‘You don’t know?’ Pierre smiled drily. ‘I had thought that the dishonourable Sir Andrew would have told you. She is the Queen. My lady is Queen Isabella.’
Hawley stared at him. It was one thing to upset a local magnate, but he had probably offended the Queen herself, if this man was telling the truth. ‘Oh, shit!’
Alred left the tavern feeling considerably happier than he had on his way in. Those blasted fools! Bill should know better than to upset Law. The lad was only young. It served no useful purpose to get him all annoyed. Sweet heaven, if they didn’t keep sensible they’d never complete this damned roadway, and then where would they be? He needed the money in his pocket as soon as possible so he could go and leave this forsaken collection of hovels.
He didn’t know why, but sailors made him nervous, and living here for so long amongst so many was making him even more twitchy than the lateness of the project. The threat of violence, which had seemed merely latent when he first arrived here, appeared now to be all too specific: everyone hated him.
Perhaps he was just superstitious, but he didn’t think so. The paver was a mild-mannered man, and the idea that he might be living in a place where violence was part of daily living, was appalling. The sailors of this place cared only for other sailors. They didn’t give a damn for other men. Hah! They’d soon notice if there weren’t paviours about the place, though. Without his roads, they’d be stuck. They might be able to sail off around the coast, but they’d not be able to get fish and cargoes loaded on carts. Not that many did, he told himself. They were lucky to have a packhorse to carry their wares to the local community. Oh, the devil take it. He was wasting his time here. They didn’t care, and they didn’t need him.
He was just reaching this grim conclusion when he heard a door open, grating on the rough ground, and a man walked past him to the rough bar set in the corner of the room, and asked for a strong ale.
Alred had seen him before. This was the man who had been in this same tavern only a few days ago, talking and laughing with his companions. It was just before Alred and the other two had gone out and saved the man from the fellow who’d meant to knock him down. Only they’d apparently hit the wrong bloke. You just couldn’t do right for doing wrong in this life.
The man drained a horn of ale while Alred watched, and then walked slowly from the inn. For some reason, his attitude spoke to Alred entirely of despair. It quite destroyed any remaining pleasure in being there in the tavern, and Alred stood and made his way to the twilight outside. There were the smells of suppertime now: fish stews and pottages lending their wholesome scents to the evening air, and he snuffed them for a moment or two before making his way back to the storage shed he shared with the others, wondering how much longer they must all remain here. Tomorrow he would make sure that they got that section of road finished so that they could get away from here.
He set off up the lane, and as he walked he passed by the pale-featured man from the gambling room. ‘Evening,’ he called.
The man leaped as though shot by a sling.
Alred eyed him askance and said no more. Someone that jumpy was plainly not in his right mind, and he didn’t wish to be attacked by a lunatic.
‘Sir, please, tell us your tale,’ Baldwin requested.
‘My story is not long,’ Pierre said. He had been passed a towel by Simon, and he dabbed gingerly at the bruise on his skull. ‘Who did this? I have grown a goose-egg on my brow!’
Hawley smiled. It was not his concern if a felon was knocked down. ‘My apologies. My men were perhaps overkeen to obey my command, friend. They sought to restrain someone we had felt was a wild and uncontrollable criminal, driven by his humours to attack and ravish a lady.’
‘Well, I am no such thing. I am Pierre de Caen, as I say. I was the son of Philippe de Caen, and a loyal servant of the French king. I came to the notice of my Lady Isabella when she visited her father in France, and I was not loath to come and see this country.
‘My Lady Isabella is a lovely lady. She is honourable and devoted to her husband,’ he said, his eyes on the ground before him. ‘She wishes only to serve him. I was in her service for nine years. However, in that time I began to grow enamoured of a lady. It hurts me to tell you this, but I was so stricken with desire for this lady that I began to pine for love, and to cut my tale short, I decided that I could not remain at the side of my Lady Isabella. My health must suffer and my joy in service must fade. So I asked her if I could serve her in some other capacity, and she graciously permitted me to leave her household in England and travel to France once more.’
