The Death Ship of Dartmouth

Chapter Thirty-Three

‘Weather has changed, hasn’t it, Law?’ Alred called. He had set up a brazier near their hole so that he could heat a pot of water ready for a cup of hot mint drink, and was watching the pot with his hands held to the warmth.

The lad grunted in response. ‘When you spend all night in an alehouse, I suppose you feel the cold more.’

Alred sniffed, but couldn’t be bothered to deny it. His hands were shaking, and his eyes felt like someone had scuffed sawdust into them. It wasn’t his fault, though. He hadn’t been intending to go to the tavern. It was only because that baggage of pus and wind had been arguing with Bill that he’d gone. He’d have stayed out here else. Still, while his belly was rumbling like the lid on a heavy cooking pot, he was in no position to argue.

Arguments were the bane of his life. Now, no doubt, these two would be at each other’s throats all day, too. Or worse, they’d not be talking. He hated it when they got like that. Working steadily at either side of a trench, as though the man three paces away didn’t exist.

‘How was Bill last night?’ he asked tentatively.

Law was still for a moment. ‘He was all right. We both were.’

It was not quite true. When they returned to shore, they had a brief battle with the owner of the boat and his friends. The fact that they’d brought the thing back had saved them more of a pounding, but as it was they had been struck down, and the menace in the boat-owner’s voice had been unmistakable when he explained what he would do to any ‘thieving landlubberly sons of whores’, and Law and Bill hurried away from the river as quickly as they could. Alred was still in his tavern when they got there, and the two of them wrapped themselves in their blankets with many a grunt of pain from bruises and scratches. When he stumbled in, burping, humming merrily, and tripped over a pile of tools to fall on his face in the hay, giggling inanely until he started to snore, neither spoke.

‘Good. Good,’ Alred said. ‘He’s taking his time, though.’

Law shrugged. It was all one to him. Bill had only been sent to fetch some pies. No doubt he’d be back when he had them.

Alred threw him a look that mixed offence with loathing, before turning back to his drink. The water was boiling well, so he wrapped a strip of cloth about his hand and drew the pot from the heat, pouring a liberal measure over the crushed mint leaves. The smell made his mouth water. Good and pungent, just as he liked it.

‘Gaming’s a fool’s errand,’ he said, blowing to cool the drink. ‘You know, I saw a man yesterday, must have been playing dice or something, because when he came out into the road, he was like a man with his brain cut out. No sense at all in him.’

‘Can’t imagine anyone like that,’ Law said sarcastically.

‘Law, what is the problem?’ Alred demanded with despair.

‘Oh, it’s nothing. Look — here’s Bill.’

Bill was trotting up the lane, pies in his hand, and as he passed them around, he looked at Law, who shook his head. ‘You’ve told him nothing?’

Alred was instantly listening. ‘About what?’

‘Last night we took the Frenchie back to his ship to let him escape,’ Bill said bluntly.

‘You … you did what?’

‘Aye, but then we didn’t know he was going to be caught as soon as he put his feet on the deck.’

Law gaped. ‘You don’t say!’

‘I bleeding do. And he was taken to the Bailiff’s house, but then a mob broke in and tried to catch him. Didn’t manage it. Still, Sir Andrew, rot his soul, is in gaol with most of his crew, and Pierre is safe.’

‘Who caught him?’

‘What I heard, this man Hawley took over the ship in the dark with some of his crewmen, and they knocked the poor devil down as soon as his head was over the rail.’

‘Will he be safe now?’ Law asked, goggle-eyed.

Alred felt the need to interpose at this point. ‘We have this roadway to finish.’

‘He should be safe enough, so long as he gets back to the ship … and there’s no one else trying to catch him there.’

‘I said: this hole here has to be filled, Bill.’

Law frowned. ‘Do you know where he is, then? If he’s found in town without any help, he could be taken again.’

‘Ivo won’t do that. Poor sod’s acting gaoler now, since old Widdecombe Will got killed last night. Sir Andrew did that himself, so they say.’

