He shrugged off the profitless grinding of the problem in his mind and drank the last of his quart of cider. Then he realised that de Grenville was asking him something.
‘That fellow you brought back with us, the one we threw into my gaol in the gatehouse. What are we to do with him? Do you want to take him back to Exeter?’
‘No. Richard de Revelle would hang him the day he arrived there. I have no proof that he has done any wrong, save fight for his lord as he was ordered.’
‘That surely is enough to hang him! He resisted the forces of the law on the soil of Devon – even against the county sheriff and the coroner. He tried to kill you – your shoulder plate still bears the mark.’
John held out his tankard to a passing servant for a refill. ‘I suppose so, though I bear him no ill-will for that. It was in fair fight and I certainly did him more damage when I clouted him across the head than he did me.’
‘So why did you bring him back?’
‘I suppose it was an impulse – I had some vague idea of getting information from him about Lundy.’
The amiable lord of Bideford got up and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘I must stay and entertain my guests here, but you are welcome to see if you can get anything from him.’
A little later, the coroner sought out Gwyn, who was sitting around a similar fire in the bailey, drinking and telling tales with Gabriel and his men-at-arms. They went to the cells, two small, foul-smelling rooms opposite the guardroom. The night guard brought a tallow dip and unlocked a door in its flickering light. On the dirty straw inside, the man from Lundy was slumped against the wall, conscious but holding his head and groaning. A filthy bucket was the only furniture, but half a loaf and a jar of water stood untouched just inside the door. He lifted his head as they entered, screwing up his eyes at the poor light they carried. He was in about his thirtieth year, his weatherbeaten face suggesting he spent much of his time at sea. ‘Have you come to hang me?’ he muttered thickly, in a tone that suggested he cared little if they had. His bloodshot eyes focused on the coroner, and he recognised him as the man he had struck with his sword just before his memory failed.
‘You may surely hang, fellow,’ said de Wolfe, ‘but I have no great desire to see you on the gallows, so it depends on whether you have anything useful to tell us.’
‘What can I tell you? I am nothing but a serf to my lord William.’
‘Doing what, man? I am the county coroner and have some power to save your neck, if you can be useful to me.’
‘I labour on the manor farm on Lundy for much of the time, but am also a ship-man when required. We run back and forth to Clovelly or the ports here.’
‘And a little piracy when needed?’ grunted Gwyn.
The man gave a cynical laugh. ‘It would certainly put my head into the noose if I said yes to that, eh?’
‘I am not much concerned about piracy in general, but about one matter in particular.’ De Wolfe explained about the vessel Saint Isan and the evidence of the Breton lad. ‘Your lord William denies that he was involved and bids me look elsewhere – but as he claims that half the boats between Cardiff and Constantinople are pirate vessels, that’s not much help to me.’
The man’s eyes took on a little more life as he saw a hope of saving his neck. ‘If I can help you in this, will you speak for me?’
‘If you are very helpful, I may just forget to have that door locked in the morning. Maybe then you could even find your way back to that godforsaken island.’
‘I never wish to see it again, sir. I have no family there. If I could lie low in one of these boroughs, I could even gain my freedom.’
A villein who managed to escape from his hamlet to a town and survive for a year and a day was entitled to become a freeman. From the prospect of the gibbet a few moments ago, the islander now saw a better future, if only he could satisfy this black hawk of a man who hovered over him.
‘What can I tell you? I know something of the sea and ships along this coast.’
‘Which ports have a reputation for piracy? Are some more active than others?’
The fellow nodded vigorously, ignoring the pain it provoked in his neck. ‘Some are free of it, like Ilfracombe and these towns up-river here. It is the smaller places that harbour them, where most of the village is involved in the enterprise and where everyone stays silent about it.’
‘Such as where?’
He considered for a moment. ‘Watchet and Minehead in Somerset, then Lynmouth and Combe Martin in the east of this county. Down west there are plenty – Clovelly, Hartland Quay and Bude are the nearer ones. But other marauding ships come from far and wide to prey on merchant vessels using the Severn Sea.’
‘Had you heard anything of the seizing of this particular ship, making for Bristol? What about the cargo? Would that end up somewhere to be sold?’
De Wolfe and Gwyn stood over the man as he thought again. ‘When did this occur?’ he asked.
‘Towards the end of the first week of this month.’
‘Then it certainly wasn’t from Lundy. We had no ships afloat then.’ He thought again. ‘Something comes into my mind … gossip from seamen that came over to Lundy from Combe Martin about then. It wasn’t them, though they’re not averse to taking a small boat or two occasionally. Something in my head, even through the hurt you gave me, Crowner, tells me that Lynmouth may be involved.’
‘Lynmouth? It’s a tiny place. Could they put a big enough vessel to sea?’ asked de Wolfe.
Gwyn wagged his hairy head confidently. ‘A few cottages are enough to raise a crew – ten or twelve men to row and wield swords or pikes. Nowhere is too small for that.’
The coroner looked down again at the prisoner. ‘Tell me more.’
‘I know Lynmouth, I have sailed into there many times.’ He looked sheepishly at his hands. ‘De Marisco has more than once sent certain goods he acquired from other ships into there so that they could be carted to Taunton and Bridgwater for sale, with no questions asked.’
De Wolfe felt that at last he was getting somewhere. ‘So in Lynmouth, can you say who might be responsible for running a galley out of there?’
‘I’m no traitor to my mates, Crowner.’
‘It’s your neck that will be stretched, if that door stays shut.’
This persuasive argument removed any vestiges of loyalty between thieves. ‘I know some names, but not who is the leader – it might be their lord himself, for all I know. But there is Eddida Curt-arm, a strange fellow with short limbs, who is supposed to be a fisherman. Another who works with him is Crannog, a Cornishman, with an accent like your man here.’
Gwyn grunted, unsure whether this was a compliment or an insult.
‘And Adret Picknose, that’s another name I know. Other faces would be familiar, but I cannot put names to them. They certainly have at least one vessel with six pairs of oars in Lynmouth. It is masted, but narrow in the beam. They keep it on the beach around the west side of the river mouth, out of sight as much as is possible.’
A few moments more proved that the man from Lundy had nothing else useful to tell them. True to his promise, de Wolfe told him that he would be quietly released in the morning, as the castle gates were now firmly shut until dawn. In any case, after the buffet on the head he had received, he needed a few more hours to fully recover his senses.
‘The sheriff won’t be happy about you letting him free,’ said Gwyn happily, as they walked back across the bailey. ‘He would have liked someone to string up as a token of his successful exploits.’