The Death Ship of Dartmouth: (Knights Templar 21) (45 page)

‘I will tell him.’

‘Do so. And now, Simon, are you well enough to trot?’

Simon gave a twisted grin. His head was still enormously painful, but the sickness was retreating. He tested his blade in the scabbard, and the two ran over the cobbles to the first alley. Here Baldwin ducked under a line of drying clothes, and the two skidded and slid down a path made slick. There was no kennel here, and the wastes from all the houses were thrown straight into the lane itself, to lie there until the next storm washed the mess away. Simon was only aware of a desire to keep from falling.

At the bottom, they immediately saw that something was wrong. There was a small group of men held back by a pair of grinning sailors. Two others were whistling and making lewd suggestions to a flush-faced young woman of perhaps sixteen years.

Baldwin saw beyond them a group of men ringing some others. There was a flash or two of steel in the sunlight, and he cursed. Yet he would not leave the girl to suffer the indignity of the men’s words. He put his hand to his sword, and even as he did so, there was a hoarse bellow of rage at his side as the Bailiff drew his sword and, lifting it high, roared abuse at all four sailors, running in to close with them.

‘Simon!’ Baldwin groaned, and then dragged his own blade from its scabbard, and ran to catch his friend.

There was little need. Perhaps the sight of the Bailiff filled with righteous anger was enough to terrify the sailors,
or perhaps it was the realisation that if two men attacked from their side, there was little they could do to subdue the men before them too, but whatever the reason, the four suddenly took to their heels.

Baldwin was about to stop and tell the men huddled with the girl to go and find some help, when he realised that Simon had not paused like him. Rolling his eyes heavenwards, he cried, ‘Murder! Out! Out! Out! Fetch weapons, come and help!’ and took off after him at a sprint. His booted feet slapped on the hard moorstone of the way, and his ankle was jarred at one point, but he forced himself onwards, until he had almost caught up with Simon. The sailors were a short distance ahead, and now they shouted for help, and instantly two more of their companions ran back to meet them.

Baldwin bellowed, ‘For the King!’ and kept on running. His sword was ready to stab, his left hand forward, when he met the first of them. He flicked his sword up and right, knocking aside a long knife, and then he slammed his fist forward, the full weight of the sword in his hand catching the sailor over the temple. The man crumpled to the ground as Baldwin danced to his left, creating space between him and the next man. This one was joined by a fresh man; he had a short knife in each hand, while the other held a stout cudgel.

It was the cudgel he feared most. The daggers looked fearsome, but Baldwin was content that he could protect himself against them; however, the cudgel had a longer reach and could incapacitate him. He retreated a little, glancing this way and that over his shoulders, until he saw a narrow
entrance to an alley. Carrying on, he waited until he could dart into it, and when the moment came, he sprang forwards.

Both had expected him to run away, and the change of direction startled them. He slipped quickly right, his sword ready, and as the man with the cudgel turned to meet him, Baldwin thrust once. His sword opened the man’s thigh, and he screamed shrilly. Even as he dropped the cudgel to grab at the wound, Baldwin was at the other. Behind him, he could see Simon hacking and stabbing with gusto, still with two men at him, and Baldwin was anxious lest his friend might come to grief. Rather than prolong the fight, he tapped the knife in the man’s left hand away, grabbed his right wrist in his own left hand, and pulled him forward, off-balance, his sword at the fellow’s throat. ‘Surrender, or die.’

‘I yield! Please!’

The knives both clattered to the floor, and Baldwin kicked them away. They went over the edge of the quay, and he heard them strike the mud.

Without thinking, he was at the men about Simon. The first he stabbed in the flank, and the man grunted with the shock. The second saw his mate falter, and turned to face Baldwin with a long knife, but Baldwin’s expression made him reconsider. In a matter of moments, all three were running away, back to join their comrades, and Simon and Baldwin followed them more slowly.

‘There are lots of them,’ Simon muttered, eyeing the crowd.

‘I don’t care,’ Baldwin said. ‘You! Stand back in the name of the King.’

‘King?’ the man sneered. ‘We work for Lord Despenser. The King is our ally.’

He was suddenly silent as a bloody sword touched his throat. ‘I am the King’s Officer, and
I
say, “Stand back”!’

Simon used the point of his sword to emphasise Baldwin’s words, and in the midst of the parted sailors, he saw Alred and his two assistants. ‘What is all this?’

