The Manor of Death (37 page)

On the evening before the departure from Topsham, he went down to the tavern in Idle Lane to tell Nesta that all was set for the following day. He waited until one of Nesta's maids had brought him a thick trencher of bread carrying a meaty pork knuckle surrounded by fried onions - and Edwin had refilled his quart pot with best ale. With the auburn-haired Welshwoman sitting opposite to make sure he ate every morsel, he gave all the details of the trap they were hoping to set for the pirates. She had done well in carefully seeding the news of the 'treasure ship' amongst her patrons. As many of these were merchants or carters who travelled the roads of Devon and the nearby counties, he knew that the gossip machine would have spread the news from the Bush far and wide.

When he had finished his meal, they talked for a time and he found her in a pensive, reminiscent mood. She spoke of the stressful times of the past two years, of the burning of the inn when she had almost lost her life and of the miscarriage she had suffered. John knew from her mood that there would be no climbing the ladder to the loft that night. Before he left, she had a caution, born out of her regard for him.

'Be careful tomorrow, John. You can be too reckless sometimes - you are not indestructible!'

She bent and gave him a quick kiss on the lips, then walked quickly to the ladder and climbed it without a backward glance.

Soon after dawn next day a cavalcade left Rougemont and proceeded through the city to the South Gate, drawing a lot of attention from the people clustered around the food stalls lining the main streets. The statuesque figure of Ralph Morin led the procession, erect on his big horse, followed by the coroner and his officer riding side by side on a pair of rounseys from the castle stables. Three packhorses came next, each with a pair of money chests hung over their backs, flanked by ten mounted soldiers. The rear was brought up by Sergeant Gabriel and another man-at-arms. All the escort wore round iron helmets with a nose-guard and jerkins of thick boiled leather. The only exception was the constable, who had a full-length hauberk of chain mail. All carried swords hanging from their belts, supported by diagonal baldrics over their right shoulders, and long sheathed daggers at their backs. This formidable group took the road south alongside the river, which led to Topsham, five miles away. They reached the port where the river became a wider estuary an hour before high water, and the boxes were quickly unloaded from the pack animals and stowed in the hold of the
St Radegund
, watched by a curious crowd on the quayside. Though the inhabitants of Topsham were used to ships and cargo coming and going every day of their lives, to see such a strong escort of armed soldiers was a novelty - and the novelty was increased when they saw the troop filing aboard the vessel, instead of going back to Exeter once the chests had been safely delivered. The crew of the cog were also mystified, as for the sake of secrecy Angerus de Wile had not yet told them the true purpose of this voyage.

His mate, an old sailor named Alphegus, voiced their concerns. 'We can't house and feed this lot all the way to Honfleur!' he exclaimed, as under Gabriel's direction the soldiers clambered down ladders into the hold and out of sight. He was already puzzled, as the ship had loaded no other cargo for the alleged voyage to Normandy.

De Wile placed an arm reassuringly around the old sea dog's shoulders. 'Don't worry about feeding them, Alphegus - they've got rations for a day in their pouches. We should only be out for a couple of tides!'

With the other five crew clustered around, he at last explained what they were doing. Though the coroner had been a little concerned at virtually tricking the crew into this venture, they were quite happy to go along with it, partly because they felt safe enough with eighteen armed men aboard and also because they wanted to see revenge wreaked on those who had caused the deaths of fellow mariners.

At high water they cast off and the ebb tide and light breeze took them down towards the open sea, where they turned south-east and began to cross the wide expanse of Lyme Bay. Until another vessel came in sight - if it ever did - there was no need for the men to be concealed, though all but de Wolfe, Morin and Gwyn did stay in the hold, most of them playing dice on top of the boxes of spurious silver.

