The Death Ship of Dartmouth: (Knights Templar 21) (49 page)

‘Very!’ Baldwin said, picking up his gloves and beginning to tug them on.

‘You are leaving? Will you not remain a little longer? We have much to talk about.’

‘No, I do not think we do, Walter. My lord Bishop, you are right to say that there is much danger today. And you have thrown me into the midst of it.’

‘Sir Baldwin, I do what I do for the good of the Realm. I am sorry if you think I deceived you, but I assure you, I never had any such intention.’

Baldwin faced him, and bowed. ‘I will take my leave, my lord.’

‘There is one last point. I suggested that you should be put forward to the next Parliament. I feel sure that you will be chosen.’

Baldwin screwed up his brow. ‘But there is no call for
Parliament yet, is there? The last was earlier this year.’

‘But when the summons comes, your name will be selected. It will be good for you, Sir Baldwin. And you and I can travel to the Parliament together.’

Baldwin nodded, took his leave, and went out to find his horse. The beast had been well cared for, and he had him resaddled and prepared. Mounted, he sat gazing about him at the mayhem all around.

It seemed to him that this rowdy place was like the kingdom. Noisy, messy, in many ways unmanageable: but when those who ran it bickered for power, all in this Close would be forced to choose sides, and then many must die.

He was profoundly sad as he rode out and along the road towards the great bridge. It was a sadness he could not dismiss no matter how hard he tried. He only hoped that his name would not grow too renowned. To be well known would mean being courted by the wealthy and powerful, and no matter to whom he gave his loyalty, the other would be his enemy.

It was impossible to protect a family when the Realm was at war.

Hamund and Pierre had reached Normandy after some days of travelling, Hamund gazing about him with some trepidation at this, his new land.

Their path would take them beyond Caen and out into the countryside, Pierre told him, and they must continue walking for another two or three days, so they rested in a tavern for an evening before preparing to set off the next morning.

Hamund was astonished by Caen. The bright yellow stones were beautifully carved and created marvellous, airy buildings that seemed to float over the great city. Even the taverns and inns seemed exotic and wonderful. He spent the whole of the first afternoon in France gaping at the architecture.

‘You will be happy at my home, I hope,’ Pierre said. ‘You will need to learn the language of my people, but that should not take long. It is so much easier than your own.’

‘I’m glad of it,’ Hamund said. He was sipping at a French beer that tasted very bitter to him. He wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be like that, but from the way that the Frenchman drank his own off happily, Hamund assumed it was all right. He sipped a little more.

‘We are safe now,’ Pierre said. He spoke in a soft voice, thinking back to his lovely woman. Living with her would have been more dangerous, but there would have been compensations.

Hamund nodded, but dolefully. ‘I can never go back, though. I’m exiled.’

‘Hamund Chugge may never return to his home, no. But
you
may,’ Pierre said.

‘Any man may kill me if I go back.’

‘I think you will find that everyone thinks you are dead. When you swam from Andrew’s body, everyone assumed you had drowned. They thought that on the ship, and I am sure they will have thought that on the boats, and on shore too.’

‘I only dived down so no one would attack me with an arrow or something,’ Hamund said.

‘Do you not see? You were out of view as you swam about the ship and climbed up the far side. All there will have declared you dead. You are safe now, my friend,’ Pierre said.

Hamund blinked. It was not something he had considered. ‘Well, no matter. I think I’m safer here. Even if it is sad to think of her I left behind.’

‘Yes. I understand your sadness,’ Pierre said. He drank some more beer. ‘My own life is easier because of your action, though. When you killed my mortal enemy.’

‘He was an evil devil. I could not let him take you,’ Hamund said stoutly.

‘He would have killed me. I think he did not look at you, so he never saw his danger,’ Pierre said.

‘He must have hated you to chase you to Dartmouth.’

‘Yes, he hated me,’ Pierre agreed. He said no more, but in his mind’s eye he saw her again: Sir Andrew’s beautiful wife Jeanne. The woman Pierre had loved for so long. He sighed. ‘Come, let us finish our drinks and rest. Tomorrow we set off at first light. It is still a long walk to my home.’

