The Devil's Domain (8 page)

‘How were they captured?’ Athelstan asked.

‘I did that.’ Sir Maurice spoke up. ‘There are five of them, or there were. Vamier, Gresnay, Routier, Maneil and Serriem. They were captains, lieutenants and masters of the two great French cogs of war: the
St Sulpice
and the
St Denis.
Our wine fleet from Bordeaux had sailed up into the Channel. Now, it is customary for the ships to disembark some of their cargo at Calais and make a dash across the Straits into Dover. The
St Sulpice
and
St Denis
were waiting for them.’

‘And what happened?’ Athelstan asked.

‘I was in Dover at the time,’ the young knight continued. ‘Commanding a large force of knights, hobelars, men-at-arms and archers. We had four craft at our disposal led by a cog of war,
The Great Edward.
The Constable of Dover Castle received information that the
St Sulpice
and
St Denis
would be waiting for our ships so we took to sea. It was a long and bloody fight: the
St Denis
was sunk, the
St Sulpice
captured.’

Athelstan picked up his writing-bag, tying the cord at the top.

‘That’s almost miraculous,’ he observed. ‘From where did the Constable of Dover Castle get his orders?’

‘By courier from London. The message was general. It simply said that our wine fleet would be leaving Calais and French privateers were busy in the Channel’

‘A remarkable coincidence.’ Sir John, wheezing and puffing, got to his feet.

‘What are you implying?’ Athelstan asked.

‘Something I’ve suspected.’ Sir Maurice spoke up. ‘The
St Sulpice
and
St Denis
came out of a French port. They had to be prepared and provisioned for sea.’ He shrugged. ‘It was common gossip that the Regent had a spy in the French camp who sent him news about this.’

‘And now the French captains themselves suspect this?’ Athelstan asked.

‘Possibly.’

Sir Walter rubbed his hands together, pleased that suspicion had been diverted from him.

‘It could well cause animosity amongst the prisoners,’ he declared, bright-eyed, ‘if they thought someone was the traitor, perhaps Serriem?’

Sir John clapped him on the shoulder. And you, Sir Walter?’

‘I know what you are thinking.’ The knight gaoler shrugged Sir John’s hand off. ‘Don’t worry, Sir John, I thought the same as soon as I knew Serriem was dead. Here’s old Limbright, a man who hates the French, who killed his wife, sons and drove his daughter witless. What a marvellous opportunity for revenge!’ He drummed his fingers against his dagger. ‘But I didn’t want them dead, Sir John. I just wanted them prisoners. I wanted them to experience the hurt that I felt. To pine for their families as I did. To walk round and round a room and feel the grief of separation.’ He faced the coroner squarely. Athelstan noticed the spots of anger high in his cheeks. ‘And if I wanted to kill them, Sir John, I’d do it honourably. I may be the knight of the dirty jerkin, ageing and bitter, but it would be sword against sword, or lance against lance, not poison in the dead of night.’

‘Well said! Well said!’ Athelstan commented.

‘And the corpse?’

‘It will be interred in some churchyard!’ Sir Walter snapped. ‘If the French want it home they’ll have to pay for it!’

‘I’d best be leaving,’ the physician interrupted.

Aspinall bid farewell, and quietly left.

Sir Walter waited until the footfalls faded.

‘Now there goes a man,’ he muttered sarcastically, ‘who believes that blunt, honest speech covers a multitude of sins.’

‘What do you mean?’ Athelstan asked.

‘Our good physician is what he claims to be but he likes visiting Hawkmere Manor.’

‘Stop talking in bloody riddles!’ Sir John snapped.

‘Aspinall is a bachelor; he’s taken a liking to young Gresnay.’

‘You mean he’s a lover of men?’

‘I didn’t say that, Sir John. Serriem did. Aspinall is recently arrived in London. I know little of him. Anyway, Gresnay had a fall downstairs. Aspinall came to examine him. Nothing more than bruised ribs. Serriem cracked a joke about our physician being as tender as a woman. Gresnay and the physician became rather flustered, very embarrassed. A fight might have ensued but Vamier intervened.’

‘Is there anything else we should know?’ Sir John asked.

‘Very little! The French seem a close-knit group of sailors and soldiers who’ve fought against the Goddamns since their youth. They give little away.’

‘And how long will they remain here?’ Athelstan asked.

‘They are all from fairly wealthy families. But the ransom is steep, ten pounds in gold each.’

‘Why so high?’

