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.
'Not back to Axmouth, that's for sure,' replied de Wolfe. 'Every man of her crew who survived must live there, and we could soon find them and hang the lot if they try to go home.'
'Perhaps they'll join the other rogues in Lyme or Dartmouth,' suggested Ralph. 'Or even take the cog over to Flanders or Brittany, though I doubt they've got the brains to do that, without their master here.'
'The Tiger belongs to that merchant in Exeter,' observed Gwyn. 'He'll not take kindly to losing a valuable vessel. I should think they'll beach it somewhere and vanish into the woods.'
They went to look at the men they had vanquished and confirmed that two were dead, including the one whose head Gwyn had crushed. These they tipped overboard without ceremony, and John decided that, being miles out to sea, they were not within his jurisdiction and he needed to hold no inquests upon them.
Two other seamen. had deep sword wounds, one in the neck and the other in the chest. They had both lost a lot of blood and he suspected that they would both eventually die, especially if suppuration set in. Martin Rof had started to recover from the kick in the head and his arm seemed to have stopped bleeding. A rough bandage was wrapped around it by one of the ship's crew, and to be on the safe side John got Gwyn to lash his ankles together to prevent him from getting up.
By now, Angerus had shipped the new oar and had got the vessel under way again. 'Where are we bound, Sir John?' he asked. 'The Axe or the Exe?'
John looked at the castle constable. 'I suppose we had better get back to Topsham or Exeter?'
Morin stuck out his forked beard like the prow of a ship and nodded. 'Not much point in confronting the Axmouth villains with only these few men. We need to go down there with a large sheriff's posse — and the sheriff himself, if we can get him away from his clerks.'
The shipmaster brought the St Radegund about and they began clawing their way back westwards.
'The wind has moved more southerly, so with luck we'll just catch the evening tide to get upriver,' observed Angerus. 'Otherwise we'll have empty bellies by the morning if we have to stay out here all night.'
As they crawled across Lyme Bay, John went to the three wounded men lying with their backs up against the bulwarks. 'You'll all hang for this, of course,' he observed pleasantly. He opened his hand and showed them some pebbles that he had taken from the 'treasure' boxes.
'There's the silver you're going to die for! As you've nothing left to lose, except your lives, you may as well tell us what's been going on in Axmouth. Confession is good for your souls and, though you'll get a priest before the end, you can tell me as well.'
The one with the neck wound, a young man of about eighteen, began to cry, but Martin Rof summoned up enough strength to spit at the coroner. 'Go to hell, damn you!' he growled.
'I think you'll be there well before me, captain!' retorted the coroner. 'Now, who killed that poor lad Simon Makerel — and why?'
Martin turned his head away contemptuously, but the youngest man was desperate to grasp at anything that might save him from the gallows. 'It was him, sir, the shipmaster here! I saw him do it, as did half the crew. He caught the boy outside the tavern and dragged him around to the yard, where he strangled him with a length of rope.'
'You're a bloody liar! Keep your mouth shut!' snarled Rof.
'Tell me more about it, boy,' commanded the coroner.
'He was going to tell the Keeper about it, poor lad,' John told the sheriff later that evening. They had just caught the tide and decided to ride it all the way up to Exeter, rather than stop at Topsham. The prisoners had been taken up to Rougemont, using the soldiers from the ship as escort. The two badly wounded men were carried on litters, but Martin Rof's ankles were freed, so that he could walk. All three were locked in the foul cells in the prison below the keep, then John, Gwyn and Ralph Morin went up to eat in the hall above. Henry de Furnellis came out to keep them company and sat with a quart of ale while they made up for their sparse rations that day with food from the castle kitchens. He was regaled with their account of the dramatic scene out in Lyme Bay.
'This Simon Makerel was so conscience-stricken about the killing of the entire crew of that cog they pillaged that he decided to tell the Keeper of the Peace about it, after first confessing to his parish priest in Seaton,' explained de Wolfe. 'Unfortunately, he also disclosed his anguish to the young fellow we have down in the cells, who in turn was worried that he would suffer himself if Simon split on them. So he told the mate, that bald-headed swine who gave you those belly bruises, Ralph!'