The Death Ship of Dartmouth: (Knights Templar 21) Read online

  ‘We don’t want anyone taking her, do we?’

  ‘Like the men at Lyme, you mean?’ Hawley said with a cynical lift of his eyebrow. ‘I don’t think there’s any risk of that. Do you?’

  ‘No, sir.’ He bowed and walked from the room.

  As his servant disappeared into the screens passage, Hawley glanced down at his cash boxes. Strete had no money of his own he reminded himself. All he had was what Hawley gave him. If he was losing money in gambling, he must have found a source of cash.

  ‘Have you robbed me, old friend?’ Hawley murmured aloud. ‘Because if you have, I swear you’ll regret every penny!’

  Chapter Nine

  The arrival of the Coroner late that afternoon spelled the end of Simon’s concentration for the day.

  ‘You Puttock?’ he boomed as he walked into Simon’s hall, and the Bailiff looked up with irritation from the numbers he and Stephen were so carefully trying to add up.

  To Simon, the Roman numerals only made sense when they had been added and the total was already inserted at the bottom of his rolls. Just now, looking at the long list of pounds, shillings and pence, his head was spinning. He could hardly read the difference between one pound and ten on a tally-stick, his eyes were so tired. His response was abrupt.

  ‘I am Simon Puttock, Keeper of this Port. Who are you?’

  The man who had entered stood with his legs set widely apart and gazed about him with an apparently approving expression on his face. He was tall, at least six foot one, and had an almost entirely round face, with a thick bush of beard that overhung his chest like a heavy gorget. His eyes were dark brown and shrewd, beneath a broad and tall brow. His face was criss-crossed with wrinkles, making him appear perhaps a little older than he really was, but Simon was sure he had to be at least fifty. His flesh had the toughened look of well-cured leather that only a man who has spent much of his life in the open air would acquire.

  ‘Me?’ The stranger’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘Don’t ye know me? I’m Sir Richard de Welles. Coroner.’

  His clothing would once have been valuable. A good soft tunic and velvet cote-hardie in red had both faded with the years, and now looked scruffy and over-worn. He had leather bracelets at his wrists, and his leather sword-belt was good quality, but for all that, he reminded Simon of his friend Baldwin. There was another man who rarely took any care over his appearance.

  Simon swallowed back his annoyance and stood more civilly. ‘Ah, Sir Richard, I am glad to meet you. There is much for you to do.’

  ‘So I heard!’ the Coroner said. Simon was sure that the ships on the other side of the estuary could hear every word. ‘First, though, I’d appreciate a drink. It’s been a long, hard ride to get here today. Where’s the best inn in the town? Come on, man. You can show me the way, can’t you?’

  Simon felt his hackles rise. ‘I happen to be very busy. There are figures here which need to be checked.’

  The Coroner looked at him, then glanced at Stephen. ‘What’s he supposed to do, then?’

  ‘He is my clerk.’

  ‘So let him clerk. You’re the Keeper. You can keep me company! Ha! Come on!’

  Somewhat to his surprise, Simon found himself outside his hall and in the street while the Coroner maintained a steady, loud monologue. ‘Look at the state of that house there. I remember when it was owned by the richest man in the town. Wouldn’t keep me dogs in it now. Looks like someone’s been having a piss up all the walls. Ha! Remember this place well enough. Used to have a maid there who’d look after any man who could afford to buy her a gallon of ale. Ha! Trouble was, by the time she was frisky, you’d had enough to melt your tarse. Still had the ability! Oh, Christ’s bones in a basket, I remember that house. It was where—’

  ‘You seem to know this town remarkably well for one who is so new to it,’ Simon observed acidly.

  ‘Well, I’m hardly new, you see. When I was a youngster, I was trained in arms, riding, hunting, drinking and fornication in this very town! Ha! In those days we had more fun, believe you me! We’d fight often enough when the King told us, but there was little of this modern garbage where you’re expected to change allegiances depending on who your lord and master thinks might be important at the turn of the moon. We had something called loyalty. HOI!’