‘Talk to any ship owner along the Thames,’ Sir Maurice answered. ‘The
St Sulpice
and
St Denis
were hated and feared. Those two warships did terrible damage to English shipping. They are only receiving what they served up to others.’

‘Wait! Wait!’ Sir John held his hand up as Sir Walter went to open the door. ‘They commanded warships?’

‘I’ve told you.’

‘Sir Maurice, when the
St Sulpice
was taken, what was its cargo?’

The young knight scratched his chin. ‘Most of it was armaments, some chests and coffers which were immediately sealed with the Regent’s insignia. The cargo always goes to the Crown,’ he added wryly.

‘And the ship?’ Sir John persisted.

‘Oh, it now flies under English colours, it’s been renamed the
Carisbrooke.
’

Athelstan cradled his writing-bag. Something was very wrong here. Why should a man be murdered in such close confined quarters? Was it a coincidence that the sly and subtle John of Gaunt had asked him and Sir John to help, in the affairs of the heart, the knight who had commanded the ships which had brought these Frenchmen to such a poor pass? We are in the dark again, Athelstan reflected; shown bits and pieces but denied the whole picture. He glanced quickly at the coroner, who was now showing obvious signs of the generous swigs from the wineskin. He had a fixed smile on his face, and was licking his lips and patting his stomach.

‘Come on, Sir John,’ he urged. ‘And you, Sir Maurice, let’s visit our French guests.’

The prisoners were assembled in the long, dingy hall below stairs. A narrow, gloomy room with rafters like a barn, its plaster walls had turned a dingy yellow from the countless fires in the crumbling, canopied hearth. Trestle tables stood about, badly scrubbed. Two thin-ribbed wolf hounds were busy licking the table-tops for morsels.

The French were seated on a dais sharing a jug of wine and a platter of roast chicken. Athelstan suspected that Sir Walter provided this to placate his prisoners and restrain them from launching into a litany of protests about their conditions. They were a taciturn, hard-bitten crew; younger than Serriem. Their hair was cropped, their faces weatherbeaten. They were dressed in dingy clothes, shabby jerkins with frayed, faded shirts beneath. The only exception was a girlish-faced young man with thick, red lips and eyelashes any girl would envy. He had allowed his blond hair to grow and his skin was so white Athelstan wondered if he rubbed paste into it.

They hardly bothered to acknowledge their visitors but kept talking among themselves until Sir Walter struck the table with his hand.

‘Ah, good morning, Sir Walter,’ one of them said. ‘We have visitors?’

Their gaoler made the introductions. Routier, with his close face, was the first to greet them. Maneil, surly, his left eyelid drooping, constantly fingered the deep scar on his cheek. Vamier was pleasant-faced, or at least he smiled with his eyes. Athelstan took an immediate dislike to the blond-haired Gresnay who simpered in silent mockery at them. Their command of English was very good. They ignored Sir Maurice, just acknowledging his presence with nods of their heads. Athelstan was surprised but he whispered that, unlike the knights of chivalry, sea captains nursed animosities and jealousies: they regarded him as the cause of their misfortune. Sir Walter rearranged more chairs round the circular table. He offered some wine but Athelstan quickly refused.

‘I suppose you’ve heard about Serriem? Poor Guillaum?’ Routier glared at Sir Walter. ‘It’s all a sham,’ he railed. ‘We are prisoners, kept against our will, exorbitant ransoms are demanded. Now we are to be poisoned!’

Sir John got up and leaned across the table.

‘I am no sham, sir! If murder is committed, justice must be done!’

Routier blinked and sat back.

‘In which case,’ Gresnay lisped, flicking his blond hair, ‘you are going to have to perform a miracle.’

‘Now, why is that, sir?’ Athelstan asked.

‘Why, Brother,’ Gresnay replied, ‘all of us took an oath that we would not eat or drink anything someone else didn’t also taste.’

Gresnay’s words created a pool of silence.

‘I am sorry?’ Athelstan stammered.

‘Don’t you understand your own tongue, Brother?’ Vamier snapped. He tapped Gresnay on the arm. ‘Jean has spoken the truth.’

‘What is the truth?’ Sir John asked.

‘We are officers of the King of France,’ Vamier declared. ‘We are prisoners here but we fear for our lives. Sir Walter’s hatred for our nation is well known.’

‘And good reason for it!’ Sir Walter burst out.

‘Hush now!’ Athelstan held his hands up.

