The Death Ship of Dartmouth: (Knights Templar 21)

by Michael Jecks

  ‘I have to be off,’ he announced. ‘Everyone’s going to Pyckard’s funeral. Quickly: where are the accounts?’

  Peter brought out his rolls again. He set to quickly, explaining what he had done, and then ran through the calculations of the values of the items again.

  ‘All good,’ Hawley said. ‘What of the money?’

  He always kept tight control of the cash in the house. Any merchant had to be careful about the total amount he held at any time, but Hawley was more cautious than most. When he needed it, he must have money to buy in goods. There were always deals to be struck with the cloth-makers in Totnes, and if Hawley didn’t buy their goods, others would. There had to be enough ready coin to pay for surprise purchases.

  ‘We have plenty,’ Strete chuckled. ‘There will soon be even more, too. The salvage of Pyckard’s ship will be very profitable.’

  ‘Good. Now, how much do we have presently?’

  Alred felt the guilt of it. Bill could see that, and although he tried not to condemn his friend of so many years, it was hard not to.

  ‘I didn’t have any choice,’ Alred said again. ‘What else could I do?’

  Law nodded. ‘I’d have done it if you hadn’t.’

  ‘He probably killed the man in our hole,’ Bill admitted. ‘So I suppose he deserved to be captured.’

  ‘Yes. We made a mistake when we knocked that fool on the head and saved him last time. We couldn’t do anything else.’

  Bill took a long pull at his horn of ale. It was the sort of thing Alred would worry at for ages, like a hound with a tree-root, trying to pull it loose in vain, because the tree was too large. Alred felt guilt about his action because he knew too well that the man he had betrayed would die if found by Sir Andrew. There was no doubt in their minds of that.

  ‘He didn’t look like a rapist,’ Law said judiciously.

  ‘How can you tell what a rapist looks like?’ Alred snapped. ‘Any man can let himself fall foul of his humours and attack a lady. You don’t have to be a churl to fancy a tumble with a pretty wench and push your luck.’

  ‘He deserves to be caught, anyway,’ Law said, ignoring his bitter tone.

  ‘I wonder what they’ll do,’ Bill said.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Alred asked suspiciously. He could tell Bill was not convinced that his actions were justified, but then Bill had always been against anyone in authority. Bill had had one or two run-ins with the law, and both times he’d lost a lot of money, which was why he was working for Alred now and not a paviour on his own. No, he just didn’t trust the law or the men involved in administering justice.

  ‘Only that he’s on the ship now, so will they storm it and take him from it, or will they try to catch him by getting him back on shore?’

  Law gaped delightedly. ‘You think they’ll try to take him on the ship? Let’s go and watch!’

  ‘Oh, Christ’s pains! Will you shut up!’ Alred snapped with a burst of frustration.

  He stood and strode from the room irritably, and Law turned to Bill. ‘What’s his problem?’

  ‘Can’t you see what he’s done?’ Bill said with asperity. ‘He’s sent that Frenchman to be hanged. He’ll die now.’

  ‘So? If he hadn’t raped the woman, he wouldn’t have anything to fear, would he?’

  ‘If he did rape someone. How do you know he’s guilty? All we have is the word of this knight. Even when a man’s taken to a court, you can’t trust the witnesses,’ Bill said bitterly. ‘A rich man can bribe anyone he wants to get the result he desires. So all Alred’s done is send that man to be hanged to save our skins – even though he doesn’t know if the Frenchie was guilty or not. How do you think that makes him feel?’

  ‘Who gives a rat’s cods? I reckon he’s guilty,’ Law said.

  ‘And you’re so wise you can read his guilt?’

  ‘I can see what’s before my nose as clearly as any.’

  Bill’s jaw jutted. ‘Sometimes, boy, people make mistakes and the wrong man is convicted.’

  ‘If he had nothing to fear, he wouldn’t have run away to here. Only a man with something to hide does a runner.’

  ‘Maybe he just knew that if he didn’t run, hotheads would assume he was guilty and kill him?’

  Law curled his upper lip back from his teeth, his brow creased. ‘What are you on about? Look, that French scrote tried to get his hand up a lady’s skirt, it’s as simple as that. If he was innocent, he wouldn’t have run, would he? Come on!’

