‘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.’
Chapter Thirty-Three
‘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.’
‘Ivo won’t do that. Poor sod’s acting gaoler now, since old Widdecombe Will got killed last night. Sir Andrew did that himself, so they say.’
‘No!’
Bill nodded dourly. ‘Stabbed him slowly. He likes killing, that bastard.’
‘So is Pierre still at the house?’
‘I reckon he’s hiding somewhere.’
Alred smiled brightly. ‘Good. So in that case, there’s nothing more to be said. The man’s safe enough for now, and while he’s in his sanctuary, wherever it is, we can finish the road here.’
Bill nodded. Law scowled.
‘What are we?’ Alred asked.
‘Paviours,’ Law muttered. Bill was silent.
‘What are we?’ Alred repeated, turning his ear as though deaf.
‘Paviours,’ Law said. Bill murmured the word condescendingly.
‘I said, What are we?’
‘Bloody paviours, you arse,’ Bill snapped. ‘Now stop this daftness and let’s get to work, eh?’
Stephen hurried back to his place of work, still feeling guilty for snapping at the Bailiff. The poor man must have been in quite some pain from the look of his brow. Terrible business. And the gaoler dead! Poor Will didn’t deserve that.
He was scarcely heeding where he was going, when he saw her again. There at the end of the alley was Danny’s widow, talking to a man. Oh yes, there were lines of worry and sadness on her face, but for all that she was as animated as a maid with her first lover as she expostulated with this man.
His back was to Stephen, but then the clerk felt a devil tempt him, and he turned back to the alley, pushing past her with a muttered apology. The man stood aside, and for an instant Stephen saw him. It was the same man who had made Peter Strete stop and frown the other evening. His face was as square as he recalled, and the line of his jaw was prominent, uncovered as it was by any beard. It had a pale look, as though it was only recently shaved after a long time.
Stephen nodded to him and continued on his way. The man was familiar, but why?
Hamund and Pierre left the little garden by springing over the wall into the foul lane beyond, and thence hurried northwards towards the alley that led down to the waterside.
Pierre suddenly tugged Hamund back, and for a second the older man thought he was pulling rank on him, as though a lowly abjuror and peasant was not significant enough to be permitted to lead the way before a noble knight … but then he saw Pierre put his finger to his lips and peer cautiously around the corner.
‘Two men down near the shore,’ he whispered. ‘We cannot get past them without raising the alarm.’
Hamund nodded. They could not fight their way through this. If they did, they must be captured when the Hue and Cry was raised against them.
Pierre eyed him, then breathed, ‘Viens, mon ami! With me, friend, quickly!’
Hamund saw him dart out and lean against the wall of a house as though overcome with tiredness. Hamund joined him, and Pierre put his arm about the other man’s shoulder, singing a saucy tavern-song in a deep voice. Hamund joined in with the chorus about the tapster’s daughter, and the two sang their way up the alleyway, staggering from side to side and out into the lane.
Once there, Pierre stopped singing, and peered back along the alley. ‘We are safe, I think. They were too dull-witted to consider that we could be the men they seek. Now we must go this way, perhaps. The ship is there? Yes.’
It looked so near. Yet it was such a distance out in the river. Hamund felt his hopes failing. ‘Can we swim to her?’
‘I cannot swim,’ Pierre confessed. ‘I never had the skill.’
Hamund frowned. ‘Then what can we do?’
‘I have an idea!’ Pierre was staring down at where the paviours were shovelling gravel into a hole. ‘Come!’
Pattering along, Hamund had the feeling that he was being led on an adventure. He felt like a squire to a great knight who was showing his quality by hunting a dragon or rescuing a woman from unimaginable dangers. At any moment he might be confronted by a great beast … No. This was enough of an adventure without thinking of mysterious animals. For the first time in his life, he was truly living, and it was all thanks to this man with him, Sieur Pierre de Caen. He hurried to catch up as the Frenchman reached the paviours at their task.
‘My friends. You helped me yesterday, and I am most grateful to you for that.’
‘What are you doing here?’ Law demanded.
Bill gave a wry smile. ‘Thought you were safe.’
‘We would be, except …’
‘We heard,’ Bill acknowledged.
‘No! I will not have this!’ Alred expostulated. ‘We cannot risk ourselves on your behalf, sir. No! You must go before someone sees you here.’
‘I would be very grateful if you could help us again.’
‘Didn’t you hear me?’
‘What do you want?’ Law asked.
‘Law, I said—’
‘Al, shut up, all right?’ Bill said wearily. ‘You know what I did before. This helps me feel that I’m making some sort of compensation for that man. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to join in, but if I can save this man’s life, it’s worth it.’
‘Go ahead, then!’ Alred exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. ‘Don’t worry about me or this contract, will you? You don’t know this man, nor what he’s done – nothing! But you’ll drop me in it, won’t you. Fine. Just go, then!’
‘Sorry, Al,’ Bill muttered.
‘Wait!’
Flushed and angry, Alred followed them. He stood before the Frenchman and stared angrily at him, hands on his hips, head jutting truculently. ‘I hope you’re proud of yourself, that’s all I can say. Just for you, the people of Dartmouth are going to have to wait longer for their road to be mended. Hah! Well? What are you waiting for?’
Baldwin poured himself some wine. ‘So the crew will soon be released?’
‘Yes. But their ship will have some problems being prepared for sea, I think.’
‘Let us hope that it will be enough. I would not have the man arrested and then executed. I think I was misled about him. By Walter.’
‘For my part, I know he saved my life. I do not care what another says of him, I would not see him harmed. I don’t understand Walter’s part in all this, though.’
‘Nor I,’ Baldwin said. He looked up as a knock came at the door.
Simon shouted, ‘Yes!’
Stephen pushed the door wide, and entered anxiously. ‘Bailiff, the men in the gaol … they are gone!’
Even as he asked, ‘How can they be?’ Simon was rising and grabbing for his sword.
‘I heard that they had a messenger, a man with the Despenser’s shield on his breast. He asked where the gaol was, and went straight there. He showed Ivo a parchment that demanded their immediate freedom, and the sergeant let them loose. He had no choice!’
Baldwin clenched his jaw. ‘Come, Simon. We have to make sure that our friends are not molested.’
The way to the shingle was barred. Law went first, on his own. He had tried an alleyway, and could get to the shore itself, but once there he found his way blocked by sailors. They looked him up and down and decided he was not worth their bother, but everywhere he looked, he saw more men lounging, watching the roads with care.
‘I can see no way past them,’ he reported back to the other four.
‘Even if we could slip past, they would soon catch us on the shore,’ Hamund said. He had a vague memory of the beach in his mind. ‘How is the tide, Master Lawrence?’
The Death Ship of Dartmouth: (Knights Templar 21) Page 34