‘What will you do there?’ Baldwin asked.
‘Remember the woman I loved, and hope to be deserving of honour. I shall seek trials of combat at every opportunity and hope that my example may serve to inspire others. I will not be able to marry. I have lost the only woman who could ever have filled the hole in my heart.’
‘Did you murder a man here when you arrived?’
‘You mean the man in the hole in the road? No. When I reached this town, I found myself lost. I sought my brother-in-law’s house, but it was so long ago that I was last here, that it was impossible. Instead I went to an inn for the night, deeming it better that I should seek his home in the morning. As it happened, while I was in this place, I realised I was being watched. There was a dullard there, a short, grizzled, rather foolish old sailor, who sought to keep me watched. It was plain what was on his mind. So I slipped out to the back, pretending to seek a bed for the night, and when he followed me, I was determined to strike him down.’
‘Kill him?’ Simon asked.
‘No. Just break his head to keep him away from me while I decided what to do.’
‘What happened then?’
‘Some friends had seen this man follow me, and they believed he was about to murder me for my purse. They knocked him down for me and let me escape.’
‘Who were these charitable men?’ Baldwin enquired.
‘I will not name them. They were kind to a stranger. What good would it serve me to have them punished for saving me?’
Simon grunted, ‘It might just save you from arrest and a period in gaol.’
‘It is a risk I can afford. So I ran from the inn, and went up to the top roadway, where I came upon the hole in the road. There I was accosted by a man with a knife. I thought I was about to die, but it was not my enemy from earlier, but my brother-in-law himself.’
Simon looked up and peered at Pierre keenly. ‘You say Master Pyckard was out in the roadway?’
‘Yes. I had sent a message to him when I arrived in Dartmouth, and he was looking for me.’
Simon shot a look at Baldwin. ‘This sounds unlikely. Master Pyckard is dead, as you know, and the day after Pierre’s arrival, I saw him. He looked dreadful. I’d be surprised if he could have made it to the inn – he found it hard enough to get to his own door when I visited him.’
‘I swear it is true. You may ask his servant, Moses. He was there, and he saw me with his master.’
Baldwin nodded slowly, his chin cupped in his hand. ‘I have known men to have the most appalling illnesses or wounds, and yet be able to go and fight. The reaction hits them all the harder afterwards, but they do not know that at the time. Perhaps, Simon, this man Pyckard did go to the tavern as our friend here asserts, but was then brought down severely as a result. I should enquire of his servant, certainly. Please, continue.’
‘There is not much more to relate,’ Pierre said. He described how he had returned to Pyckard’s house, how Moses had fed him and then taken him to the old stable and hayloft, where he stayed until told of his passage on the next ship of Pyckard’s to set sail. ‘I would have left on that ship this morning, but when the crew heard of their master’s death, all wished to drink his health and attend his funeral. They all came to the shore, and it took little money to persuade a man to bring me and my companion to visit the church.’
‘You are being sought by this knight Sir Andrew de Limpsfiel
d,’ Baldwin said. ‘Who is he to you?’
Pierre’s face paled, but not from fear. ‘He is my most mortal enemy! He seeks my destruction.’
‘He asserts that you …’
‘I know the lies he has spread about me. They are all untrue. I am no felon, and I would like to force him to take back his foul allegation at the point of my sword!’
‘No doubt. In the meantime, he accuses you of spying and taking letters to France to aid our enemies,’ Baldwin pressed.
‘It is a lie. Who are these letters from, hey?’
‘He does have authority on his side. He can force us to give you to him, if he commands it,’ Baldwin said.
‘Do not give me to him! He is a vassal of Lord Despenser!’
Simon and Baldwin glanced at each other. There was no need for them to speak: each knew the other’s mind. While Baldwin detested the man for the stories which were circulating about Despenser’s brutality and avariciousness, he was not yet a traitor, and no matter what a man said about Despenser, he was still the King’s advisor. Baldwin’s sense of honour would not allow him to openly flout the King’s will. He had a family to think of.
