The Death Ship of Dartmouth: (Knights Templar 21) (37 page)

‘There was a dreadful matter. A terrible, awful stain on my family. You must know that I come from an area near Caen. I had two older brothers. I was the younger, and more foolish, but I always revered my brothers Philippe and Gautier.’

Baldwin started. ‘You were their brother?’

‘Who?’ Simon asked, bemused.

‘My brothers were not evil,’ Pierre said, his hands held palms up in a show of openness. ‘They were young, vigorous men, and their hearts were ready for love always. Who is not when he is young? They had no thoughts for their danger, or the danger they would put others to.’

‘I don’t understand any of this,’ Simon said pointedly. ‘Come to the point, sir.’

Baldwin answered, his eyes fixed on the French knight with a certain sadness. ‘The Queen gave some silk purses to her sisters-in-law when she was in France on a diplomatic mission, Simon. And then she saw them being worn on the belts of two brothers.’

‘She had embroidered them herself,’ Pierre said. ‘She recognised them immediately she saw them. Of course, many men would be granted favours of such a type by the lady they serve, and it is not proof of anything, but it alarmed her, and she was persuaded that there was something wrong. So she told her father the King, and he had Philippe and Gautier watched, and then tortured until they confessed.’

‘They’d been committing adultery?’ Simon breathed, shocked. ‘I had never heard of that.’

‘It rocked the foundations of the House of Capet,’ Baldwin said quietly. ‘My friend, I am sorry.’

‘They had committed the crime,’ Pierre said dully. ‘They confessed.’

‘Under the torture,’ Baldwin said. He recalled the discussion with Stapledon before setting off for Dartmouth. ‘And they died most horribly.’

‘Flayed alive, castrated, their limbs broken, and finally decapitated,’ Pierre whispered.

‘And the Queen who did all this welcomed
you
to her household?’ Simon asked with suspicion.

‘There was no suggestion that I had had anything to do with the affair,’ Pierre said. ‘And I could not blame her for noticing the crime and telling her father. She mentioned a strange thing, simply that her gifts had been spurned and given to knights in his household, no more. It was King Philippe who had my brothers watched and followed, and who had evidence collected.’

‘Philippe is dead,’ Baldwin observed.

‘Yes!’ Pierre said with a cynical laugh. ‘You think his son would trust me more? King Charles hates all my line. He would be suspicious of anything I could say to him. My family is marked with the same foul suspicion as my poor dead brothers. More! King Charles would think me keen for revenge. For me to go to him with news … it would do little good, I think. I would be distrusted and perhaps killed. It is because of me that his wife is still incarcerated in Château Gaillard. He cannot remarry until she dies or the Pope annuls their marriage. He has no reason to love my family.’

‘You deny taking information to France to succour King Charles, then?’ Simon said.

‘Absolutely!’

Simon turned to Baldwin. ‘I don’t know what to do with this. I wonder whether we ought to keep him here and seek advice from someone else. Could we write to Bishop Stapledon and ask him to intervene on this fellow’s behalf?’

He had mentioned the idea as it entered his head, thinking that at least Bishop Walter would be able to provide support at a high level, taking a little of the responsibility for this decision away from them, and acting as a buffer and protection from Lord Despenser. The vehement response of the Frenchman startled him.

‘No! No! You would throw me to the dogs? You inveigled my story so you could destroy me? Do not send me to that evil man Stapledon! It would be giving me to my murderer!’

Hawley reached his house late, after a detour past a tavern. He had needed time to think after all he had heard about the rapist at the Port Keeper’s house, and now he stood at his door with a frown marring his features.

If he was getting himself into deep water without a sail, he would need to make sure that he had a degree of protection. Just now he felt very exposed.

From all he had learned from the Frenchman, Despenser wanted him. Clearly that was why that poxed whoreson Sir Andrew had demanded the arrest of the man. And Hawley had only handed him over to the knight and Bailiff because he had thought they would keep him until Despenser might come and take him. That was all well and good, provided no one forgot who it was who had sent men to catch the fellow in the first place. If there was to be a good reward, Hawley didn’t want it frittered away in the direction of Sir Baldwin or Simon Puttock. That was all too often the way that officers behaved. The last Keeper of the Port here had been as corrupt as a Cinque Port sailor.