  ‘Come on, ballocks! Don’t you ever wonder why I’m here? Why I don’t have my own business? I was hunted once, boy. Yes, me! Another woman was raped, and because I was on the spot, they tried to blame me for it. And I had to flee for my life because the man who’d actually done it said he’d seen me. He was rich, so I couldn’t stay to tell the truth. No one would have believed me. No, so I had to run, and all my property was taken.’

  ‘What are you doing here now, then?’

  ‘I’m safe now. I abjured the realm, and I only came back when I was given a full pardon. But a pardon doesn’t mean you can recover all the property you had to give up. Yes, I am safe, but I lost everything. So don’t tell me that justice is fair, boy. It sure as hell isn’t.’

  ‘Just because you ran off doesn’t mean this one’s innocent, does it? If you’d stayed, you’d still have all your property,’ Law said cockily.

  ‘If I’d stayed, I’d have been hanged.’

  ‘Yeah, sure.’

  His open amusement, his smile of disbelief, made Bill’s face redden with anger. ‘You think I am lying, you little turd?’

  Bill couldn’t help himself. He lashed out with his fist. It caught Law on the nose, and the lad was flung over backwards, crashing against a table and knocking the jugs and horns higgledy-piggledy as he went, arms flailing.

  ‘You mad bastard!’ Law said, shaking his head like a wetted hound. His fingers gingerly went to his nose and he wiped it with the back of his hand. ‘What did you do that for?’

  Bill slumped back in his chair. ‘Just don’t judge men. Don’t judge me, don’t judge the Frenchie. You don’t know what he’s done. You don’t know what I’ve done. You have no idea!’

  ‘Go and swyve your mother!’ Law spat, standing. The blood was trickling from his nose, and he sniffed, his head tilted back slightly as he tried to stem the flow with his sleeve. ‘Sweet son of God, you’re mad today, just like Alred. I don’t have to stay here and have you punch at me, you old prickle!’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Out! I’ll go watch that foreign sod getting taken on the ship. I expect they’ll have him already. Maybe he’s hanging from a mast, eh? Probably dancing his last right now, and I’ll be glad if he is. You may not trust people, but I’d trust an Englishman over one of them Frenchies any day. You’re just weak because you’re old, Bill. You’re too old!’

  ‘Come back, lad,’ Bill said tiredly. ‘Look, I shouldn’t have hit you. I’m sorry about that. It was just frustration. I’m sorry, all right? Now sit down, and we’ll wait for Alred to come back.’

  ‘No – you wait. And when he gets back you can tell him why I didn’t want to stay with you. Christ’s cods! There’s a bad smell about the place while you’re in here!’

  Law pushed past Bill, left the tavern and walked down an alley to the water’s edge, where he sat on a log and stared out at the ships in the haven.

  ‘Sod them both, stupid old gits,’ he muttered, and threw a stone spinning into the water.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Hawley ran his finger down the roll and checked off the figures. Then he slapped his purse. ‘Where’s the strongbox? I need more money. I’m off to the funeral of poor Pyckard today, and have to make a decent donation.’

  Peter nodded and took his key, opening the great chest behind his desk. It was solid ship’s oak, built by Henry Pyket, of old planks from a ship he’d repaired, the bands of iron beaten by Hawley’s own smith, the locks cut and filed to size by an expert in Exe
ter. Lifting the heavy lid, Peter took up a leather sack filled with coin from the pile within.

  Hawley took it and glanced into the chest. He turned, but then hesitated and slowly went back to it, his face betraying a certain doubt. ‘I thought there would be two more sacks?’

  Strete felt sweat break out on his back. ‘I don’t think so, master. Do you forget the two which went to the men victualling the cog ready to sail? It’s all in the account.’

  ‘Oh, I see. That’s good, then,’ Hawley said. ‘Right, I’d best be preparing myself for the funeral. Don’t forget to lock up.’