The offshore wind was light and mainly northerly, unlike the last time John ventured to sea a few weeks before. Then the strong south-westerly hurried them up-Channel, but this much slower progress suited their purpose better, as it gave them more time to be exposed to any rogue ship searching for them. To increase their lingering even more, Angerus deliberately failed to make the best use of the yard-sheets and steering oar, so that they meandered away from the mouth of the Exe, slowly increasing their distance from the land. It was fairly hazy, and by noon the coast of Devon and Dorset was just a misty blur on the northern horizon. De Wolfe was beginning to fear that the whole venture was going to be a complete failure and a waste of several weeks of careful preparation.

'Where are we now?' he asked the shipmaster, who was standing alongside Alphegus, who manned the steering oar.

'About level with the Axe, Sir John,' replied the shipmaster. 'But a long way out. There would be no point in trying to flaunt ourselves as a possible victim within clear sight of the shore.'

Half an hour later that landfall had melted into the mist, though east and west, where the haze was thinner, Portland Bill and Start Point could just be glimpsed. The sea was calm, with just a slight swell passing under the ungainly hull - which was just as well, as the effectiveness of some of the men-at-arms would have been badly blunted by seasickness.

Those on deck stared into the distance until their eyes watered, feeling increasingly disappointed as the time went by.

'Can we turn around and go back for a while, to give them a better chance of seeing us?' demanded Ralph Morin, utterly ignorant of the ways of the sea.

The shipmaster shook his head. 'Not against this wind - and anyway it would be obvious that we were heading in the wrong direction for the treasure ship.'

One of the crew had clambered up the rigging and sat perilously on the centre of the yard that supported the single large sail. A few minutes later he gave a yell and called down to those on the afterdeck.

There's a sail away to the nor'-east. Coming out of the haze in this direction.'

There was a buzz of excitement, which was taken up by the soldiers in the hold, who were getting bored even with their gaming.

'How far away?' yelled Angerus, turning his pugnacious face upwards to the lookout.

'About five miles, I reckon.'

The master turned to the coroner and constable. 'Too far yet to see who it is. Might be a legitimate trader out of Lyme or Axmouth. I'll just keep on this course and see what they do.'

Morin motioned towards the hold. 'We'd better get out of sight soon and just leave the crew on deck.'

They went to one of the short ladders that were propped against the inner edge of the hatch-coaming and went down, to join their men. The hold was normally closed by a series of heavy planks across the opening and covered with a canvas sheet. Now, only a few of these boards were in place and the cover loosely draped across them.

Half an hour later Angerus came to the edge of the hold and called down. 'That vessel is coming straight for us, about two miles away. We are out of sight of land altogether now.'

'Can you see what ship it is?' asked de Wolfe.

'Not yet, just another cog, but she's going to cross our path soon, though I'm not making my best speed.'

'Perhaps you better had,' suggested Gwyn. 'If she is a pirate, her master will be suspicious if you don't try to get clear.'

There was some shouting and creaking of ropes and spars as Angerus went through the motions of getting a fraction better performance out of the
St Radegund
.

After another half-hour, de Wile called out again, sounding anxious. 'I'm sure it's
The Tiger
- she's closing on us fast. Another few minutes and she'll be here!'

Ralph Morin climbed partway up the ladder and peered over the hatch-coaming. 'You'd better act scared, Angerus,' he ordered. 'Get your men to run around and point. We'll stay quiet down here until they actually start to board, then you cross to t' other side of the vessel and keep out of the way!'

He motioned to the others in the hold to keep quiet, as sounds travel far across water on a calm day. They all drew their swords and a few had maces or long knives in their other hands, ready for action.

John felt the frisson of excitement that always pervaded him just before a fight. Gwyn was grinning broadly at the prospect, slipping his left wrist through the leather loop of his fearsome ball and chain.

In a few minutes they heard their own crew shouting defiance that held a fearful tremor that was not all feigned. Almost at once, a more distant yelling began and they heard, the creaking and splashing of another vessel as she came at them from astern with her port side towards their bow, then a lurch and grinding as she slid along their hull, deliberately smashing the steering oar to disable them.