‘But it’s true,’ Vamier continued. ‘Why!’ He caught the look of puzzlement in Athelstan’s eyes. ‘Hasn’t he told you? It was the
St Denis
which attacked Winchelsea when his wife and sons died.’ The Frenchman lifted his shoulders and spread his hands placatingly. ‘Of course, it was a different crew, different men. No man here would agree to the wanton slaying of a woman and her sons. But, Sir John, you have fought in France?’

Sir John nodded; Athelstan recalled himself and his brother Francis entering a French town which had been sacked by English archers. Women lay dead in the streets, their throats cut, their dresses pushed back and, beside them, young children. The glory of war had died at such sights. Athelstan glanced at Sir Walter. The knight’s face had grown pale, his lips were moving soundlessly, beads of sweat ran down his cheeks.

‘I’m no assassin,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Aye, I hate you. If I had my way, I’d see you all hang on the gallows for the pirates you are!’

A fight would have broken out but Sir John banged the table with his fists.

‘When did you take this oath?’ he asked. ‘What did it signify?’

‘When we came here,’ Routier said, ‘and we realised we were in the charge of Sir Walter.’ He gestured at the platter. ‘Sir Walter himself will tell you: we only eat from the same dish and drink from the same jug.’

‘And last night?’ Athelstan asked.

‘The same. We dined here on what was supposed to be some fish, drank the same putrid wine and ate the same mouldy bread.’

His companions lowered their heads to hide their amusement. Sir Walter would have retorted angrily but Athelstan caught his wrist.

‘They are only baiting you,’ he whispered.

‘If we met him on the field of battle,’ Gresnay declared, ‘we’d do more than that, Brother!’

‘One day you might!’ Sir Walter shouted, his lips flecked with spittle.

‘But there’s another reason, isn’t there?’ Athelstan asked.

The change in the French knights was remarkable. They dropped their lazy, insulting demeanour. Vamier shuffled back on his chair, Routier pulled across the wine jug and refilled his cup.

‘Come! Come!’ Athelstan insisted. ‘You are hardly a band of brothers, are you? After all, once you were cocks of the walk, masters of the Narrow Seas, and then one day your two ships are trapped between English men-of-war and the port of Calais.’

Taken in a fair fight!’ Routier protested. ‘Fortune’s fickle wheel and fortune is blind. Perhaps next time we meet, Sir Maurice will know what it’s like to be taken prisoner?’

‘Oh, answer the question!’ Sir John snapped. ‘Two French ships taken in one day! That smacks of treachery! You were expecting fat-bellied cargo ships full of wine from Bordeaux. Aye. The best claret, rich and red, the only good thing that comes out of France.’ The coroner grinned. ‘That’s not true, but we can sit here all day like little boys in a street insulting each other.’

‘We were betrayed.’ Vamier rapped the table-top with his fingers.

‘And the traitor could be among you now?’ Athelstan asked.

‘Possibly.’

‘It could have been anyone.’ Gresnay waved his hands.

Sir John smiled beatifically across at him.

‘Young man, I’m in London yet I know that, in French ports, men-of-war are being prepared. I know that. The seagulls know that, the rats on board ship know that.’ His face straightened. ‘But how many men know what’s contained in sealed orders? Come on, how many?’ He pointed at Routier. ‘I ask you a question, sir, how many people on the
St Sulpice
and the
St Denis
knew where you were to sail, when, and what your destination was?’

‘There were six of us,’ Routier admitted. ‘We four, Serriem and Dumanier. He was killed in the fight.’

‘So, if there was a traitor,’ Sir John continued sweetly, ‘it could have been Dumanier, although the Judas kind usually ensure that they are safe, it might have been Serriem or, gentlemen, one of you.’

The consequent silence was abruptly shattered by two of the great house cats which had trapped a rat further down the hall and were busy in its noisy destruction. Sir Walter drew his sword and went down. One of the cats, the rat dangling from his mouth, hurried off hotly pursued by his companion.

‘Death is all around us,’ Maneil observed.

‘And it may strike again,’ Athelstan replied. ‘We are not here, sirs, to play a part and walk away. The Regent himself has intervened. If there is a traitor among you, he may want you all dead. Or, there again, you may know who the traitor is? Was it Serriem? Did you carry out lawful execution of him? After all, you have just assured us that none of you eat or drink anything one of your companions does not partake of. Nevertheless, Serriem was poisoned.’

‘Are you saying we forced something between Serriem’s lips?’ Maneil asked.