‘We have questioned Ashby.’ Athelstan ignored Cranston’s warning look. He wanted to shake the hardened contempt of these sailors. They sat as if they couldn’t give a damn about the mysterious death of their captain or the disappearance of three of their shipmates. ‘Ashby maintains that, after you took a small fishing smack which was slipping between French ports, Roffel seemed especially happy. Is this true?’
Athelstan looked around the group. He caught the hooded look in Cabe’s and Coffrey’s eyes; even Peverill seemed a little discomfited – his expression shifted momentarily and his lips tightened. Men who had been sitting at their ease now shuffled their feet. Both Cranston and Crawley sensed the change of mood.
‘What is this, eh?’ the admiral asked. ‘What’s this? A ship?’
‘As the good Father says,’ Cabe replied, measuring his words, ‘the captain was very happy after the taking of the French ship. We found some wine aboard, some very good claret. There’s still some left.’
‘Is that all?’ Athelstan asked.
‘Yes,’ Cabe snapped. ‘Why, should there be more?’
‘Let’s move on.’ Athelstan smiled faintly. The ship dropped anchor two days ago.’
‘Aye.’
‘And what happened then?’
‘Well,’ Peverill intervened. ‘My archers were paid off and given shore leave. We unloaded most of our plunder, what was left after Ospring had taken his portion. Sir Jacob here sent down the wagons.’
‘It’s taken to a warehouse,’ Crawley explained, ‘and guarded until it’s sold. I collect the proceeds. Some goes to the crew, with a large portion for the captain, some to the exchequer. Of course, Sir Henry, if he had been alive, would have received his portion.’
‘Go on,’ Athelstan urged, looking at Cabe.
‘Well, the crew were given shore leave. We began to check the ship for damage done, repairs to be made, stores to be bought.’
‘And Roffel’s body?’
‘Oh, the first mate, Bracklebury, took that ashore at first light – that and the captain’s personal possessions. He handed them over to his widow.’
‘Were there any visitors during the day?’
‘I came on board,’ Crawley replied, ‘for the usual inspection and routine questions.’
‘You were not upset that you’d lost a good captain?’
Crawley shrugged. ‘He wasn’t a good captain, Father. He was a good seaman. Personally, I couldn’t stand him. I know, I know, the man’s dead, God rest him, but I’ll say it now, I did not like him!’
‘Then in the afternoon,’ Cabe quickly picked up the conversation, ‘as is the custom, some whores came on board.’ He looked away sheepishly. ‘You know how it is, Father? Men at sea for some time, especially the young ones, if they don’t get their greens, they desert.’
Cranston coughed. ‘And the whores did their business?’ he asked.
‘No,’ Cabe replied tartly. ‘They stood in the stern and sang carols!’ He caught the warning look in Cranston’s eyes. ‘Of course they did, but we had them off the ship before darkness fell, when most of the crew left.’
‘Were there any other visitors?’
‘Bernicia,’ Minter the surgeon said with a smirk.
‘Who’s she?’
Now even Crawley was smiling.
‘Well, come on man, share the joke!’
‘She’s a whore, Sir John. Well, Roffel’s mistress. A pretty little thing. She has a house in Poultney Lane near the Lion Heart tavern. She didn’t know that Roffel was dead.’
‘And?’
‘When we told her the captain was dead, coffined and sent to his wife, she started blubbing. We let her stay for a while in the captain’s cabin, smacked her bottom and sent her ashore. No more bloody fingers for her.’
‘What do you mean, bloody fingers?’ Cranston asked.
Cabe leaned forward, out of the shadows.
‘When we took ships, Sir John, we were always in a hurry. We boarded them, despatched the crew, grabbed the plunder, sank the ship and left. Roffel always scrutinised every corpse for valuables, particularly rings. If they didn’t come off fast enough, he hacked the fingers off. He thought it was a joke. He used to give the rings, fingers still in them, to Bernicia his doxy.’
Athelstan looked away in disgust. He had heard about the war at sea, bloody and vicious on both sides, but Roffel seemed the devil incarnate. No wonder his wife could hardly be described as the grieving widow.
‘And after Bernicia had left?’ Cranston asked.
‘Everything was done. Bracklebury fixed the watch – himself and two other reliable fellows. We had our purses full of coins, so we took a bumboat and went ashore.’
‘Wasn’t the watch rather small in number?’ Cranston asked.
‘Not really,’ Crawley said. The ships are moored in fine on the Thames. An officer and at least two men should stay on each vessel, one at the stern and one in the bows.’ His eyes fell away.
‘But not really enough?’ Cranston insisted.
This is the devil’s own ship, Sir John,’ Coffrey said. ‘We wanted to get off. Especially after . . .’
‘After what?’ Athelstan asked quietly.
‘Children’s nightmares.’ Crawley laughed. I’ve heard of this.’
‘During the afternoon,’ Cabe explained, ‘when the day began to die and the mist started rolling in, some of the men said the ship was haunted by Roffel’s ghost.’ He shrugged. ‘You know sailors. We’re a superstitious lot. They talked of feeling cold, of an unseen presence, of scrabbling noises from the hold. They put this to the mate, he asked for two volunteers to stay, the rest of us went ashore.’
‘So, after dark,’ Athelstan said, ‘there was only the mate and two of the watch? Did anyone here approach the ship?’
There was a chorus of denials.
‘But we keep in contact,’ Crawley explained. ‘On every hour, when the candle flame reaches the ring, the password is sent along from ship to ship by speaking trumpet. On the half-hour, a shuttered lantern on each ship sends three quick flashes of light as a sign that all is well.’
‘So.’ Athelstan stretched. ‘Further up the river you have the Holy Trinity. The watch on that ship would pass the message to the God’s Bright Light. A password on the hour, a lantern flashing every half-hour?’
Crawley nodded.
‘And was this done?’
‘The watch on the Holy Trinity did it.’
‘But did the God’s Bright Light pass it on to the Saint Margaret?’
‘Oh yes,’ Crawley replied. ‘That’s where the mystery comes in. You see, Father, the Holy Trinity is my own ship. I let my men go ashore and I myself commanded the night watch.’
‘And the messages were sent from you?’
Crawley nodded. ‘At five o’clock I sent on the password, through a speaking trumpet. At half-past five the lamp winked three times.’
‘And at six?’
‘Ah, there were no more messages. One of the crew returned with a whore. He found the ship deserted and raised the alarm. He forced the whore to help him and rowed, with her screaming and shouting, over to my ship. I and my two men went aboard. It was like a ghost ship. The cabin was tidy, the decks in order, nothing amiss. The lantern on top of the mast was still burning as was the shuttered lantern in its recess outside the cabin door. No mark of violence, nothing missing.’
‘So’ – Athelstan picked up his quill to make a few more notes – ‘let us say this sailor returned fifteen minutes after the last message was sent and fifteen minutes before the password. According to his story and to yours, Sir Jacob, in that time three able-bodied sailors disappeared from this ship?’
‘It would appear so.’
‘And the ship’s boat wasn’t missing?’
‘No!’ Crawley snapped his fingers. ‘You might as well question the man yourself.’
Cabe went out and returned with the monkey-faced fellow who had first greeted them; he told his story in a strange, sing-song accent and it agreed exactly with what Cranston and Athelstan had already been told.
‘As you approached the ship,’ Athelstan asked, ‘did you notice anything untoward?’
‘No, Father.’
‘And once on deck?’
‘Quiet as a grave.’
Athelstan thanked him and the fellow left.