‘These three helped the French spy to escape, that’s what!’

‘I’ve heard enough about this already,’ Simon growled. ‘He’s no spy.’

‘We have been ordered to stop him reaching France with his messages, and that’s what we’ll do.’

‘Look!’ Alred shouted, pointing.

Simon and Baldwin could see the two rowing boats overhauling the smaller one. The cooper was pulling as hard as he might, but he could not draw away from the others with four men in each working the oars.

The men whom Baldwin and Simon had rescued from the first four sailors had arrived now, and they pushed the sailors away from the quay as Baldwin and Simon peered out at the desperate chase.

‘They’ll kill them all, won’t they?’ Simon said.

‘We can’t catch up with them now.’ Baldwin swore under his breath.

‘The knight is almost at them,’ Simon said quietly.

He could see the fair man waving his sword about his head, almost on the little rowing boat, and then there was a scream, and a small figure leaped from it at the larger boat. The fair man stumbled backwards, and with his arms outstretched, fell back over the side, making a vast splash, the smaller man at his breast. The two disappeared from
view. Meanwhile, Pierre stood in the boat, his sword in one hand, dagger in the other, and waited. A crimson feather appeared in the sea even as the figure of Sir Andrew showed below the water. Of Hamund there was no sign.

Baldwin cupped his hands about his mouth and roared at the top of his voice: ‘T
URN YOUR BOATS AND COLLECT YOUR MASTER
. L
EAVE THAT BOAT ALONE
. I
ORDER YOU TO LEAVE IT, IN THE NAME OF THE
K
ING
!’

There was a moment’s pause. It was plain that the sailors were wondering what would be best for them to do, and then a cry came from the further craft, and the two turned their prows about, heading down river to where Sir Andrew’s body had floated. As they struggled to gather him up, Baldwin saw the little boat making its way to the
Saint Denis
. Sir Pierre raised his sword in salute, bowing his head, and Baldwin made a bow in return. Then, as Pierre reached the ship and made his way up the rope ladder, Baldwin turned away, suddenly exhausted.

The inquest on this latest body took but little time, and Coroner Richard was pleased to be able to declare that the murderer, the notorious Frenchman called ‘Pierre’, was responsible. Baldwin looked across at the shipmaster from Sir Andrew’s ship, Martin Pyngin, as this was recorded, and the man didn’t blink. Well, if it could be said that he had achieved what Lord Despenser had commanded, even if Sir Andrew was dead, that would mean the man would live a little longer. It was no surprise he had chosen to present matters in the best possible light. So had Baldwin.

He had taken the shipmaster to the tavern as soon as Sir
Andrew’s body had been brought ashore, and indicated that were the murderer of Sir Andrew also dead, partly from being stabbed, partly from drowning, it would be so much the better for everyone. Especially since the man responsible for causing mayhem in the town the night before, murdering a gaoler for no reason, causing the Abbot of Tavistock’s Bailiff to be badly hurt, and threatening violence on others, not to mention the piratical attack on another man’s ship, had died. The crimes could die with them, Baldwin intimated.

The old shipman didn’t comment, but sniffed and took a long pull of his ale. Later Martin left, still without speaking, but now he glanced across at Baldwin and gave a short nod before turning away and shouting at his crew in a voice that could have been heard clearly at Kingswear.

‘A satisfactory end to the affair, I think,’ the Coroner said with a smile as Stephen began to put away his pens and ink. ‘All done that was needful. Now all we need consider is the matter of the other deaths.’

Alred was with his fellows, and he looked up at the Coroner as Sir Richard spoke. ‘Perhaps a small reward would be in order, Sir Coroner?’

Richard gazed at him with a beatific smile. ‘I have no need of one, but if you insist on it, I would be glad of a quart of ale, good fellow.’

Alred smiled at his joke, but then he realised the man was serious.

Simon and Baldwin between them bought the ales in the end. All walked to the Porpoise and took a bench outside. Baldwin called to the host and demanded ale for all of their company, and soon they were drinking cheerfully enough.

Alred looked about him as he drank, recalling his departure from the tavern the previous evening.

‘Something wrong, Master Paviour?’ Simon enquired, seeing his distraction.

‘No, no. Just wondering what might have happened to a fellow who was here last night. Big lad, but very sad. I think he’d been out at the back in the gaming room.’