There was a rattling as several grappling hooks were thrown over their side and the
St Radegund
lurched again as the two cogs locked together. All this was accompanied by bloodthirsty yelling from the crew of
The Tiger
, as they began to clamber over the gunwales.

'Right, men, get up and kill the bastards!' roared the constable. As the troop commander, he was in charge, but John and Gwyn were alongside at two of the other ladders, leading some of the men-at-arms up on to the deck. Angerus and his crew had wisely taken Ralph's advice and were running down the port side towards the bow, leaving the waist of the vessel free for the attackers to board. Five or six men were clambering down from the rail, waving knives and swords, as Morin and the others suddenly materialised in front of them.

Their shocked surprise was almost ludicrous as they saw more than a dozen armed soldiers swarm out of the hatch and advance upon them with raised weapons.

'Back, get back aboard!' screamed the first man across the gunwale, but it was too late. John saw that the leader was Martin Rof, and he ran at him with a roar, his own sword upraised. The master of
The Tiger
was no coward and parried John's blow with a clash of metal, as Gwyn and Morin forced other men back against the thick wooden bulwark that ran around the deck.

There was a cacophony of screaming and yelling and the sound of weapon on weapon. Morin had engaged the mate of
The Tiger
, a huge man with a bald head, who was wielding a dagger and a short stabbing spear. The constable was thankful that he had worn the heavy hauberk, as the mate's pike had a longer reach than Ralph's sword and was bruising his chest and belly with every jab. Gwyn had felled another ruffian with the first swing of his ball-mace and was chasing another back over the rail, while John was dealing with the shipmaster. Martin Rof was swinging his sword desperately as he backed to the gunwale, obviously seeking to get back to his own ship, but John used his yard of steel two-handed and battered down Rof's defence by sheer force. The last swing caught the bearded shipmaster across the forearm, and with a scream he dropped his sword and dagger to clutch his wounded limb, blood pumping from between his fingers.

He tried to get up on to the rail, but de Wolfe grabbed him by the neck of his tunic and pulled him to the deck, where a kick in the head kept him down. When John looked around, the battle was over, and indeed several of the soldiers had not struck a blow, as they so outnumbered the half-dozen who had clambered aboard. Gwyn stood over a dead man, and Ralph had soon overcome the bald mate by chopping his spear-shaft through with a mighty swing of his broadsword. However, the man had leapt back aboard
The Tiger
, where those of the crew who had not climbed across were desperately hacking through the ropes from the grapnels, allowing the vessels to drift apart.

'The sods are getting away!' roared Gwyn, leaping up on to the rail.

Fearful that he would jump across and be left alone on the other ship, de Wolfe yelled at him to stop, but Gwyn's innate good sense overcame his fighting spirit and he contented himself with hurling insults and abuse at the rapidly retreating vessel. He was joined by the crew of the
St Radegund
who ran back from the safety of the port side to jeer across the widening strip of water at the shocked remnants of the pirate gang.

'The swine have made off, Crowner!' said the shipmaster angrily.

'Not all of them, Angerus,' replied de Wolfe, pulling off his iron helmet to wipe his brow. 'We've got two of them dead here and another three captive, including their leader.'

Martin Rof lay groaning in the scuppers, still bleeding on to the deck. Ralph Morin, wincing at the bruises that were forming on his own belly, prodded Rof with his boot. 'Better not let him die, I suppose! We may need his confession to nail those others in Axmouth.'

As their blood-lust subsided, the defenders took stock of the situation, while the crew went to haul out their spare steering oar to replace the one that had been shattered. None of the men-at-arms had suffered so much as a scratch, so complete had been the surprise they sprang on the pirates - it was only their constable who had sustained a few bruises.

'Where can
The Tiger
go now?' asked Ralph, looking across at the receding cog as the remnants of her crew struggled to regain control.