  The object of his shout was a youth who stood at the street corner up ahead of them. A maid had flinched as she passed him, and it was clear enough that the lad had offered her an insult.

  ‘What?’

  Simon vaguely recognised him. He was an apprentice from one of the smiths down near the water’s edge.

  ‘What’s your name?’ asked Sir Richard.

  ‘I’m Humphrey. Why, what’s it to you?’

  ‘I’m the Coroner, lad, that’s why. If I see you molesting another woman while I’m here, I’ll have you arrested and sent to Exeter gaol.’

  ‘I didn’t touch her!’ the apprentice declared hotly.

  By now Simon and the Coroner were level with him, and Simon could sense the fellow’s sudden trepidation as the big man leaned down, his jaw jutting. ‘I know what I saw, son, and if you touch her again, I’ll have you flogged in Exeter. Clear?’

  The fellow scurried away with an anxious look over his shoulder, and the fact that the Coroner did not move but remained staring at him until he had rounded the next street corner, must have lent wings to his feet.

  ‘Damned little turd! I’m not so old I can’t see when a lad sticks his hand down a woman’s …’

  ‘I didn’t see that,’ Simon protested.

  ‘You must have done it yourself when you were younger, eh? I know I did. And he thought I wouldn’t guess. That’s the trouble with these little bratchets today, they think sex started around the end of the famine and no one before that knew anything about it. Well, if the fool thinks he can get one over me, he’ll soon learn to regret his impudence, hey?’

  ‘Yes. Of course,’ Simon said coldly.

  ‘Cheer yourself, Bailiff. I was in court a little while ago, with a fellow accused of rape, and the justice called the victim to speak. He says, “What happened, chit?” “Well,” she said, “he was in the lane when I was walking to the cows, and he grabbed me.” “Aye,” said the justice, “what then?” “He pulled me into the barn.” “Aye,” says the justice, “what then?” “Well,” she said, “he took my hands and he bound them.” “Aye,” said the justice, “what then?” “He would have tied my legs too, but I thank God I managed to keep them apart and stop him!” Eh? Haha! Good one, eh?’

  They had reached the doors of a tavern with a scruffy bush tied over the door, and Sir Richard looked up at it appreciatively. ‘This looks a good enough place. Vaguely remember it from when I was a lad. I think I was knocked out in here once during a fight. I’d called a sailor a lily-livered son of a whore, and he took umbrage. Seem to recall seeing a large lump of wood heading my way, and me too drunk to duck. Hurt like hell, too. Still, you live and learn, don’t you?’

  He led the way in through the low doorway, and Simon, feeling more than a little bemused by the constant monologue, trailed after him with a sense of unreality. The only thought in his mind was, that any man who entered a tavern like this one and insulted the sailors inside was extremely fortunate to live at all. It did not indicate a proper appreciation of life’s little dangers.

  ‘Barman, bring a quart of wine for my friend and me!’ Sir Richard roared as he walked in, and without looking to see whether his instruction had been heeded, he crossed the floor to a small rough table in the corner. There was a pair of stools at the side, and Sir Richard drew one out for Simon with his foot, before sitting at the other and stretching his legs, his eyes flitting about the room at all the other men.

  ‘A fair selection of the seafaring type,’ he said loudly in what Simon was sure he considered was a confidential whisper. ‘Plenty of leather, tatty clothing stitched together too often, and strong hearts. Little in the heads, sadly. Always the way with these seafolk. HOI! Wh
ere’s our wine?’

  The sudden bellow took Simon by surprise, but still more surprising to him was the appearance of the host, who set down two large jugs on the table and made as though to withdraw.

  ‘Wait!’ Sir Richard snapped. He picked up the nearer jug, lifted it to his lips and took a deep draught. Sitting back, he allowed a moment to pass before nodding. ‘My host, you have a good wine here. I hope the ship didn’t sink so you could win it? Eh? Ha! Oh, don’t worry, just my little joke. Bring us some bread and meat. I’m famished. It’s a long ride from Lifton. Aren’t you drinking, Bailiff?’

  Simon had been toying with the jug before him, but just for once, the thought of two pints of heavy wine was unappealing. ‘What do you wish from me?’

