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

  ‘Aye, that we are. We have to complete this stretch and get on to the next town, Bailiff. There’s never an end to our task when so many heavy carriages keep rolling by with metal-shod wheels.’

  Baldwin observed the other two men with Alred. Bill was spreading gravel evenly over the base of the hole, while Law listened at the hole’s edge, where he was supposed to be stacking cobbles. ‘You must be glad to see them, as they keep you in business!’

  ‘That I am, Sir Knight. I sometimes think I should pay into a collection for all those who use the heaviest bullock-carts and wagons! They keep us three going nicely.’

  ‘Tell me, Master Paviour,’ Baldwin said, smiling easily, ‘this body that appeared here – it was clearly some time after you had left the area?’

  ‘Oh, yes. We were finished here just at the time of the ninth hour. You know how it is during the summer, with the greater payments for the working day? Our contract here expects us to work from the ringing of the church bell in the morning to the ringing for the last service.’

  Baldwin nodded. All labourers were paid more for the summer months because they were expected to continue working through the hours of daylight. A summer’s day was officially separated into twelve daylight hours and twelve hours of darkness, hence the better pay.

  ‘What happened when you finished here? Did you stay nearby?’

  ‘We packed up everything as usual. You can’t tell what sort of thieving scrotes you’re going to have in a town you haven’t been to before, and our tools are our most important belongings.’

  ‘We always pack them carefully,’ Law said.

  ‘Who are you?’ Baldwin enquired mildly.

  ‘Lawrence, from Crediton, sir. I’m apprenticed to Alred here.’

  ‘Yes, so stop interrupting, lad, before I clout you one for rudeness,’ Alred said sharply. ‘After we packed up, we went to a tavern for a drink.’

  ‘Which one?’ Baldwin asked.

  ‘That one down there,’ Alred said, pointing. ‘The Porpoise. It’s got a good ale in there, and we were thirsty after working hard all day.’

  ‘You set out trestles and boards all round to stop people falling in, my friend says,’ Baldwin noted, glancing about him.

  ‘Of course. We couldn’t leave the hole and nothing to warn people.’

  ‘I put them up myself, sir,’ Law said. ‘They tried to say I didn’t, but I did.’

  ‘So someone took the trestles away after you left here?’

  ‘Yes. They hid them over there by the building,’ Alred said. There was an alley between a house and a large barn nearby. ‘Some idiot must have thought it’d be a good laugh to take them and see someone fall in and hurt themselves. Probably a drunken sailor out for some fun.’

  ‘Possibly. Now, you stayed at the tavern for how many drinks?’

  ‘We had a good few,’ Law admitted with a grin. ‘Master Alred felt rotten the next day, didn’t you?’

  ‘So it was late when you walked back past here, and you were very happy?’

  ‘There’s no law against that yet, thank the Lord,’ Alred said, glaring at his insubordinate apprentice.

  ‘No indeed,’ Baldwin agreed. ‘But were you so drunk you wouldn’t have noticed the trestles being gone?’

  Alred opened his mouth, but then he frowned. ‘The thing is, the trestle at the other end of the hole was still there. It was only the trestles at the sides and at this end of the hole which were taken. Walking up from the tavern, I remember seeing the trestle near me, and walking round it, but I don’t know if the other trestles were here. It could be that someone had already taken them.’

  ‘And if you don’t recall that, the man could already have been there, dead?’

  Law shook his head. ‘No chance.’

  Baldwin’s eyes snapped to him. ‘You sound very certain of that. Why?’

  ‘I dunno. I just don’t think he could have been.’

  ‘Why, man?’

  Law began to regret opening his mouth. Alred had told him to hold his tongue if anyone should come and speak to them about the dead man, but no, he had to speak up and get himself into trouble, didn’t he?

  Alred tried to rescue him. ‘I think he means that we’d be bound to have noticed.’

  ‘Did you? Is that what you meant?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But your master said you were all drunk. You drank lots in the tavern, and when you came back, you saw one trestle only.’