‘The gaming rooms cost many of the sailors all their money,’ Simon said.

‘Yes. Daft pursuit,’ Alred said with the comfortable knowledge that the last three games he’d played had made him a profit.

‘Who was it?’

‘I don’t know. Some fellow I’ve seen about the place,’ Alred said, adding candidly, ‘I often see people walk past me, but they rarely look down at me when I’m in the hole. I’ve seen him with someone else, though. One of the merchants.’

‘Tall? Slim? Short? Fat?’ Simon asked.

‘Quite tall. Not fat. Not the scrawny one who looks like he’s only just out of his apprenticeship, the older one.’

‘Hawley,’ Simon said. He mused. ‘This man, then – could it be his clerk? A fairly well-fed look to him, round face, wears a blue tunic?’

‘Yes, that’s him. He was out here last night and when he left, his face was quite tragic, almost like he’d seen a ghost.’

Stephen smiled with the rest of them, but then his smile faded. ‘A ghost …’

‘You all right, clerk?’ Simon asked.

‘I … I think I have seen Adam, Bailiff.’

‘Who?’ Simon said absently.

‘Didn’t you say Pyckard told you Adam was on the ship? Adam, Danny’s brother-in-law?’

Simon nodded, but his eyes were drawn back to the tavern, and now he stood, staring inside with a thoughtful frown. He turned and peered out at the haven. The
Gudyer
was just moving out into the channel off Kingswear, and he could see the great sails reefed in as she made her way down the river. ‘I wonder …’

‘What?’ Baldwin asked sharply.

‘In God’s name, I think I see it all, Baldwin. I think I see it all.’

Baldwin was confused to hear that his friend wanted to go and speak to Hawley about his man, but he was loath to leave Simon to go on his own. In the back of his mind he wondered whether the Coroner was not in fact right when he suggested that Simon had hurt his head more badly than he had realised, when the sailor’s hammer had struck him.

‘Master Hawley, we want to speak to you about Strete,’ the Bailiff declared. ‘Is he here?’

Hawley had been sitting at his fireside when they entered. A clerk was at his side, and the master from his cog, Cynric, stood at the wall. ‘I fear my man left my service last night.’

‘He ran off, did he? Took his belongings and left your service?’ Simon said. ‘I suppose that’s not surprising.’

‘Why?’ Hawley demanded.

‘We’ve been struggling to understand this matter of the murders of Danny and Despenser’s man here, Guy de Whatever … and the matter of the
Saint John
being attacked. And do you know what I wondered? I wondered why the ship
should be empty. All I could think of was that someone killed the crew, and didn’t bother to steal the cargo because they knew they’d win it all anyway.’

‘So you’re saying that
I
attacked the ship, put my men aboard, then pretended to fire her, slaughtered her crew and brought her back?’

‘Yes. A salvage arrangement is better than nothing, and it runs less risk of a noose. You appear the hero of the hour by bringing the ship back, and win a pleasant salvage.’

‘Except I had already agreed to waive my salvage.’

‘What?’

‘If you ask Pyckard’s man of business, you’ll learn that I agreed some while ago not to take my share. It seemed ungenerous when Pyckard was dying. I had no desire to hasten his death.’

Simon frowned. ‘You have this in writing?’

‘Pyckard’s man will have it. I gave him a formal note rejecting my salvage. So no, Bailiff, I had nothing to do with it. I found the ship burning and brought her back. That is all.’

‘I will check this.’

‘Do so. But what made you wonder such a thing?’

Simon shot a look over at Baldwin. ‘The ship was not entirely destroyed, and one crew member was dead. Any sailor would know how to destroy a ship, and if he fired it, she would be sunk. So I thought that you must have taken her and then brought her back to port for the salvage.’

Hawley scoffed. ‘Just for the money? You think I’d ruin a dying man for profit when I could make more by reaching port before him?’

‘I think you are a very capable sailor and master,’ Simon
said seriously. ‘Where is your servant Strete now?’

‘I had him deposited at the gaming hall in the Porpoise. He had been taking my money and using it to pay for his gambling.’

‘What, taking the money from your chest?’ Sir Richard said. ‘Didn’t you notice?’

‘I trusted him,’ Hawley said shortly, adding, ‘and he replaced it sometimes.’