‘It’s out just now, so to reach the boats you have to run along the mud.’
‘We cannot manage this,’ Hamund said. This was less an adventure, more of a nightmare.
‘There must be a way,’ Pierre said.
Hamund tentatively murmured, ‘Perhaps, if we crossed to Hardness and took a boat from there … we could row to the ship and avoid all the men waiting here.’ In his mind’s eye he saw the line of buildings as he rowed the ship over the smooth waters towards the Saint Denis. The mill’s great wheel, the line of little workshops and tradesmen’s sheds, the drying and salting trestles set out for the day’s catch … and then back.
Bill was saying, ‘If we try to cross over that bridge, they’ll see us for certain!’
‘Hamo the cooper showed me a way,’ Hamund said suddenly. ‘If we can get in there, we’ll be safe enough.’
Hamund led them along the street until he found the last alley. Taking them down this, he told them to wait for him. ‘I’ll have to get Hamo to open up the way and let us through.’
‘How do you know he’ll help?’ Alred demanded suspiciously. ‘If he’s got half a brain, he’ll turn us in and collect any bounty.’
‘His friend was the gaoler, Will. When I tell him that the gaoler’s murderer is the man who seeks Pierre’s death, he’ll help us.’
Hamund was convincing, but Bill pulled him aside before he left them.
‘In case they recognise you, friend, take this,’ he said, and pulled off his cowl and hood, setting them on Hamund’s shoulders. With that drawn over his head, he looked very different.
Once back down the alley to the shoreline, he made for the cooper’s works. Groups of sailors stared at him as he passed, but none recognised him, apparently, with his simple disguise.
‘Master?’
The cooper was tapping rings of steel down about the staves of a barrel, and he scarcely looked up as Hamund appeared.
‘Do you remember me from last night?’
Hamo peered under his hood and laughed. ‘The drowned rat, eh? What’re you doing back here?’
‘You know your friend who died?’
‘Will, aye. Poor sod.’
‘It was the man who killed him who seeks my death also, and that of my companion. Will you help us?’
‘It sounds like a dangerous sport, aiding you. What should I do that for?’
Quickly Hamund explained what he needed, and the cooper nodded slowly, but grimly. ‘If that’s all you want, I don’t see why I shouldn’t let you through to open up the yard’s gate. I could give you a lift too, if you wish. My boat is down below us.’
Hamund gasped out his thanks. This was more than he had hoped for – he’d imagined he would have to borrow a boat from a fisherman, but this would be much safer. After expressing his gratitude, he hurried through the cooperage, through the chamber at the rear, and into the yard. Throwing the gate wide, he looked up and down the alley. Seeing Alred at the corner, he whistled and beckoned, and soon the others were with him. They slipped through the gate, then made their way to the workshop.
Hamo was still knocking the hoop down over the barrel, but he looked up and nodded briefly as he saw the men.
‘Master Cooper, we owe you our thanks,’ Pierre said stiffly.
‘That’s good. Any enemy of the man who killed Will can’t be all bad.’ Hamo set down his hammer, pulled his leather apron from his neck, and jerked his head towards the waiting ship. ‘Reckon you want to be going, eh? I’d best help you.’
They set off to the flat pavement before his shop, then went down the slippery ladder to the shingle. Here Alred and his men left them as they trod, squelching, towards the boat. It was some way, and they must avoid the thicker pools of mud which oozed glutinously as they stepped in it. Suddenly, they heard a cry, then a long-drawn-out call, and Hamund threw a fearful look over his shoulder as he wondered what this meant. It was clear enough in a moment.
Alred, Law and Bill had been encircled by a group of sailors, and now Bill roared at the top of his voice: ‘Go! Run!’ before he was knocked to his knees.
Pierre grasped his sword and would have turned back, and while he stood undecided, Hamund felt as though his belly had fallen from his body, leaving only a terrible emptiness. All at once he could see Pierre running back, fighting alone against the host of sailors, falling under their knives and swords. And he would be alone again, without even this companion.
But then Hamo took Pierre’s arm. ‘Seems to me that if you go back there, you’ll die, friend. And that would make anything that happens to them pointless, wouldn’t it? I think you should come with me and get to safety.’
‘They are being taken! It is wrong for me to escape and leave them to be blamed for my offences!’
‘They’re taken already,’ Hamo said. ‘Won’t help much for them to be watching you get killed, will it?’
Pierre gave a short nod, and turned back to face the river. He began to trudge onwards.
Hamund blew out a breath of relief, feeling like a felon who’d been given a reprieve even as the rope tightened about his neck. The three dragged Hamo’s boat to the water and pushed it in a short way. Pierre stepped in, then Hamund, and finally Hamo pushed and climbed in at the same time. He took the oars, and was about to sit and begin rowing, when he stopped and stared over Hamund’s shoulder.
Looking in the same direction, Hamund felt as though his bowels would melt. ‘No!’
From near the great mill-wheel, two larger rowing boats were pushing off. In the front of the first Hamund could clearly see the long, flowing fair hair of Sir Andrew. He had a drawn sword in his hand, and he was waving it about his head like a hunter urging on his steed.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Stephen ran along behind them as Baldwin and Simon hurried down the hill. They reached the gaol in time to see Ivo closing the door after him.
‘What have you done, you fool?’ Baldwin roared, grasping the unfortunate man by the throat and forcing him back against the door he had just locked.
‘What? What do you mean?’
‘All the seamen, where are they?’
‘A man came, a man with the Despenser shield on his breast – he had orders for me to release them. What could I do against a letter like his? I’m only a sergeant, I’m not a man-of-law or anything. If I’m given an order from someone with authority, what else can I do?’
Baldwin threw him back, releasing him with disdain. ‘You repel me! Which way did they go?’
‘To the shore, I think.’
‘They’ve gone to head Pierre away from the ship,’ Simon breathed.
‘Yes. And now we must hurry there ourselves,’ Baldwin said. ‘You, Ivo le Bel, and you, Stephen, search the Porpoise and the other taverns and see whether you can find Coroner Sir Richard de Welles. Is that clear? Tell him what has happened here, and that we are to go to the shore instantly. We would be grateful for his support.’
‘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: ‘TURN YOUR BOATS AND COLLECT YOUR MASTER. LEAVE THAT BOAT ALONE. I ORDER YOU TO LEAVE IT, IN THE NAME OF THE KING!’
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.
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br /> 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.
The Death Ship of Dartmouth: (Knights Templar 21) Page 35