Simon had a subtly different view. In his world, Lord Hugh de Courtenay was his liege-lord. It was that simple. Lord Hugh had not broken from Despenser and the King, so Simon was unwilling to risk supporting any man against the King.
‘If you are against my Lord Despenser …’ Simon began, but Pierre cut him off.
‘I am a loyal servant of my Lady Isabella, your Queen. And she is being sorely tried by this man Despenser. He has refused to pay her the money he owes her for the farm of Bristol, for example, and denies owing arrears. They have taken her castles and brought her to low poverty. If you give me to him, you will see me dead, and my lady the Queen brought lower. Can you do thus to your Queen?’
‘If she’s in such a terrible state, why isn’t her husband doing anything about it?’ Simon asked cynically.
‘He can do nothing against the Despenser,’ Pierre stated. It was true. The King was so infatuated with his lover, he could see nothing wrong in any action the man took. Despenser stole, ransomed and tortured at will; he was Edward’s favourite and could do no wrong.
Pierre looked about him at the faces in the room. The knight Baldwin sat studying him from dark and serious eyes; his companion the Bailiff was less analytical and more sympathetic to his position; the shipmaster was scowling with concentration, making sure that no snippet of potentially useful information passed him by.
Baldwin sniffed, sitting back at last. ‘Well, my friend, I feel anxious for you, but I’m equally convinced that we have to do our duty. I am afraid that you must be held until we hear from Sir Andrew about what he would have us do.’
‘If you give me to him, you will give me over to my execution,’ Pierre said with finality.
‘If we don’t, we may be signing our own death warrants,’ Hawley pointed out. He stood. ‘You want me to take him to the gaol now?’
‘No. He will be safe here,’ Baldwin said. ‘We have servants and guards enough.’
‘If you are sure.’
‘Wait, Master Hawley,’ Baldwin said. ‘Perhaps you could just ease my mind on a couple of other points? I believe you were not alone in being at sea on the day you found the cog burning. Is that correct?’
‘Yes. I think all the ships were at sea. Mine, Kena’s and Beauley’s. Why?’
‘I am merely trying to understand what may have happened to the unfortunate crew on that ship.’
‘Do you think one of them killed the crew and fired the ship?’ Hawley demanded, and chuckled to himself. ‘I promise you, any of us would have made a more seamanlike end to the Saint John.’
‘Yes. That is fine. I know that,’ Baldwin said.
‘So why ask about them, then?’
‘Because it interests me. The idea that the cog could be taken and all her men killed with such ease, that seems most odd. The fact that the men all disappeared is also strange, as is the matter of the cargo.’
‘It was all there.’
‘Precisely.’
Hawley eyed him for a few moments, and then shrugged. He turned to Simon. ‘I’ll take my leave, Keeper. Let me know if there’s anything more you need from me.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Gil stood on the Saint Denis with his legs braced and took a long swig from a jug of wine. ‘We will set sails in the morning,’ he declared. ‘If we hang about any longer, we’ll miss the market.’
‘Good,’ Moses said. ‘It’s for the best.’
‘What of the Frenchman?’ Hamund asked.
Moses turned to the abjuror and looked him up and down with slow deliberation. ‘You are a sailor for this trip, friend. Do not test our patience, or you will remain here. Do you want that?’
‘No, but our master wanted him taken to France, didn’t he? Wasn’t it one of his dying wishes? And now you’re proposing to leave him here.’
‘He has been arrested. What do you expect us to do?’
‘The men took him from this ship with someone’s agreement! Who allowed them aboard?’
Gil controlled his temper with difficulty. ‘I would shut up now while you still have your teeth, sailor. Now get off my deck!’
Hamund sniffed, wiped his nose, and walked away. There was no point in continuing this argument, but as he stood and glanced about him, he was reminded of the story of the death ship’s arrival in the haven. Others had spoken of it at length in the tavern while Gil was trying to find more crew-members, and the tale of the poor man who’d been grasped by the cold, dead hand of the corpse in the hold had mesmerised all who heard it. The man had all but died of terror, apparently, and his hair had turned white on the spot. True!
