The Death Ship of Dartmouth: (Knights Templar 21) (43 page)

‘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.’

‘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.’