However, there were other considerations to keep in mind. It wasn’t only a matter of the money which should come to him from one reward: there was the matter of the
men on the ship. If Sir Andrew and his merry men
had
killed all the sailors on the
Saint John
, they should be forced to pay. Hawley was utterly devoted to the rights of men at sea, especially insofar as they affected him personally. If some captain of a warship decided to come and take a Dartmouth merchantman, that was a very serious interference in the maritime trade of the port. He would not have that happen.

He thought how much he would like to go to Sir Andrew’s ship with a force of Dartmouth sailors, and put the vessel to the torch – after relieving her of any useful little dainties, of course – but it was not a part of Hawley’s plan to die young after provoking the most important man in the country after the King himself.

Yet … he had no proof of any criminal actions by Sir Andrew. More likely was his earlier suspicion. Beauley was a desperately ambitious man, and with Pyckard out of the way, it would be easier for him. Yes, Hawley had a feeling that this was nearer the truth.

It was at this stage in his mental consideration that he opened his door and entered his home.

He made no concession to those who might already be asleep, for which man does in his own house? As soon as the door slammed, kicked closed by his boot, he noticed the flickering light from the doorway to his hall. Instantly the light was extinguished, and Hawley stood silently, listening. He crossed the screens slowly, shuffling like a man whose brain was fuddled, and entered his hall. The fire was out, and he stood by it a moment, considering. The light had not come from here, because there was only a slight residual heat from the stones of the hearth. He shambled over to the
box on the wall where some candles lay, and took one up. Striking flint and steel, he made some burned cloth catch, and used it to light his little candle. This he set in a holder by his chair, and then he drew his sword and sat down, the blade across his lap as he waited, watching the doorway to his little counting-room.

‘I can wait as long as you want,’ he said conversationally. ‘What? You don’t wish to come out and talk? That seems discourteous in one who is happy to rifle through my chest.’

There was no sound, and he grinned wolfishly. ‘There’s no way out, except past me. But you know that, don’t you, Peter? How much were you going to take tonight? I knew I was right. You can’t keep gaming in a shit-hole like the Porpoise without being flayed. Only you never had enough money to afford that, did you, so you had to be getting it from somewhere else. Where did it come from, eh? Did you steal it?’

‘I am sorry … so sorry.’

Hawley smiled broadly. ‘I expect you are, yes.’

Strete had appeared at the doorway now, and he stood, rubbing his hands together as though washing them. ‘I didn’t mean to …’

‘To steal from me?’

‘I didn’t! I wouldn’t! I paid everything back, master. You know that!’

‘How much?’

‘Now? Four marks.’

‘In how much time?’

‘Just this evening … but it all started so well, that’s what I don’t understand! It’s not
fair
! I should have won, but the
dice went against me.’

‘Much like life, dice,’ Hawley said, rising. ‘As soon as you think they’re in your favour, that’s when the damned things turn against you. Where’s my money?’

‘I’ve taken nothing, master. I was just—’

‘About to take what you could,’ Hawley completed for him. ‘But I got here too soon. Did you think you’d be able to hide it from me?’

‘I was going to repay you, like last time.’

‘How many times, Strete? How many times have you robbed me?’ Hawley asked sweetly.

‘I haven’t robbed, sir, only borrowed. And then I gave more than I’d taken, in compensation for the loan.’

‘A loan is normally agreed between both parties, Strete,’ Hawley said. He was still grinning widely, even as he swung his sword and brought the heavy pommel swinging round to Strete’s head. The unfortunate clerk tried to block the blow, but the pommel struck him behind his ear, and his raised hand merely caught the blade and lost a flap of skin as he tumbled to the ground.

Hawley kicked him, hard, in the cods. ‘You’ll never work for me or anyone in Dartmouth again, you stupid
shit
. Jesus!’

‘What on earth is wrong with Stapledon?’ Simon demanded. ‘He is a friend of ours. A more decent, honourable cleric would be hard to imagine.’

‘You are allies of his? I am lost then!’

