tavern, all wanted to buy a drink. Now the sergeant, he was a dedicated man, but he saw that if he turned down their offers, it wouldn’t serve his master well, for most of them would decide not to join a force with such a miserable sergeant. So he drank all they gave him, and woke up the next afternoon with a headache and no coins. “Where are the men?” he asked the tavern-keeper. “Oh, they all left last night, master. They said to thank you for the ale, though.” Well, the sergeant didn’t hurry back to his camp, and when he got there, he found it ransacked. The enemy had arrived in the night and taken the place. He walked disconsolately about until he came across one of the men from the tavern. “You all got here, then? That’s good, anyway.” “Oh, yes,” the man replied. “It was a bugger taking this place, though. Took us ages!” You see, they’d gone back to the wrong side!’

‘I see,’ Simon said. It was not sufficient to make him laugh uproariously, but he could manage a small grin at the joke.

However, the Coroner didn’t appear to expect laughter. ‘I wonder which side Sir Andrew will fall on, if his master should ever quarrel with the King.’

Stephen was at his desk when Rob came to summon him. He rolled up the great parchments and stored them in the waxed leather cylinders, and eyed the lad disdainfully.

‘What are you looking at?’ Rob asked pugnaciously.

‘It is good to be reminded that even boys are part of God’s plan,’ the clerk replied loftily, ‘although in your case you’re more a part of His mystery, it should be said.’

In truth, though, he was reflecting that Rob had changed much in recent days. His demeanour was as truculent as ever, but now he had the appearance of a lad who was trying to help. He had cleaner clothes on — not absolutely clean, of course, but much better than usual — and if Stephen was correct, his face had been washed in the last day. Even his hands appeared less grubby than usual.

‘I don’t know what you’re on about,’ Rob said, and was gone.

Smiling to himself, Stephen packed his penner and locked the door securely behind him. He took the alley west up the hill, and when he came to the top, he saw Danny’s widow. He was about to go over and sympathise, when he saw that her manner was not that of a recently bereaved woman. Yes, there was sadness in her, but also a look of great relief.

‘A good morning to you,’ Stephen said politely.

‘And you, sir,’ she smiled back.

He eyed her. Perhaps the loss of her brother Adam and husband Danny had unhinged her mind? ‘Are you well? Is there aught you need?’ he asked cautiously.

‘No, no. I am well, master.’

‘You have money?’ he questioned doubtfully.

‘We have a little put by. I think we’ll survive.’

There was a brightness in her eyes that seemed to demonstrate the onset of fever — or perhaps it was merely the result of having slept little. What with worrying about her future and that of her children, it would be little surprise if she was restless in her bed at night.

He bade her farewell then hurried on to Simon’s house, but as he went, he could not help but throw a glance over his shoulder. She was still there, lips slightly parted, eager as a woman waiting for a lover. The thought sent dread into his soul.

Entering Simon’s house, he could not help but feel a vague sense of dissatisfaction. It made him irritable, and when he found the Bailiff was not concentrating on him, but instead was staring at the wall deep in thought, he snapped, ‘What is all this about, Bailiff? I thought our work was more or less done for the week.’

‘I need to know which ship is most likely to be ready to sail, and what the level of preparedness is on the great cog of Sir Andrew’s.’

‘What business is that of ours?’

‘Stephen, I apologise,’ Simon said wearily, and explained about the last night’s events.

Too late, Stephen spotted the large bruise and scratches on his master’s forehead. Earlier, in his less sympathetic mood, he had assumed that the unwonted paleness of his face and the slight tremor in his hands were all signs of excesses of wine the night before. Now he realised he had been uncharitable, and sought to make amends.

‘Sir Andrew’s ship, the Gudyer, is being victualled, and made ready to sail. The only ship in better condition is Master Pyckard’s, the Saint Denis. She is ready. Should have gone this morning, but the master felt uncomfortable since he lost a crew-member or two.’

‘Right, tell him that he’ll have his man back shortly. In the meantime, use any means you can think of to delay provisioning Sir Andrew’s ship. I have a feeling that they’ll want to sail as soon as they may, and I’d like them to be stopped in that ambition.’

‘I don’t see how they can go anywhere when you have half the ship’s company in the gaol,’ Stephen said tartly.

‘They’ll need to be released soon,’ Simon said, and explained about the message.

‘I see,’ Stephen said. He stared into the middle distance for a little while, and then declared, ‘Right, I can arrange for that. Leave it with me.’

When Baldwin reentered the hall a few minutes later, Simon was alone again. ‘Coroner gone?’

Simon nodded. ‘He’ll delay matters a while, but we will have to set Sir Andrew free, even if the thought chokes me! Still, we need not be hasty about it. If we can keep him and his men in gaol for a little longer … You spoke with Pierre?’

‘Was it that obvious?’

‘To me, yes. I have arranged for the ship to wait for him and Hamund. Hopefully they can set sail as soon as they both arrive on board.’

‘Good! With luck they will be on the ship by midday,’ Baldwin said.

‘Let us pray, then,’ Simon said fervently, ‘that he reaches it.’