The Death Ship of Dartmouth: (Knights Templar 21) by Michael Jecks Page B
Authors: Michael Jecks
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would be preferable to this drawn-out torture.’
‘I am sorry, Master Pyckard. I am just trying to understand what could have happened. So you can think of no reason why the ship should have been attacked?’
‘Wrong, Bailiff,’ Pyckard said, but his voice was weary rather than bitter. ‘I can think of many. There are lots of people who might like to ruin me by destroying my ships and livelihood. Kena hates me, and he likes to thwart me. Perhaps
he
had
his
men take my ship – and then the cowardly sot saw a sail on the horizon and ran away before he was caught. You take your pick, Master Bailiff.’
Chapter Eight
Hilary Beauley swung himself from the ratline over the sheer and onto the rope ladder, letting himself down into his boat. ‘Cast off,’ he ordered.
The little vessel lurched under the strong pull of the two oarsmen, and he was soon on the beach at Hardness. Here he sprang from the craft onto the shingle and set off homewards.
His house was less impressive than those of Kena or Pyckard, let alone Hawley, but he was happy that he was making enough money. Soon he would have another ship, and then he could begin to expand his contacts, start to import more valuable goods, take tin and cloth further afield, bring back spices and dyestuffs. The things that made a man wealthy.
Others he had grown up with had taken to business of different forms. For him, though, the only thing that mattered was the quick route to riches. He had studied merchants when he was young, and as soon as he could save, he had invested in a mercantile venture to Portugal. The wines brought back had not been so successful as the Gascon ones, but he had hopes that if the French remained in Gascony, as they threatened, the value of foreign wineswould naturally increase. Until the Portuguese realised that, he could make a lot of cash. And it was easier than following the convoys. Damn that – in convoy every man was under the eye of his competitors. No one liked that.
His ship was almost ready. He’d looked to its fittings with care, and now, with a sudden injection of money, he had enough to order the new ship as well. Plans were being drawn up with the shipwrights, and when they were ready, he’d be able to order it. The new one would be a bigger ship, a cog of forty or fifty tuns.
The threat of war with France was worrying, of course. Like all the other merchants, he depended on the money which trade with Gascony brought in, and even if he kept his Portuguese interests going, there was always the danger of fresh piracy. The Bretons were very competent sailors and their fast boats could be a significant hazard to a merchant vessel. The fate of the
Saint John
would soon be forgotten. That was nothing: if the Bretons caught a ship, it’d be wholesale slaughter for the crew and the theft of everything on board. The money which one cog like her would bring to a small French fishing community could not be ignored.
As soon as war was declared, all the town’s ships would be pressed into the King’s service, too. Usually Edward would pay quite well, by the tun, but there was no saying how long it would take before the money would start to come in. Even if Beauley lived, it could be months or years before the King made good the debt. And by then, the ship could be sunk or stolen. War was a fickle master.
No, best look to making money while he could and try to avoid being pressed into the King’s host. Perhaps he couldensure that his competitors were called into service rather than him. After all, other men had larger ships for transporting horses and men, while if smaller landing ships were needed, his was rather too large. The dangers of bringing an army over the water were well enough known to all. With any luck, his vessel should fall between the two stools. Especially if he was careful to make clear that the others in town had better craft for raiding as well.
The others would do the same to him if they had a chance. And he was
‘I am sorry, Master Pyckard. I am just trying to understand what could have happened. So you can think of no reason why the ship should have been attacked?’
‘Wrong, Bailiff,’ Pyckard said, but his voice was weary rather than bitter. ‘I can think of many. There are lots of people who might like to ruin me by destroying my ships and livelihood. Kena hates me, and he likes to thwart me. Perhaps
he
had
his
men take my ship – and then the cowardly sot saw a sail on the horizon and ran away before he was caught. You take your pick, Master Bailiff.’
Chapter Eight
Hilary Beauley swung himself from the ratline over the sheer and onto the rope ladder, letting himself down into his boat. ‘Cast off,’ he ordered.
The little vessel lurched under the strong pull of the two oarsmen, and he was soon on the beach at Hardness. Here he sprang from the craft onto the shingle and set off homewards.
His house was less impressive than those of Kena or Pyckard, let alone Hawley, but he was happy that he was making enough money. Soon he would have another ship, and then he could begin to expand his contacts, start to import more valuable goods, take tin and cloth further afield, bring back spices and dyestuffs. The things that made a man wealthy.
Others he had grown up with had taken to business of different forms. For him, though, the only thing that mattered was the quick route to riches. He had studied merchants when he was young, and as soon as he could save, he had invested in a mercantile venture to Portugal. The wines brought back had not been so successful as the Gascon ones, but he had hopes that if the French remained in Gascony, as they threatened, the value of foreign wineswould naturally increase. Until the Portuguese realised that, he could make a lot of cash. And it was easier than following the convoys. Damn that – in convoy every man was under the eye of his competitors. No one liked that.
His ship was almost ready. He’d looked to its fittings with care, and now, with a sudden injection of money, he had enough to order the new ship as well. Plans were being drawn up with the shipwrights, and when they were ready, he’d be able to order it. The new one would be a bigger ship, a cog of forty or fifty tuns.
The threat of war with France was worrying, of course. Like all the other merchants, he depended on the money which trade with Gascony brought in, and even if he kept his Portuguese interests going, there was always the danger of fresh piracy. The Bretons were very competent sailors and their fast boats could be a significant hazard to a merchant vessel. The fate of the
Saint John
would soon be forgotten. That was nothing: if the Bretons caught a ship, it’d be wholesale slaughter for the crew and the theft of everything on board. The money which one cog like her would bring to a small French fishing community could not be ignored.
As soon as war was declared, all the town’s ships would be pressed into the King’s service, too. Usually Edward would pay quite well, by the tun, but there was no saying how long it would take before the money would start to come in. Even if Beauley lived, it could be months or years before the King made good the debt. And by then, the ship could be sunk or stolen. War was a fickle master.
No, best look to making money while he could and try to avoid being pressed into the King’s host. Perhaps he couldensure that his competitors were called into service rather than him. After all, other men had larger ships for transporting horses and men, while if smaller landing ships were needed, his was rather too large. The dangers of bringing an army over the water were well enough known to all. With any luck, his vessel should fall between the two stools. Especially if he was careful to make clear that the others in town had better craft for raiding as well.
The others would do the same to him if they had a chance. And he was
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