The Death Ship of Dartmouth: (Knights Templar 21) (38 page)

‘We did nothing of the—’

‘My daughter Annie was keen on one of the lads you murdered, so if you think I’m going to let you out so you can go and cut the throats of others, you’re mistaken! Now pipe down and let a body sleep!’

It still rankled. Little Annie had been sweet on that brawny young matelot Ed, who’d died on the
Saint John
. God’s teeth, since the ship appeared, she’d near had conniptions, poor maid. The weeping and wailing in the house … Well, that was one attraction of remaining out here, he supposed.

‘Open this door, gaoler!’

This command, given in the tone of a man who was used to issuing orders and having them acted upon, worked on Will like a small bolt of lightning. He shot up from his chair and peered suspiciously at the barred and latched door to the street. ‘Who is it?’

‘Sir Andrew de Limpsfield, acting on the King’s warrant. I want to have this door opened now.’

‘I was told to leave the door locked, Sir Knight,’ Will whined, and chewed his lip. The orders had been quite definite: he was to keep these men down in the cell until Master Hawley said they could be freed. This Sir Andrew sounded a powerful, dangerous man, but Will knew he must obey Master Hawley.

There was a loud crash from the door, and the timbers shuddered. It was barred with a large piece of oak, and the latch was pegged shut, but just now neither appeared to offer a great deal of security. A fine cloud of soot and dust fell
from the loose timbers of the roof.

‘Don’t do that, the roof’ll fall in!’ Will shouted in alarm, choking on the thick air.

‘Open the door, or I’ll have it off its hinges,’ Sir Andrew stated implacably.

Will waited until there was one more crash, but that was enough. There was no possibility of the door surviving the onslaught, and even if the door had survived, he reckoned the roof would have fallen about his ears. ‘I’m opening it, master, just give me a moment,’ he declared, and started to pull the peg from the latch, lifting the heavy timber from the locking slots.

As soon as it was opened, the door was thrust wide, and a powerful sailor pushed him aside. A second marched in after him and held a knife to Will’s belly, forcing him against the wall. Only then did Sir Andrew cross the threshold, glancing about him distastefully as he did so.

‘What a repellent hovel! Release the men.’

The knife was moved at Will’s belly, and he took the hint. He lifted the keys from his belt, and the sailor threw them to his companion. He caught them and bent to the trap door, unlocking the great padlock and lifting the door up and over.

‘Good,’ Sir Andrew said as the ladder was dropped down into the hole. He waited, tapping his feet as the prisoners began to climb up and stood about the room disconsolately, one or two throwing looks at Will that made him anxious.

‘I do
not
expect to have to rescue you and your men from a gaol again, Jan,’ Sir Andrew said to the leader. ‘None of you. You may be able to redeem a little honour, if you can capture this traitor and spy. He is currently at the home of
Bailiff Puttock, the Keeper of the Port. You have your orders. Go and bring him to me. I shall be back at the ship. We sail first thing in the morning.’

‘What of the Bailiff?’

‘What of him?’

‘If he refuses to hand over the man, what do we do then?’

‘You have your orders. You know under whose authority we work. Any man who wilfully obstructs the King’s men will suffer the consequences. I trust that is clear?’

‘What about this old fart?’ asked the man guarding Will.

Sir Andrew walked over the floor and eyed Will contemplatively. ‘He kept my men here, and then would have prevented my entering, wouldn’t he?’ he said, and all of a sudden took hold of the sailor’s forearm and thrust his knife forward, placing his other hand over Will’s mouth.

He watched dispassionately as Will jerked and tried to pull away, his eyes wide and maddened. Unable even to scream, his body wrenched and lurched as Sir Andrew pulled the blade slowly upwards, opening Will’s belly to the breastbone. When the gaoler began to slip down the wall, Sir Andrew let go of his sailor’s arm and took his hand away from Will’s face, eyeing the saliva-sodden palm disdainfully. Will slumped at the floor, trying to hold his belly together, shivering with shock, unable now to make more than a whimper.

Sir Andrew turned and found all his men staring. ‘What are you all waiting for? Get going!’