Hawley looked about him on the jetty as he waited for his rowing boat to arrive. It was a grey October morning, and a fine mizzle was blowing straight in from the sea – a thin spray that would make all damp in a short time with this wind behind it.

Hearing steps, he glanced over his shoulder. ‘Master Beauley! How goes it?’

‘Not bad. I have just ordered a new hull to be laid. I hope before long I shall rise even to your level, master. Perhaps I shall have as many ships as poor Paul Pyckard, but with larger tunnage.’

Hawley smiled without humour. ‘Best be careful you don’t have any fires aboard ship, then. We wouldn’t want any accidents, would we?’

‘Don’t you worry about me, Master Hawley. I feel sure I’ll be safe enough.’

‘I do hope so,’ Hawley said. ‘It would be very sad to know that you had failed to expand as you wished. I am glad to hear you are laying a new hull, though. I was thinking of doing that myself. Perhaps I won’t bother. There won’t be enough men here in Dartmouth to crew all these ships, will there?’

Beauley bared his teeth in what might have been a smile.

Hawley looked up. ‘Ha! Here’s my boat.’

The little rowing boat approached from the south, and in the prow stood Hawley’s son.

‘Father, I’ve brought him as you asked.’

‘Master Pyket! I am glad to see you here,’ Hawley said, reaching down to help Henry Pyket up from the boat. ‘You know my friend Beauley, I think?’

‘Of course we know each other,’ Beauley said. ‘He’s building me a ship.’

‘Is he?’ John Hawley said innocently. ‘Why, Henry, I didn’t know you had the capacity for two ships at the same time.’

Pyket frowned. ‘I haven’t. I’ve just got the one on the go right now, master.’

‘You hadn’t forgotten
my
commission?’

‘Of course not!’ Henry said emphatically, wondering what commission that was. Perhaps Master Hawley wanted an older cog docked and careened. Some of his ships were ancient enough.

‘Good. So you can begin to proceed soon?’

Henry shot a look from him to Beauley. ‘Ah … um.’

‘You’re building my ship first, aren’t you?’ Beauley demanded, getting nettled. He shifted his stance to face Hawley more directly, his hands near his belt. ‘Henry, you have agreed to build my ship next.’

‘I see – there’s been some sort of misunderstanding,’ Hawley said easily. ‘I had asked Henry a while ago to build me a new ship. The plans are agreed. Perhaps he didn’t realise that the commission was to begin as soon as possible.’

Henry felt both pairs of eyes on him as he fidgeted uneasily. ‘I … er.’

‘So that’s agreed, then,’ Hawley said.

‘No!’ Beauley stated. ‘He’s building my ship first,
Master
Hawley. I ordered it and he accepted the commission.’

‘No, he’ll build
my
ship first,’ Hawley said. He snapped his fingers, and three of his men appeared from the alley at their side. ‘I am the most successful merchant in Dartmouth, and I
will
remain in that position.’

Moses stood at the entrance to his brother’s cottage and watched as the children played in the garden. It was cool here in the early October breeze, but the sun gave a spurious feeling of warmth. He was aware of a vague feeling of returning ease. Ever since Danny’s death, and then the death of his master, he had been tortured with a sense of loss. He had known nothing like it since first his mother, then his father died and orphaned Danny and him. For many years, the only meaning to his life had come from his service to the man who had saved them both.

He heard steps behind him, and turned as Alice walked to the turf seat in the wall. She sat listlessly, staring past him to the Dart as it flowed down to the sea.

‘How are you, Alice?’ he asked gently.

‘I’m alive,’ she said without humour. ‘If this is life.’

Moses nodded. He rose and walked inside to warm some ale for her, as he had done every morning at about this hour for the last few days since the Bailiff, Keeper and Coroner had questioned him and killed Adam.

He could still scarcely believe the revelations about
Adam. He had been such an easygoing fellow, so far as Moses had known. There were no other accusations of rape in the town that he knew of. Perhaps it was just the act of a man who was desperate and lonely while on ship?

But that was no excuse. The man had known that Mistress Amandine was his own master’s woman. The idea that he should take her was obscene, the worst form of treachery. And then he had accused two others of the crime
he
had committed and executed them. And also killed poor Danny to silence him – Danny, his own brother-in-law. It beggared belief. Perhaps if he had needed to, he would have killed Alice too. And her children.