  Bill set his spade down and leaned on it. He stared at Alred, then at Law, then looked up at Baldwin. ‘What he meant was, there wasn’t time for the lad to get back here after we saved him. I don’t see there’s anything for us to be ashamed about in that.’

  Alred turned to him, held his hands up in the air, and let them drop in defeat. ‘Fine! You want to tell him all, you go ahead!’

  ‘It’s not our fault, Alred. No point getting upset about it,’ Bill said. ‘Sir, we don’t know who the man is who fell into our pit here, but we did see another earlier that evening in the drinking house up there.’

  Baldwin listened carefully as Bill told of seeing the stranger at the inn, and of how, when he had gone out the back, as though to find himself a place in the bedchamber, he had been followed by a local man who looked to them nothing better than a footpad. The three pavers had immediately gone after the men, allowing the stranger to move off unmolested.

  ‘This is growing very serious,’ Baldwin said with a long face. ‘Now, are you completely sure that the man in your pit was not the stranger at the inn?’

  ‘We are that.’

  ‘For one thing,’ Alred smiled slyly, ‘he had a lovely purse. Red leather, it was, with a draw-string that had a golden tassel. And his clothes were better. Less travel stained.’

  Hamo was at his workshop at the tip of Smiths’ Street, which was how the folk in the town described the northernmost part of Lower Street. The opposite end was commonly called South Town, because over the years as the town grew, it had expanded along the shoreline to the south, since no houses could be built on the steep sides of the hill above.

  This was a good place to have his cooperage. From here he could see all along both reaches of the Dart, northwards and south towards the open sea. As soon as a ship returned, he would see it, and although it was not a great help in telling him how many casks he might be able to sell, nor how many to mend, he did at least have warning that his services would soon be required. It was also good that he resided amongst the shipwrights, because they tended to go to him first when they wanted something done.

  Hamo yawned. The twin inquests had been tiring, and he was thirsty now after trying to catch up. He had spent the time since working on oak staves, using his spokeshave to trim them all to shape. Now he had one steel ring on the floor, and was carefully setting the staves inside it to gauge their fit. He had a need for one more to space them, and he manipulated the others, trying them for their fit next to each other before he had them positioned well, and only then was he satisfied. Slipping a rope with a loose running knot over the top of the staves to hold them in place, he drew it tight before picking up the last one.

  He had a simple jig where he worked: a sawhorse with a pair of pegs at one end. Thrusting the stave’s end between these pegs, he sat on the top of the jig then began to work with his spokeshave, drawing the tool towards him and shaving off fine, curling slivers with a smooth action, starting with short strokes near the end of the stave and gradually working further and further up the wood to create a gentle curve from the midpoint down. When he had completed both edges, he set the final stave in the barrel’s body and tied that in place too. The fit at the base was perfect. Only then did he reach for the other steel ring and start to set it at the top of the barrel, placing a blunted chisel at the ring and knocking it down with careful taps of his mallet.

  It was while he was doing this that he heard a call. Glancing up, he saw a magnificent ship appearing at the mouth of the river. She was a great cog, powerful an
d elegant, and her sails rippled as the wind changed direction, coming down from the hill.

  Hamo gazed at her for a moment or two, his eyes narrowed against the rippling sparks of sunshine on the water. This ship was clearly no ordinary merchantman. She had wealth on display everywhere, from the gold leaf on her prow to the immense silken flag at her mast, and she also had the trappings of war: there was a castle at bow and stern, and plenty of men about her.

  Setting his tools aside, he stood watching as the ship travelled majestically up the river, her sails being reefed and anchors dropped as she came level with him. And as she drew to a halt, he saw the painted name: Gudyer, just as a little rowing boat was being launched over her side, and observed the laughing fair-haired man who made his way lightly down the rope and into the boat, where two crewmen rowed him ashore.

  Hamund was feeling much better as the men began to talk again, ignoring him and Gil in their corner.

  ‘What now, master?’ he asked.

