Read Online The Death Ship of Dartmouth: (Knights Templar 21) by Michael Jecks - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Michael Jecks
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with you.’
‘Ach, they aren’t capable of anger. They’re bovine, I tell you. It’s all the oats they eat. Ha ha! If you eat cattle feed all the time, it’s no surprise you end up that way.’
‘Before you say that to one, you’d best have your sword ready,’ Simon said with a cold rage. He was a Devon man himself, born here and raised here.
‘A sword? More likely a stick to prod them.’
Simon stood, and in a moment the man was lying sprawled flat on his back. ‘How did you …?’
‘If you want to insult those who spend their whole lives wrestling cattle to the ground so they can be branded, you should learn to take a fall,’ Simon had said coldly, andwalked from the room followed by cheering and loud applause from all the Devon men in the room. All the same, he was glad that the squire didn’t leap up and draw a weapon. He had publicly shamed the man, after all. Perhaps it was the presence of Hugh, Simon’s ever-truculent servant, who stood gripping his thick staff ostentatiously, that was enough to put the squire off the experiment.
Yes, a Devon man roused was a fearful thing.
‘Definitely the men from Lyme, I’d say,’ Hawley had said again, and Kena murmured assent while Beauley nodded sagely.
It had struck Simon that these three men were the main competitors of the ship’s owner, Paul Pyckard. He looked about them again, and then asked, ‘Tell me, masters, where were all your ships when this happened? Master Hawley, yours was at sea, I believe. Master Kena?’
‘I hope you don’t mean to accuse me of trying to steal this ship, Bailiff,’ Kena said with wide-eyed shock.
‘Or me,’ Beauley said with an intimidating calmness. Like that sudden quiet before a thunderstorm. ‘I would be most unhappy to think you accused me of being a pirate.’
‘So all your ships were at sea, is that what you are saying?’ Simon asked. He knew that all had been away. It was Stephen who recorded the movements of shipping and told him each morning which ships were at anchor, which had sailed.
Kena spoke with an oleaginous smile. ‘It is the law, Bailiff. We are supposed to be using numbers to protect our craft. We have to sail in convoys.’
‘But not this vessel?’ Simon asked.
Beauley was sharp-toned. ‘The captain, whoever he was, sought to beat us to the French coast, rot his bowels! His ship was smaller, but he wanted to get there quickly and sell at the highest price, buy the best wines cheaply, and return. He would have done, too.’
Simon said no more, but as he left the ship and clambered down the rope ladder to the little boat that would row him back to shore, he was deep in thought.
He did not truly think that any of Pyckard’s competitors could have done this. The men of Lyme – yes, possibly – but this lot? No.
‘Who could have done that to her, then?’ he wondered aloud. And shivered as the devil intruded into his thoughts again. Only the devil would have taken the men and left ship and cargo.
Master Kena could not sleep. His wife was tired and he found it impossible to remain in his bed while he felt so wide awake. She was too young for him to spoil her sleep. Bless her, she would have been glad to sit with him and talk, had he asked her to, but that wasn’t fair. She was less than half his age, and she deserved a full night’s rest now that she had paid the marriage debt earlier in the evening.
Rather than disturb her, he rose from his bed, pulled on his gipon and a fur-lined cloak over the top, and wrapped himself in its thick folds before going to the door and cautiously stepping down the stairs to the room beneath. Here was the comfortable little chamber where he and his wife would sit of an evening, and although the fire was long dead, there was some residual heat about the hearth. Hedrew up a stool and sat before it, his face feeling the vague warmth.
There was no doubt that business would be affected by the disaster of Paul Pyckard’s ship. All eleven crew gone
‘Ach, they aren’t capable of anger. They’re bovine, I tell you. It’s all the oats they eat. Ha ha! If you eat cattle feed all the time, it’s no surprise you end up that way.’
‘Before you say that to one, you’d best have your sword ready,’ Simon said with a cold rage. He was a Devon man himself, born here and raised here.
‘A sword? More likely a stick to prod them.’
Simon stood, and in a moment the man was lying sprawled flat on his back. ‘How did you …?’
‘If you want to insult those who spend their whole lives wrestling cattle to the ground so they can be branded, you should learn to take a fall,’ Simon had said coldly, andwalked from the room followed by cheering and loud applause from all the Devon men in the room. All the same, he was glad that the squire didn’t leap up and draw a weapon. He had publicly shamed the man, after all. Perhaps it was the presence of Hugh, Simon’s ever-truculent servant, who stood gripping his thick staff ostentatiously, that was enough to put the squire off the experiment.
Yes, a Devon man roused was a fearful thing.
‘Definitely the men from Lyme, I’d say,’ Hawley had said again, and Kena murmured assent while Beauley nodded sagely.
It had struck Simon that these three men were the main competitors of the ship’s owner, Paul Pyckard. He looked about them again, and then asked, ‘Tell me, masters, where were all your ships when this happened? Master Hawley, yours was at sea, I believe. Master Kena?’
‘I hope you don’t mean to accuse me of trying to steal this ship, Bailiff,’ Kena said with wide-eyed shock.
‘Or me,’ Beauley said with an intimidating calmness. Like that sudden quiet before a thunderstorm. ‘I would be most unhappy to think you accused me of being a pirate.’
‘So all your ships were at sea, is that what you are saying?’ Simon asked. He knew that all had been away. It was Stephen who recorded the movements of shipping and told him each morning which ships were at anchor, which had sailed.
Kena spoke with an oleaginous smile. ‘It is the law, Bailiff. We are supposed to be using numbers to protect our craft. We have to sail in convoys.’
‘But not this vessel?’ Simon asked.
Beauley was sharp-toned. ‘The captain, whoever he was, sought to beat us to the French coast, rot his bowels! His ship was smaller, but he wanted to get there quickly and sell at the highest price, buy the best wines cheaply, and return. He would have done, too.’
Simon said no more, but as he left the ship and clambered down the rope ladder to the little boat that would row him back to shore, he was deep in thought.
He did not truly think that any of Pyckard’s competitors could have done this. The men of Lyme – yes, possibly – but this lot? No.
‘Who could have done that to her, then?’ he wondered aloud. And shivered as the devil intruded into his thoughts again. Only the devil would have taken the men and left ship and cargo.
Master Kena could not sleep. His wife was tired and he found it impossible to remain in his bed while he felt so wide awake. She was too young for him to spoil her sleep. Bless her, she would have been glad to sit with him and talk, had he asked her to, but that wasn’t fair. She was less than half his age, and she deserved a full night’s rest now that she had paid the marriage debt earlier in the evening.
Rather than disturb her, he rose from his bed, pulled on his gipon and a fur-lined cloak over the top, and wrapped himself in its thick folds before going to the door and cautiously stepping down the stairs to the room beneath. Here was the comfortable little chamber where he and his wife would sit of an evening, and although the fire was long dead, there was some residual heat about the hearth. Hedrew up a stool and sat before it, his face feeling the vague warmth.
There was no doubt that business would be affected by the disaster of Paul Pyckard’s ship. All eleven crew gone
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