When he reached the shore, Hamund was shivering badly, his
teeth chattering. There was a stone jetty, at which some rowing boats were tied, and he had to clamber up the rough stones to reach Lower Street. Here he huddled for a moment, trying to quell the spasms that rattled through his body, his arms wrapped about his upper torso. Dripping, he was frozen to his core, and desperate for a fire to warm himself.

As he stood there, he saw a glow from the northernmost tip of the street. As soon as he had begun to swim, he realised how powerful the current was just here, because he could see from the few lights at the shore that he was being swept out towards the mouth of the river and the open sea. One light in particular attracted his attention: a large open brazier near the mill. It took all his strength to keep to a more or less straight course towards South Town. Desperate for heat, he forced himself to his feet and hurried along the street towards the fire.

Blessed heaven! The coals glowed with a fierce heat that began to scorch him almost before he could feel it. He sighed with relief, holding hands out to it reverently, wondering what he could do next. Hamund had no idea of the town’s layout, but most small towns had a holding gaol somewhere, probably near the market square itself. He would go there.

‘You all right?’

‘I …’

Hamo eyed the dripping figure with alarm in his eyes. ‘You fallen off a ship, mate? You’re drenched.’

‘I am fine, I thank you, but I have some business to attend to.’

‘Business, eh? At night? Only felons go about in the dark,
friend.’

‘I am no thief!’ Hamund exclaimed indignantly, and then he could have laughed at the thought that no, he was no
thief
, he was merely a murderer. How he had fallen!

‘Come in here, then, and dry yourself off. Whatever your business, it’ll be easier to conduct if you’ve warm clothes on instead of soaking wet ones,’ Hamo said kindly. ‘Come on. I’ve cloths in here. You can get dry and then the brazier will do more good.’

With a feeling of great good fortune, Hamund followed his benefactor the cooper inside.

‘What did you think, Simon?’ Baldwin asked when they had left Pierre in the lower storeroom at the back of Simon’s house. It was impossible to hold him in the gaol when the crew who wanted to kill him were all there. Safer by far to keep him here.

‘Entirely convincing, I thought. It’s rubbish, of course, but he does seem to believe it.’

‘Yes,’ Baldwin said. He was struck by Pierre’s sincerity, and yet why should anyone think that the good Bishop of Exeter would behave in such a fashion? He and Simon knew Walter Stapledon personally, and the idea that he could be working to destroy the Queen would be laughable, were it not for the unaffected earnestness of Pierre’s manner.

‘He was determined not to have his name given to Walter,’ Simon said.

‘For the moment we can indulge that, I suppose,’ Baldwin said. ‘But we do have to decide what to do with the men in the gaol. They will be clamouring for release, I expect. And when they are out, what then?’

‘I’d be all for telling them to weigh anchor and bugger off,’ Simon said, ‘but I suppose you’ll tell me not to be so mad.’

‘I agree with you that the best course would be to be well rid of them,’ Baldwin admitted, then added more quietly, ‘but if you behave in too high-handed a fashion, all that will happen is that you’ll antagonise them. And if you don’t fear Sir Andrew himself, you know what Despenser is like.’

Simon nodded. All knew how ruthless he could be. Force was not a last resort for him, but rather an everyday means of achieving whichever ambition he possessed at the time. ‘What shall we do, then?’

‘I wish I knew. Where is the Coroner?’

Simon shrugged. ‘Probably in a tavern somewhere insulting the locals, if I know him at all.’

‘Send your boy to find him. I think we would benefit from his experience and knowledge. I have to confess, Simon, I find this situation very worrying.’

He sat for some while after Rob had been roused and sent to seek Sir Richard. Simon fetched them both wine and poured liberal measures into two mazers. For once Baldwin did not remonstrate about the quantity. Although he was usually abstemious, this was one occasion when he felt the need of a stimulant.

The country was falling into despair, and the fault lay with the King. Edward II had been weakly and foolish for so long, people had grown used to his manner. But now he had shown himself to be pitiless and brutal in his pursuit of his enemies. It was incredible to many that he should seek to destroy his cousin, Earl Thomas of Lancaster, but it was his callous behaviour to all Thomas’s allies and friends, not least his own widow, that shocked and terrified many in the country. Yes, some praised the King for his determined
actions and first military success, but Baldwin feared that there was a destruction of the trust between ruler and ruled. It scared him.