  He walked out, and Strete drew a long sigh of relief. When his master had seen that the sacks were gone, he had thought he was about to be discovered. As soon as he could, he would put the money back in the chest. It would only take one more win …

  Only a short while ago he had been close to winning enough to repay the whole debt. He had enjoyed a near-miraculous run of good luck at the gaming, and it was only when fortune turned against him that he realised he’d lost almost all his profit again. Thinking that his luck was on the turn, he had borrowed another sack. One more game or two, and with some heavy betting he’d recover the lot, and hopefully no one would ever know that he had stolen from Master Hawley.

  But the clerk’s relief was short-lived.

  ‘I’m early still. Before I go, shall we check the contents of the chest?’ Hawley said.

  Peter sat bolt upright. His master had returned and stood in the doorway watching him. ‘What – all of it?’ he gulped.

  ‘Yes. Why don’t we start adding up the coins?’ Hawley said with a thin smile, and Strete looked out at the sunlight in the street, giving a nervous grin.

  ‘There isn’t really time, is there, master? Not if you’re going to the funeral.’

  ‘I think I can make the time.’

  Strete heard a sound at the door and glancing up, saw two sailors standing and staring at him with grim expressions. He felt a terrible sinking sensation in his belly. It grew worse as Hawley glanced at his belt. ‘By the way, Strete, that is a good new purse. Have you found some money to buy that?’

  Pierre watched the procession slowly walk past, the bell tolling mournfully as they all went, and he bowed his head respectfully, remembering the man who had saved his life.

  ‘For God’s sake, let’s get back to the ship!’

  ‘Hamund, be calm. There is no need to hurry anywhere,’ Pierre said. With his hood over his face he felt invisible, and perfectly secure.

  ‘Oh yes, there is! I am an abjurer, and if I’m found here on the land I’ll be hanged. I don’t need to die, do I, to satisfy your curiosity about this master of yours?’

  Pierre was about to reply with a stern reminder that the deceased had saved both their skins, when he saw a face he recognised. ‘Hamund,’ he hissed, ‘do you see the man behind me, he with the fair hair and the smile? You see him – with three men about him?’

  Hamund shot a look over his shoulder. From here the four men were in plain view, and he could see the fair man in their midst. ‘He looks like a nasty piece of work.’

  ‘He is! His name is Sir Andrew de Limpsfield. He has no heart, and is only interested in that which can advance him. If he heard you had swallowed a ring, he would paunch you to see whether it was really there,’ Pierre said with a chill certainty. He was torn now. He was keen to go with Master Pyckard’s body to the church to pray for the soul of that good and kind man, but he also wanted to see where Sir Andrew was going and what he was up to.

  ‘You’re making a joke, aren’t you? Do you really know him?’

  ‘He is the most evil man I have ever met.’ And Pierre took Hamund’s shoulder and led him away from the crowds.

  Hamo the cooper had finished making and mending the last of the barrels for the cog, and now he was rowing them out to the Saint Denis, ready for her sailing.

  ‘Ahoy! Anyone up there?’

  He sat on the thwarts gripping his oars and staring up at the stern of the ship towering above him, waiting. It was a long while before a face appeared above him and a thin, tremulous voice called down to him. ‘Who’s that? Oh, it’s you, Hamo.’

  ‘Having a nice sleep, were you? Where is everyone?’

  ‘Didn’t you hear that Master Pyckard died? Most everyone from his crews will be with him now in the church. He was much liked, was Master Pyckard,’ the man said and burped.

  Hamo vaguely recognised him. ‘You’re Dicken, aren’t you? Look, is there anyone else aboard? These barrels are full of fresh water. Gil asked for them. They’ll be the devil’s own job to pull up without a bit of help.’

  ‘There are some men up at the prow. Wait there.’

  Hamo grimaced, muttering, ‘Wait there!’ to himself in a falsetto imitation of the man’s whine, adding in his normal voice, ‘Where else am I going to go, you blasted moonstruck fool?’

  As he waited, he gazed idly about him. From here the two towns that had united to form Dartmouth were clearly visible and distinct. Each climbed the hills on either side of the cleave that was the mill pool, the white houses a series of rectangles. He could see the mill and the mill’s wheel, and could just make out the line of dark-clad men walking slowly up the hill to Tunstal from Hardness. Bowing his head reverently, he crossed himself as he thought of Master Pyckard.