Less inclined to believe the stories of ghosts than most of the others, Hamund was sure of one thing as he stood there on the deck, and that was that there were plenty of opportunities for a new sailor like himself to fall overboard on the voyage to France. Perhaps he should be silent. The man Pierre was not worth dying for.
He found a quiet corner near an immense coil of thick rope, and settled dejectedly beside it. In all the time since he had left Mistress Sarra and come down here, only one man, Pierre himself, had spoken to him kindly. Gil had been generous enough while he wanted sailors, but now Hamund was gaining the impression that his kindness and courtesy would last only as long as the shore was visible from his deck. No, it was only Pierre who had been good to him for his own sake. Perhaps it was because the two of them were all alone and despised by everyone else, one because he was a confessed murderer and abjurer, the other because he was thought to be a rapist. Despite knowing of his crime, the Frenchman had offered to help Hamund start a new life. That counted for a lot.
‘What can I do to help him?’ Hamund muttered dismally. He gazed back towards the shore. Torches flickered, and the water reflected the pin-pricks of yellow light. The cooper was working still, his braziers lighting the front of his shop.
An idea began to come to Hamund, gradually at first, but then with more force.
‘Leave us,’ Baldwin said to the man at the door. The latter looked to Simon for confirmation, and the Bailiff nodded.
‘We are in no danger from this fellow.’
When they were alone, Baldwin drew up a stool in front of Pierre. ‘Now tell us the truth, fellow. If you do, it may help me to see how to aid you as well.’
‘What, you would deny me to the Despenser? You would stand in his way when his man Sir Andrew came to demand me?’ Pierre said doubtfully.
‘For my part I have no wish to see another man destroyed in Lord Despenser’s search for personal aggrandisement. What of you, Simon?’
Simon stood and leaned against the wall near the window. ‘I am a servant of the King, but I despise all I’ve heard of Despenser. If you tell us the truth, we may be able to find a means of evading him.’
‘What do you wish to know?’
‘First, I want your assur
ance that you are not seeking to aid the French king against our nation.’
‘How could I?’
‘A spy can help in many ways. You are as aware of that as I am,’ Baldwin said sternly. ‘Now: do you seek to bring about the end of the realm?’
Pierre gazed at him unwaveringly. The knight had intense, dark eyes, and Pierre found them unsettling. It was as though he could pierce a man’s breast and read what was written on his heart. Pierre considered for a long moment, then nodded. ‘I will tell the truth. I have nothing to lose. If you sell me to Despenser, I am dead. There is nothing I can do to save myself. I do not seek the end of England. I serve my lady, your Queen. All I can do to protect and serve her, I will.’
‘That does not mean you will protect the King,’ Simon observed.
‘No. Nor Despenser. You know he demanded that Queen Isabella should swear to live or die with him? He wanted her to swear this!’
‘I believe there is no friendship between the two,’ Baldwin said diplomatically.
‘None! She hates him …’ Pierre was quiet for a short while, then, ‘It is said in the court that he and the King …’
‘That is rumoured through the whole country,’ Simon said shortly.
‘It is also said that Despenser has raped her,’ Pierre said.
Baldwin and Simon were instantly still.
The knight was first to recover. ‘Are you sure? It is a very serious charge to lay against any.’
Pierre shrugged, but his mouth was tight. ‘If you had seen how she reacts to the man, how she recoils when he draws near her, you would not doubt my word. I have no proof, sir, but I think that she was attacked by this man, and that her husband did not care and did not stop it. I am sad to have to say this, because it is a shameful thing to confess that I could know such a thing had happened to my mistress and be unable to prevent it or protect her, but what can one man like me do against a magnate like Despenser? There is nothing!’
‘I am shocked,’ Baldwin whispered. ‘Surely even Despenser would not dare to lay hands on her …’
The Death Ship of Dartmouth: (Knights Templar 21) Page 28