Perhaps he should go to Parliament as Stapledon had suggested. There he might be able to show his peers how damaging the King’s actions were. It was a subject’s duty to show where the King was failing, surely.

He rubbed his temples. If only he could be back at Furnshill with his pregnant wife and their child. He was not made for great political intrigues and dealing with matters of such danger and importance.

‘Baldwin, it’s late. Perhaps you should go and rest,’ Simon said gently, sensing his mood.

Baldwin grinned quickly. ‘Do I look decrepit? No. I am fine. But this issue of the Frenchman is a problem. How can we resolve it, I wonder?’

His question was answered by a sudden pounding at the door.

The Coroner had left Sir Andrew shortly after identifying the corpse in the church, determined on an investigation of the little tavern out by the Tunstal road. As a lad, he had been there, he recalled, and got into a glorious fist-fight, during which he had knocked down two opponents. Now, standing in the little space, it was hard to imagine that he had truly been able to throw the first to the floor and pound the second three times in the nose before kicking his legs away and dropping onto his chest, driving out the air from his lungs in an almighty ‘whoosh’ that could be heard, so they said, at the other side of the road. Aye, happy days.

Now it looked too cramped to hold a cock-fight in. Sad how a man’s memory could play him false. He left that place and wandered on up the hill to look in at the Porpoise. Here he only had three pints of strong ale, on the basis that he ought to save a little room for some of the Bailiff’s wine. Simon was a generous man with his drink, even if he did suffer for his generosity afterwards. Still, that was hardly Sir Richard’s fault.

It was at the Porpoise that Rob found him.

‘Looking for me, eh? Fine. You want a drink while you’re here?’

Rob was well used to the drinks from this place, and he took a quart of their stronger ale. The Coroner watched him over the rim of his horn as the lad closed his eyes and tipped the jug back, slowly drinking the quart in one long draught.

‘You enjoy your ale.’

‘Always, sir.’

‘You’ll go far. A lad who drinks so firmly,’ Sir Richard said, standing and making his way to the door, ‘is a fellow of substance and determination. You must have both in life, lad. Remember that.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And when you’re Sheriff in charge of this whole county, remember me in your prayers for having told you how to make your fortune, eh?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And …’ Coroner Richard stopped. Along the street there were shouts and curses, while a small mob swung a bench at a door. ‘Good God in heaven, that’s the Bailiff’s door!’

The first battering had made Simon and Baldwin leap to their feet. They listened to the angry shouting and the clattering of weapons against the door, and then with one accord, they sprang out into the small passage that led to the front of the house. There they could see the door shaking, a timber working loose from its nail.

Simon had ordered that the door should be locked so that there was little chance of Pierre escaping by that route, and when Rob had left, the door had been firmly closed and barred behind him. Now it rattled under the determined pounding of weapons. A more solid crash declared that the men had found something substantial amongst the rubbish that littered the street, and Baldwin watched in silent dismay.

‘It must be Sir Andrew and his mob. We cannot hold the place against them,’ he murmured.

‘I am reluctant to free the Frenchman,’ Simon countered. ‘If Despenser heard, we’d have our necks stretched. Baldwin, I don’t like it, but for the sake of the King’s Peace and commonsense, preventing bloodshed, we’ll have to give him up to them.’

‘If we do, those fools will tear him apart,’ Baldwin said, grabbing Simon’s arm. ‘Listen to them! These are madmen baying like hounds. Think of the
Saint John
. These men may have killed the crew; they would have done the same in the haven today. In God’s name, I wouldn’t leave a ravening wolf in their company.’

‘Well, there’s no way out through the garden,’ Simon said. ‘And any escape simply means his capture is deferred. There is nowhere for him to hide, not if Despenser’s men are
all over the town. If we mean to save him, it’ll be at the sword’s point.’

Baldwin nodded. He motioned to the guard at the door, and then drew his sword. Glancing at his friend, he hesitated, and then put his arm about Simon’s shoulder and clapped it.

‘Open the door,’ he said quietly to the guard, and the man leaned forward and pulled the bar free. Immediately the door swung open, and three men almost fell inside, gaping at the swords held open in Simon and Baldwin’s fists.