  The Coroner’s eyes peered shrewdly at him over the rim of his jug. ‘A full explanation of what’s been going on here, of course. I may look as if I’ve lead between my ears, Bailiff, but I want to know who’s been turning to piracy and why. I don’t like too many corpses in my territory.’

  The moment he had left the room, Peter Strete wiped his forehead with his sleeve. There had been a moment then when … but it was only his guilt. Hawley couldn’t possibly know what he’d been up to. No, if he had the faintest inkling, there would have been sailors in here holding him down while Hawley took a leather strap to his back – and he wouldn’t stop until there was no flesh left on him. That was the sort of man Hawley was. The only thing that could make it worse was if Hawley gave the task to his son, also called John. Young John enjoyed seeing people suffer.

  Hawley was a bad man to have for an enemy. Taking something from him made a man de facto his worst enemy. And Strete had taken much from him in recent times.

  Even now, with nothing to fear, he was still shaken every time his master mentioned bad luck, just in case he had uncovered Strete’s secret. And the truth was, there was nothing to fear now. The debt was repaid, the hole in the accounts carefully concealed. Even a brilliant clerk going through his rolls would find nothing amiss. In fact, he had covered himself so well as to add some money to the purse, so that there was no suspicion of his stealing from his master.

  Thank God he had seen Danny in the tavern that day, when those two sailors tried to rape Madam Kena. It was a chance piece of good fortune that had solved his financial problems. When he was drinking to conceal his fear after an unwise evening’s gambling, he had overheard a brief snippet. That was all – a quiet, muttered snigger, then a comment about a woman. And from that he had realised how his finances could be brought to an even keel again. And then he had enjoyed two profitable strokes of luck.

  Thank God it was over, he told himself, and wiped his brow again.

  Alred Paviour was standing at the hole, peering down at the corpse when Simon brought the Coroner to view the dead man.

  ‘Ha! So you are the fool who left an unprotected hole, are you?’ the Coroner thundered as he approached.

  Alred flinched at the tone as much as the words. ‘We did the best we could to block it off, but someone took the trestles away. You know how people can be, when they’ve had too many pots of ale.’

  The Coroner scowled blackly. ‘You seek to blame others for your mistake? I dislike that attitude, man!’

  ‘No, I don’t mean that, it’s just—’

  ‘I see what you mean, Bailiff,’ Sir Richard continued, ignoring Alred. ‘You! Did you move his body?’

  ‘Me? Why would I?’

  ‘There is little you might do which would make sense to me,’ the Coroner answered cheerily. ‘So just answer me: did you or anyone else move the body?’

  ‘No! Of course not, Coroner. That would be to break the law.’

  Simon tipped his head towards the body. ‘You’re quite sure no one turned him over to see whether he was still alive? It would be natural, and excusable.’

  ‘Not me, no. Even Ivo left him. Anyway, he was on his back already. What’d be the point of looking at him closer? You can see he’s gone. There’s nothing there.’

  The Coroner nodded, then drew the ends of his mouth down. ‘Well, all I can say is, Bailiff, you’re clearly right. This was no accident, was it? No, someone must have deliberately killed him and then played silly buggers with the trestles to make it look natural.’

  He turned from the works and gazed about him, his hands at his hips. ‘Right, we’ll hold the inquest in the morning. That will give time enough to gather the jury and also for us to break our fast. Speaking of which, we ought to be thinking about a meal to settle our bellies before bed. Where do you live, Bailiff? You will have space for another small one this night, won’t you?’

  Philip Kena was in his hall with his young wife when the knock came at his door. He sat back as his servant went to open it, listening carefully to the voices. ‘Is that Master Beauley?’ he called out.

  ‘Yes, Philip. And how are you today?’

  Kena eyed his guest with some surprise. The merchants knew each other, of course, but their connections tended to be professional only. Like many others who had trading businesses, they would often meet at the market hall and talk about their ventures, problems with markets where they were exposed to larger tolls than they had anticipated, or discuss the outrageous costs of some shipwrights, but they tended not to socialise. If Beauley wanted to discuss something, it was clearly a matter which affected them both – and that could only mean the cog which had been attacked.