‘No!’

Bill nodded dourly. ‘Stabbed him slowly. He likes killing, that bastard.’

‘So is Pierre still at the house?’

‘I reckon he’s hiding somewhere.’

Alred smiled brightly. ‘Good. So in that case, there’s nothing more to be said. The man’s safe enough for now, and while he’s in his sanctuary, wherever it is, we can finish the road here.’

Bill nodded. Law scowled.

‘What are we?’ Alred asked.

‘Paviours,’ Law muttered. Bill was silent.

‘What are we?’ Alred repeated, turning his ear as though deaf.

‘Paviours,’ Law said. Bill murmured the word condescendingly.

‘I said, What are we?’

‘Bloody paviours, you arse,’ Bill snapped. ‘Now stop this daftness and let’s get to work, eh?’

Stephen hurried back to his place of work, still feeling guilty for snapping at the Bailiff. The poor man must have been in quite some pain from the look of his brow. Terrible business. And the gaoler dead! Poor Will didn’t deserve that.

He was scarcely heeding where he was going, when he saw her again. There at the end of the alley was Danny’s widow, talking to a man. Oh yes, there were lines of worry and sadness on her face, but for all that she was as animated as a maid with her first lover as she expostulated with this man.

His back was to Stephen, but then the clerk felt a devil tempt him, and he turned back to the alley, pushing past her with a muttered apology. The man stood aside, and for an instant Stephen saw him. It was the same man who had made Peter Strete stop and frown the other evening. His face was as square as he recalled, and the line of his jaw was prominent, uncovered as it was by any beard. It had a pale look, as though it was only recently shaved after a long time.

Stephen nodded to him and continued on his way. The man was familiar, but why?

Hamund and Pierre left the little garden by springing over the wall into the foul lane beyond, and thence hurried northwards towards the alley that led down to the waterside.

Pierre suddenly tugged Hamund back, and for a second the older man thought he was pulling rank on him, as though a lowly abjuror and peasant was not significant enough to be permitted to lead the way before a noble knight … but then he saw Pierre put his finger to his lips and peer cautiously around the corner.

‘Two men down near the shore,’ he whispered. ‘We cannot get past them without raising the alarm.’

Hamund nodded. They could not fight their way through this. If they did, they must be captured when the Hue and Cry was raised against them.

Pierre eyed him, then breathed, ‘Viens, mon ami! With me, friend, quickly!’

Hamund saw him dart out and lean against the wall of a house as though overcome with tiredness. Hamund joined him, and Pierre put his arm about the other man’s shoulder, singing a saucy tavern-song in a deep voice. Hamund joined in with the chorus about the tapster’s daughter, and the two sang their way up the alleyway, staggering from side to side and out into the lane.

Once there, Pierre stopped singing, and peered back along the alley. ‘We are safe, I think. They were too dull-witted to consider that we could be the men they seek. Now we must go this way, perhaps. The ship is there? Yes.’

It looked so near. Yet it was such a distance out in the river. Hamund felt his hopes failing. ‘Can we swim to her?’

‘I cannot swim,’ Pierre confessed. ‘I never had the skill.’

Hamund frowned. ‘Then what can we do?’

‘I have an idea!’ Pierre was staring down at where the paviours were shovelling gravel into a hole. ‘Come!’

Pattering along, Hamund had the feeling that he was being led on an adventure. He felt like a squire to a great knight who was showing his quality by hunting a dragon or rescuing a woman from unimaginable dangers. At any moment he might be confronted by a great beast … No. This was enough of an adventure without thinking of mysterious animals. For the first time in his life, he was truly living, and it was all thanks to this man with him, Sieur Pierre de Caen. He hurried to catch up as the Frenchman reached the paviours at their task.

‘My friends. You helped me yesterday, and I am most grateful to you for that.’

‘What are you doing here?’ Law demanded.

Bill gave a wry smile. ‘Thought you were safe.’