  ‘Some will come to drink our ale,’ Gil said bitterly, ‘and they’ll expect good money for the fact that no one else is coming forward. I’m glad I met you this morning. You haven’t brought me luck, but at least I have someone with us.’

  ‘What is all this about the men of Lyme?’

  Hamund listened, his face growing longer as Gil told him all about the Saint John.

  ‘That’s it,’ Gil finished. ‘A crew missing, and the cargo all set to be fired. We were lucky John Hawley and his men arrived when they did.’

  At that moment, three men came forward to offer their services, but none appealed to Gil. He tried to tempt others to join him on the ship, but all refused, shrugging their shoulders and not meeting his eye.

  Gil gave up after the fourth refusal. ‘It’s no good. There’s no point trying to talk them around if they don’t want to do it. We’ll just have to make do with fewer men. We should be all right with the number we’ve got.’

  Hamund, having no idea what was required in a ship’s complement, felt unable to comment beyond a mild expression of sympathy.

  ‘You can see why even an abjuror will be helpful,’ Gil said.

  As Hamund nodded, hoping desperately that the master would not change his mind about hiring him, the door opened and two men walked in. Hamund barely glanced at them, but Gil immediately stiffened at his side. ‘What does the Bailiff want – and who’s that with him?’

  Hamund was feeling quite light-headed, but he focused on the two men at the doorway with an effort, and watched as they marched over to the innkeeper.

  It was Simon who beckoned the innkeeper to them. ‘Saul, this is the Keeper of the King’s Peace, Sir Baldwin de Furnshill, and we’re here to investigate the death of the man up the road the other day. We’ve heard that there was a man came in here, and he was followed out back by someone you knew. Tell us what happened.’

  ‘You know Cynegils? I spotted him watching the fellow. Don’t know who he was, just some traveller. Like you say, he walked out to the back like he was going to find himself a space to sleep, and Cynegils shoved off smartish through the front door. He came back a little while later, and then sneaked out to the back, where our friend had gone.’

  ‘And then?’

  Saul grinned. ‘The three pavers saw him, and they reckoned he was up to no good, so they went after him. A few minutes later, back they came, carrying him. Said that Cynegils had unfortunately tripped over and hurt his head. Good for them, I thought. Nasty piece of work, he is. I told them to put him back out in the yard. Anyway, the stranger had it away on his legs. There’s a break in my wall out back, and I suppose he bolted over that.’

  ‘What did he look like?’

  ‘French. Good quality clothes, dark blue and scarlet, all in the modern fashion, you know, tight-fitting? He had a weaselly face, all thin with a narrow little nose, and dark eyes with low eyebrows of dark hair. Looked like loads of the Norman sailors who come in here every so often.’

  ‘Have you seen him since?’ Simon asked.

  ‘Nope. No sign of him. I reckon he was scared and thought he’d bugger off quick. Why?’

  ‘Didn’t it occur to you that Cynegils was not acting on his own?’ Simon demanded. ‘He was ordered to follow this Frenchman by someone else, I assume, and that other person could have been anyone. And now this fellow’s been found dead. Was it the man in here that day?’

  ‘No. I’m sure of that.’

  ‘So perhaps the man who died was the one who ordered Cynegils to follow this Frenchman?’ Simon guessed.

  Baldwin nodded pensively. ‘I should imagine so. I reckon the Frenchman escaped over the rear wall, ran to the front of the building, found this man hanging around for news from Cynegils and knocked him down. The victim would hardly have expected to be attacked by the very man whose death he had planned.’

  ‘There is one other possibility, of course,’ Simon considered as the host of the inn brought them a jug of wine and two mazers, then moved off to serve other customers. He leaned closer to Baldwin to prevent eavesdroppers. ‘What if the dead man carried something on him that was valuable? Something that was worth more than money?’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘A ring, say?’

  ‘No. If he had something like that, there would have been a mark on finger or thumb to show where it had lain. This man wore no jewellery.’

  ‘A parchment then – deeds for property? A writ of some sort?’