  The men should have appeared by now. He had a sudden suspicion that the fellows on board were drinking the health of their dead master again, and he was about to shout up at them when he saw some boats – three long-oared vessels moving quickly through the water towards him.

  Of course there were boats all over the haven. There was nothing unusual in that, but Hamo saw something glinting from them as they came, and he frowned, uncertain. It was odd for lighters to be moving so swiftly in such a busy haven, and although they all looked low in the water, it seemed to be more because they were full of men, than because there was a heavy load of goods aboard them. And then, as he watched, he saw a man in the prow of the first boat draw a sword and point it towards him, and he felt his stomach churn … and then rage filled him as he realised these men were about to board and attack the cog.

  ‘Dicken! HOY, DICKEN! Look out! You’re going to be boarded!’ he roared at the top of his voice, thrusting with his oar at the steep clinker wall of oak and pushing himself off. He measured the distance: the boats would be here in a few moments. Making a swift decision, he set his oars ready and pulled himself away, back to his store on the Clifton side of the mill pool, watching as the men snagged anchor chains with grappling hooks and hurled grapnels before scrambling up into the ship herself.

  Strete sat huddled in the corner of the room and stared as his master’s men went through his belongings.

  ‘You see, Peter, I think it’s a lot of responsibility looking after my money. It could tempt some men. Are you a strong man, Peter?’

  Strete looked from him to the men at the doorway. ‘You can’t think any money’s gone missing, Master Hawley. I would have noticed if it had.’

  ‘Yes, you would, wouldn’t you?’ Hawley said with a cold tone. He waited while another sailor came in with a clerk. The two of them began to empty the chest, logging the items against Strete’s own rolls.

  There was a relentlessness about the way that the two men lifted out the leathern sacks, one counting the coin inside aloud, and the clerk nodding and ticking off each against the notes. Neither of them looked at Strete. That was the prerogative of Hawley and the two guards at the door. All three watched him closely.

  ‘Master, surely you trust me? If you have any suspicions, you should tell me so that I can explain …’ Strete started, before he saw one man at the door pull a small cudgel from his belt and slap it into his hand rhythmically.

  ‘I dare say you could try,’ Hawley said with a short baring of his teeth. ‘But whether or not I’d choose to believe you is a different matter, isn’t it? All I can see right now is that you have robbed me, Peter. I don’t like that.’
r />   ‘I haven’t robbed you!’

  And his voice carried his conviction. He hadn’t. How could he rob his master? No, he had made a foolish error and tried to make good that error by borrowing to replace the money lost, but he would return it. As he had.

  ‘I have heard before now how you enjoy the gaming at the Blue Boar and Porpoise, but I was too trusting. I never thought you’d actually steal from me to finance your fun. You’ve been well looked after here, Peter. Very well. I pay my men well to keep their loyalty, and if I was seen to let a man like you escape after taking my treasure, what would others think? They’d think I was soft, wouldn’t they?’

  Hawley stood and marched to the chest. The great box was almost emptied now, and the two men at its side were ticking off the last coins and making a total of the full sum. The clerk glanced at the sailor, who nodded, and then both looked up at their master, the clerk holding up the amended roll. Hawley took it, ran his eye down the columns, and scowled. ‘Sweet Jesus!’

  Strete felt as though his bowels were about to open. Perhaps if he’d been standing, they would have done. As it was, all he could do was swallow and wipe his forehead with his sleeve. How his master had come to suspect him like this was beyond him – he’d been so careful.

  ‘It looks as though I owe you an apology,’ Hawley said gruffly. He passed the parchment back to Strete. ‘The accounts are wrong by exactly three pennies. I don’t know where they came from, but your accounting is out by that much.’

  ‘I am sorry, master, I—’

  ‘Shut up, Strete. I’m in credit three pennies, not debit. Take the money as an apology for the way I spoke about you just now,’ Hawley said. He shook his head. ‘It’s this matter of the Saint John. It’s making everyone nervous. Hmm. Yes.’

  Strete watched as he turned abruptly on his heel and marched from the room, irritably beckoning the three sailors to follow him.

  ‘Who’s a lucky boy, then?’ the other clerk said quietly.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Strete demanded.