‘We would be, except …’

‘We heard,’ Bill acknowledged.

‘No! I will not have this!’ Alred expostulated. ‘We cannot risk ourselves on your behalf, sir. No! You must go before someone sees you here.’

‘I would be very grateful if you could help us again.’

‘Didn’t you hear me?’

‘What do you want?’ Law asked.

‘Law, I said-’

‘Al, shut up, all right?’ Bill said wearily. ‘You know what I did before. This helps me feel that I’m making some sort of compensation for that man. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to join in, but if I can save this man’s life, it’s worth it.’

‘Go ahead, then!’ Alred exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. ‘Don’t worry about me or this contract, will you? You don’t know this man, nor what he’s done — nothing! But you’ll drop me in it, won’t you. Fine. Just go, then!’

‘Sorry, Al,’ Bill muttered.

He and Law clambered from the hole, and strode to where Pierre stood.

‘Wait!’

Flushed and angry, Alred followed them. He stood before the Frenchman and stared angrily at him, hands on his hips, head jutting truculently. ‘I hope you’re proud of yourself, that’s all I can say. Just for you, the people of Dartmouth are going to have to wait longer for their road to be mended. Hah! Well? What are you waiting for?’

Baldwin poured himself some wine. ‘So the crew will soon be released?’

‘Yes. But their ship will have some problems being prepared for sea, I think.’

‘Let us hope that it will be enough. I would not have the man arrested and then executed. I think I was misled about him. By Walter.’

‘For my part, I know he saved my life. I do not care what another says of him, I would not see him harmed. I don’t understand Walter’s part in all this, though.’

‘Nor I,’ Baldwin said. He looked up as a knock came at the door.

Simon shouted, ‘Yes!’

Stephen pushed the door wide, and entered anxiously. ‘Bailiff, the men in the gaol … they are gone!’

Even as he asked, ‘How can they be?’ Simon was rising and grabbing for his sword.

‘I heard that they had a messenger, a man with the Despenser’s shield on his breast. He asked where the gaol was, and went straight there. He showed Ivo a parchment that demanded their immediate freedom, and the sergeant let them loose. He had no choice!’

Baldwin clenched his jaw. ‘Come, Simon. We have to make sure that our friends are not molested.’

The way to the shingle was barred. Law went first, on his own. He had tried an alleyway, and could get to the shore itself, but once there he found his way blocked by sailors. They looked him up and down and decided he was not worth their bother, but everywhere he looked, he saw more men lounging, watching the roads with care.

‘I can see no way past them,’ he reported back to the other four.

‘Even if we could slip past, they would soon catch us on the shore,’ Hamund said. He had a vague memory of the beach in his mind. ‘How is the tide, Master Lawrence?’

‘It’s out just now, so to reach the boats you have to run along the mud.’

‘We cannot manage this,’ Hamund said. This was less an adventure, more of a nightmare.

‘There must be a way,’ Pierre said.

Hamund tentatively murmured, ‘Perhaps, if we crossed to Hardness and took a boat from there … we could row to the ship and avoid all the men waiting here.’ In his mind’s eye he saw the line of buildings as he rowed the ship over the smooth waters towards the Saint Denis. The mill’s great wheel, the line of little workshops and tradesmen’s sheds, the drying and salting trestles set out for the day’s catch … and then back.

Bill was saying, ‘If we try to cross over that bridge, they’ll see us for certain!’

‘Hamo the cooper showed me a way,’ Hamund said suddenly. ‘If we can get in there, we’ll be safe enough.’

Hamund led them along the street until he found the last alley. Taking them down this, he told them to wait for him. ‘I’ll have to get Hamo to open up the way and let us through.’

‘How do you know he’ll help?’ Alred demanded suspiciously. ‘If he’s got half a brain, he’ll turn us in and collect any bounty.’

‘His friend was the gaoler, Will. When I tell him that the gaoler’s murderer is the man who seeks Pierre’s death, he’ll help us.’