  ‘Please, be seated,’ Kena said, and he whispered to his wife. She stood and curtseyed to the guest, before walking out through the rear door to their solar.

  ‘I am grateful that you can give me a little time, Master Kena,’ Beauley said. He took the proffered stool.

  ‘My wife married me late in my life,’ Kena said, looking after her fondly as she left the hall. ‘I can recommend it, though. You find your household grows more comfortable with a woman in it.’

  ‘I have not had time to seek a woman.’ His voice was so cold, it would have frozen seawater.

  ‘Nor did I when I was young like you,’ Kena said understandingly. He had seen over forty summers now, while Beauley could only be seven- or eight-and-twenty. It was in part that reason that made him draw attention to his young Millicent. She had married him only three years before, and he had cause to be well satisfied with her. The contract with her father for her hand had been expensive, but not ruinously so, and he had the pleasure of the girl’s beauty as well as the comfort of her gentle kindness. She was all that a man could desire from a wife, and her youth excited him more than the raddled old whores whom he had visited before, down at Lower Street. The same ones which poor Beauley must be visiting now, as he told himself.

  ‘These are strange times, master,’ Beauley said stiffly. ‘The sight of Pyckard’s cog was shocking, and the idea that the whole crew was slaughtered out to sea, even more so.’

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ Kena said. ‘We all expect the sea to be cruel on occasion, but to find that seamen could do such violence on others, that is truly shocking.’

  Beauley gave the impression of being ready to leap up like a coiled spring. It was not in his nature, Kena felt, to relax. The moment spent in relaxation was a moment wasted. How different he was from himself!

  ‘I am here because of that. Did the same suspicions occur to you, I wonder?’

  ‘What suspicions?’ Kena said, his eyes widening. ‘Would you care for a little wine? I have some honeyed larks, too, which are most—’

  ‘No, I thank you. The bodies. Where are they?’

  ‘Ah,’ Kena said, and having poured himself more wine, he sat back in his chair with a benevolent smile. ‘You have some thoughts on them?’

  ‘If they were thrown overboard, where did they go when Hawley arrived?’

  Kena frowned, not understanding.

  ‘Come on, man! We heard that Hawley arrived there soon after the ship was fired. It took him a little time to put out the flames, and the cargo was still there in her hold. People are saying that the pirates must
have seen his sails, and rowed away quickly before he could come to grips with them. But if that’s true, where are the bodies? If they’d killed the men and thrown them overboard, they’d all have been floating about, wouldn’t they? You’ve seen enough men in the water, just as I have. No, if the bodies were there, Hawley must have seen them.’

  ‘So, what are you saying? That he’s lying?’ Kena still didn’t understand.

  ‘Either the bodies were tied to irons and thrown overboard, or they were carried away in the other ship. Hawley would have no need to lie. If there were dead men in the water, he might as well tell the truth.’

  ‘It’s also been suggested that they could have been taken, either to ransom them or to use them as slaves.’

  Beauley gave him a steady look. ‘And how likely is that? Even if the pirates wanted some of the men, a few would have died rather than be caught, wouldn’t they?’

  ‘I don’t know who the men were.’

  ‘Didn’t you hear? Odo and Vincent were aboard, and Adam. Can you imagine any of them giving in to another ship?’

  Kena looked away with a frown on his face. ‘You’re sure of that?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have mentioned it otherwise.’

  ‘At least there’s cause for rejoicing in those bastards’ deaths! I’ll pray for Adam to be sent into Christ’s merciful hands, the poor fellow, but for Vincent and Odo, I’ll ask for all their sins to be remembered. I hope they burn in hell!’

  ‘I doubt not that your prayers for Vincent and Odo will be heeded. There are enough others in the town would be happy to see them swinging on the gibbet. The point is, though, they were brave fighters. They didn’t fear pirates or any others.’

  ‘True enough. So what happened to the men?’

  ‘The bodies must have been carried away. Unless, of course, the men are alive and happy somewhere else. Hiding.’