Baldwin watched the man clench and unclench his fists, gazing about him distractedly as though seeking a means of
escape. ‘Please, my friend, just explain to us what you fear. I swear we will not unnecessarily endanger your life.’

‘You swear? On your oath as a knight? On the Gospel?’

‘I do so swear.’

Pierre glanced up at Simon, who had moved to stand nearer Baldwin, and the Bailiff nodded silently in agreement.

‘Believe me, I am no spy,’ Pierre said passionately. ‘But my poor lady, the Queen, is assailed on all sides. I told you of the shocking way in which the Despenser has treated her. He is a monster! Vile and rapacious! And his willing ally is this Bishop of Exeter. He is as evil as Despenser!’

Baldwin shook his head. ‘No, my friend. You are wrong there. Bishop Walter is a devoted servant of the King, and he is in no way evil, I assure you.’

‘Do you say so? But I have seen his words written to the Queen. He has threatened her. He hates her because she is French, and he thinks she will betray her husband just because of that! As if she would behave in such a dishonourable manner!’

‘It is true that the bishop seeks ever to protect the King and the nation from danger,’ Baldwin said, ‘but he is not so mad that he could consider harming the lady. He is fair and reasonable, I promise you. I know the good bishop well.’

‘If you give me to him, you thrust a dagger into my heart,’ Pierre said dramatically. He rent his shirt, bearing a hairless breast. ‘Do it now, and do it quickly. I would not be tortured like my brothers. At least spare me that!’

‘It will not come to that,’ Baldwin declared quickly. He had lost his friends and companions to the tortures, and
could not inflict that on another man. ‘Bishop Stapledon is but one man we could ask for advice. I think he is the best, but there are others. Calm yourself, my friend. You are safe here with us.’

‘I am in the land of my enemies,’ Pierre said sadly. He huddled down again, his hands pulling his shirt together. ‘I am hated for my nationality, for my family, for my loyalty to my mistress … I cannot be safe until I escape from England. And you two, who declare yourselves my friends, will try to save me by delivering me to my worst enemies!’

As the clouds passed over the sickle moon, there was a sudden darkening of the world. The silver light, which had seemed so bright, was extinguished, and a deeper blackness was all that remained.

The ship was silent, apart from the slow tramp of a solitary sailor who yawned and scratched as he moved about the ship, desperate to remain awake. Those who failed in their duty of guarding were flogged, so Hamund had heard. Gil was a hard taskmaster, albeit considerate to those who demonstrated obedience. If he had wanted, Hamund could have remained here on board, become part of the crew and settled here in Dartmouth. Others had done so. When abjurers were released to make their way to the coast, many slipped off the roads and became outlaws or merely walked to a distant town and began a new life. So long as he never returned to where he had been convicted, he should be secure enough.

The ship would set sail in the morning, and he could then travel over the sea with this crew and find himself a new
home in France.
But without his friend
.

Although he had only known Pierre for a short time, a matter of some hours, he felt sure that the Frenchman would desert him, were the tables turned. He knew it, and yet in the depths of his heart, he also knew that this man had meant to help him when he had been desperate for a word of comfort. What’s more, Pierre had promised to look after Hamund when they arrived in France.

Slipping over the side of the ship, Hamund let himself down the rope slowly. From the ship here to the shore was only a matter of some tens of yards, no more than that. The pond at home used to be wider, and he swam that from side to side every summer.

The chill of the river caught his breath. He clung to the rope for a moment, growing used to the cold and staring up at the sheer of the hull, considering the safety that it represented, the promise of a new life … and then he let go and started swimming for the shore.

He didn’t know where Pierre was, nor did he know what he could do to save the man, but he knew he had to try.

Will the gaoler was irritated to be on duty tonight. Normally he’d be snuggled up to his wife, not here in this godforsaken dump.

‘Shut up!’ he bellowed as someone underneath him shouted again, demanding to be allowed to see his master, and warning Will that he’d suffer for this later, sticking servants of the King’s Advisor in gaol without reason. ‘You murdered eleven of our men at sea, you did, and we don’t let murderers go without trial down here. Don’t know what you
do up north, boy, but here we stick to the law.’