  ‘Simon, that could be a good guess,’ Baldwin said. He felt the need for caution. Here at the inn he felt too exposed with so many men trying to listen in. He lowered his voice. ‘There is a tale I should tell you. I was sent here by the bishop to see if I could find his nephew. A Frenchman has left the Queen’s household and flees to the sea. Bishop Walter was convinced that he saw the man in Exeter, and told his nephew Bernard to follow the man.’

  Simon absorbed the news calmly. ‘The Frenchman escaped – and you think that this corpse could be Walter’s nephew?’

  ‘The man in your hole in the road? Yes. I fear it. He matches the description I was given.’

  ‘Then we have to seek this Frenchman. He must be the one who ran from Cynegils.’

  ‘I should imagine so,’ Baldwin said. ‘We must keep our eyes open and tell those who may be able to seek him for us.’

  Simon peered at his friend speculatively. ‘You said I may have guessed right about letters?’

  ‘It seems odd that this Frenchman should suddenly leave the Queen’s household,’ Baldwin shrugged. ‘Could he not be carrying messages?’

  Simon nodded, but his eyes were going about the room now. ‘I don’t like the look of him.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘That short fellow in pilgrim dress. He looks like an abjurer. Could he be our murderer?’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Hamund was feeling remarkably easy until he saw the two men stare at him. Seeing them walk towards him, he shivered and said beseechingly to Gil, ‘Shall we leave now?’

  ‘You!’ said a stern voice. ‘I am the Representative of the Keeper of this Port. I don’t recognise you. Who are you, and why are you here?’

  ‘Sir, I am Hamund Chugge. A miserable, but penitent sinner. I have committed a great crime, but I have abjured the realm, and all I do is seek a ship to take me away.’

  ‘What was your crime?’ Baldwin pressed.

  ‘I killed a man.’

  ‘Who, and why?’

  Hamund sighed, and told the story: how his master was killed in the war, and Flok arrived with his little cavalcade to demand the manor for himself. ‘I was very angry. I struck Flok down with my knife and killed him, and then struck Guy de Bouville down too. De Bouville was his guard and man-at-arms. Because of these offences I’m being sent away. I arrived here today, and this kind sailor has offered me a place with his crew.’

  ‘You found him here, Gil?’ Simon asked.

  ‘Yes. And he’s already walked into the sea in proof of his ambition to leave.’


  ‘See to it that he does,’ Simon grunted. He had not seen the man about the town before, it was true, and he looked an unlikely murderer of a fellow so much taller than him.

  There was a sudden stillness in the room. The door had opened, and now a tall, slim, fair man walked in, stooping under the lintel, and remaining just inside the doorway, eyeing the men in the room for a few minutes. He pulled off his fine gloves and slapped them on his forearm before crossing the floor to the innkeeper.

  ‘A jug of your best wine, landlord.’

  ‘Sir.’

  The man turned from the bar and addressed the men in the room. ‘I have money for those who would aid the King.’

  As he spoke, he rested his left hand on his purse and hefted it a couple of times. The leather bag rattled with the weight of coins, and Simon could almost hear every head in the room swivel to that magical sound.

  ‘There is gold and silver here for those who would help me find a traitor, a foul Frenchman who is guilty of raping an English lady. I will pay well for any information.’

  Moses swept the floor to clear the old rushes. There were few things in life that would always make him feel more comfortable in himself, but one was the smell of fresh reeds on the floor, and he reasoned that what made him feel better might work for his master too; so he swept enthusiastically, while the dust rose in clouds and danced in the light streaming in through the great barred window.

  He pushed the mess out through the door and into the street, where he would pay a scavenger later to clear it up, and returned with a couple of bundles of new reeds. He cut the ties with his knife and began to strew them about the place.

  ‘Please, Moses, come and sit,’ Pyckard called faintly.

  Moses hurried to his master’s couch.

  He looked worse than ever, Moses thought. There were lines of anguish on his brow, but although his eyes were bright and feverish, when he looked at Moses he was clearly rational. The pain was surely all but unbearable, yet his mind still functioned as efficiently as it ever had.