The thought was enough to loosen a man’s grip on his sanity.

At least Master Pyckard had not known he was wrong as he died. He had thought he had so arranged matters that the men responsible for the rape and murder of the woman he adored had finally paid for their crimes – when all he actually managed to do was to help protect the guilty man.

He took the pot of ale out to Alice and stood beside her while she sipped the warm brew. She was thin, terribly thin, but he was ensuring that she ate and drank enough to keep body and soul together. He had been well trained in that during the last weeks of his master’s life.

She finished the drink and without looking up, passed him the pot. He took it, and as he did so, their fingers touched. Only for a moment, and then the contact was broken, but when he turned to go inside, he heard a sob, and stopped. Her hand grabbed for his belt and she pulled him to her, and for the first time since Adam’s death, Moses heard
her weep for her brother and husband as she clung to him.

He had the pot in one hand, and the other hovered over her back and head – she was his brother’s widow, in Christ’s name – and then he crouched at her side and put his arms around her.

And from that day, she began to improve.

Rob was happy enough to go and watch the ships at every opportunity when his master would let him, or when Simon was away and he could spend his time more as he wanted. The sea held a particular fascination for him, and he liked to come to the jetty and watch the lighters rowing out to the great vessels in the haven.

It appealed to him, the idea of floating away from here, the sails filled with the wind, men sitting and lazing in the sun as the boat did all the work. Oh, yes. Rob knew all about sailing. The only hard work was when you arrived in a port and had to get the ship emptied and refilled with all the goods, but apart from that, all the work was easy. You sailed during the day, and when it grew dark, you stopped and slept. A sailor’s life was a good one, so far as Rob could see.

Of course there were some, like that old woman Stephen, who tried to warn him that ships were filled with men who had unhealthy interests in young boys, but Rob knew that was rubbish. He had a little knife in a sheath about his neck anyway, and if some matelot tried anything nasty, he’d soon see the filthy sod off. He wasn’t scared of anyone. Bailiff Puttock had also told him not to get involved in the sea, but that was just because the big lummock got seasick stepping
over a puddle. Hopeless. No, it was the sea for Rob. Without a doubt the best way for him to earn a living.

One morning, he had had enough. He had risen as early as he could, and it wasn’t his fault that he was a little late to his master’s house. With all the complaints, you’d have thought he never bothered to turn up at all. He lit the fire immediately he got in, anyway, and that was all he was supposed to do. Light the fire, get some water heating, and warm up some food if there was anything. Well, there wasn’t that morning. He couldn’t help it, he had forgotten to buy anything the night before. He’d been on his way to the baker’s shop when an older seaman had offered to buy him an ale in the Porpoise, and he’d left there much later feeling a little wobbly.

But the Bailiff didn’t accept any of his reasons for the lateness of his start, and to be honest, Rob didn’t give a clipped ha’penny. Not now. He had friends on a ship, and he was going to go out and join them. He’d bet there was a place on a ship for him: all he had to do was ask. He was strong and fit. It’d be a piece of piss.

It took him only a little time to find his friend from the night before. The man was a great barrel-chested, black-haired giant with one eye and a mouth devoid of teeth on one side, where another man had hit him with a stool in a brawl.

‘I want to be a sailor,’ Rob told him eagerly.

The men with the giant looked rather taken aback. One laughed, but two others eyed him speculatively. The giant bent down and peered at him more closely with his single eye. ‘Why?’ he asked simply.

‘Because I don’t want to have to work so hard. I have to
get up with the dawn now, and clean the house all day, and cook …’

He trailed off as all the men began to laugh.

One asked, ‘Do you get to sleep through the night?’

‘Do you get thrown out into the rain when the weather’s bad?’

‘Have you ever been whipped with a leather belt for being slow to run up a rope?’

Rob looked from one to the other, then back to the giant. ‘I want to be a sailor,’ he repeated.

‘You do?’ The giant took him by the shoulder. They were not far from the Ropery, a long building in which the hempen strands were twisted and joined to create long cables. Outside was a tall flagpole as advertisement. A long rope dangled from the top, thirty feet overhead. ‘Climb that.’