Hamund was convincing, but Bill pulled him aside before he left them.

‘In case they recognise you, friend, take this,’ he said, and pulled off his cowl and hood, setting them on Hamund’s shoulders. With that drawn over his head, he looked very different.

Once back down the alley to the shoreline, he made for the cooper’s works. Groups of sailors stared at him as he passed, but none recognised him, apparently, with his simple disguise.

‘Master?’

The cooper was tapping rings of steel down about the staves of a barrel, and he scarcely looked up as Hamund appeared.

‘Do you remember me from last night?’

Hamo peered under his hood and laughed. ‘The drowned rat, eh? What’re you doing back here?’

‘You know your friend who died?’

‘Will, aye. Poor sod.’

‘It was the man who killed him who seeks my death also, and that of my companion. Will you help us?’

‘It sounds like a dangerous sport, aiding you. What should I do that for?’

Quickly Hamund explained what he needed, and the cooper nodded slowly, but grimly. ‘If that’s all you want, I don’t see why I shouldn’t let you through to open up the yard’s gate. I could give you a lift too, if you wish. My boat is down below us.’

Hamund gasped out his thanks. This was more than he had hoped for — he’d imagined he would have to borrow a boat from a fisherman, but this would be much safer. After expressing his gratitude, he hurried through the cooperage, through the chamber at the rear, and into the yard. Throwing the gate wide, he looked up and down the alley. Seeing Alred at the corner, he whistled and beckoned, and soon the others were with him. They slipped through the gate, then made their way to the workshop.

Hamo was still knocking the hoop down over the barrel, but he looked up and nodded briefly as he saw the men.

‘Master Cooper, we owe you our thanks,’ Pierre said stiffly.

‘That’s good. Any enemy of the man who killed Will can’t be all bad.’ Hamo set down his hammer, pulled his leather apron from his neck, and jerked his head towards the waiting ship. ‘Reckon you want to be going, eh? I’d best help you.’

They set off to the flat pavement before his shop, then went down the slippery ladder to the shingle. Here Alred and his men left them as they trod, squelching, towards the boat. It was some way, and they must avoid the thicker pools of mud which oozed glutinously as they stepped in it. Suddenly, they heard a cry, then a long-drawn-out call, and Hamund threw a fearful look over his shoulder as he wondered what this meant. It was clear enough in a moment.

Alred, Law and Bill had been encircled by a group of sailors, and now Bill roared at the top of his voice: ‘Go! Run!’ before he was knocked to his knees.

Pierre grasped his sword and would have turned back, and while he stood undecided, Hamund felt as though his belly had fallen from his body, leaving only a terrible emptiness. All at once he could see Pierre running back, fighting alone against the host of sailors, falling under their knives and swords. And he would be alone again, without even this companion.

But then Hamo took Pierre’s arm. ‘Seems to me that if you go back there, you’ll die, friend. And that would make anything that happens to them pointless, wouldn’t it? I think you should come with me and get to safety.’

‘They are being taken! It is wrong for me to escape and leave them to be blamed for my offences!’

‘They’re taken already,’ Hamo said. ‘Won’t help much for them to be watching you get killed, will it?’

Pierre gave a short nod, and turned back to face the river. He began to trudge onwards.

Hamund blew out a breath of relief, feeling like a felon who’d been given a reprieve even as the rope tightened about his neck. The three dragged Hamo’s boat to the water and pushed it in a short way. Pierre stepped in, then Hamund, and finally Hamo pushed and climbed in at the same time. He took the oars, and was about to sit and begin rowing, when he stopped and stared over Hamund’s shoulder.

Looking in the same direction, Hamund felt as though his bowels would melt. ‘No!’

From near the great mill-wheel, two larger rowing boats were pushing off. In the front of the first Hamund could clearly see the long, flowing fair hair of Sir Andrew. He had a drawn sword in his hand, and he was waving it about his head like a hunter urging on his steed.