The Manor of Death(46)

'Simon Makerel? What in the Virgin's name do I know about him?' snarled the shipmaster. 'The bloody boy left my vessel at the end of the voyage, so how should I know what happened to him?'

'Did anything occur on that voyage that might have led to his murder?'

Martin Rof turned to spit contemptuously into the river mud. 'I don't know what goes on in the forecastle, man! Maybe one of the crew had some sport with the pretty lad - how would I know? He left the ship with his voyage money and was due back two days later, but he never showed up. We had to find another shipman to take his place ... not that he was much bloody use, anyway.'

'What d'you mean, not much use?' snapped de Wolfe.

'He was not cut out to be a sailor! I heard tell he wanted to be a flaming priest! Soft he was, seasick half the time and too afraid to climb his own height up the rigging! Just as well he never came back, he was a dead weight.'

'He was soon dead, right enough,' retorted de Wolfe. 'Strangled and buried! Now, let's have it straight, did anything happen on that trip to make him a target for some killer? We know he was upset and acting strangely when he got home to Seaton after leaving this vessel.'

Martin shrugged indifferently. 'I told you, I'm a shipmaster, not a bloody nursemaid! I don't know - nor do I care - what goes on amongst the crew.'

John made one last effort to get some information. 'Where did you come from on that voyage?'

Rof's pale blue eyes glared at the coroner. 'What's that got to do with anything? We took wool out of here to Dunkerque, then called at Barfleur on the way home to pick up some wine, though we had a very light load returning - didn't earn us much money. Satisfied?'

De Wolfe was far from satisfied, but short of getting Martin Rof put to the torture under the keep of Rougemont there was little more he could do. He made a final effort. 'What about your crew? Are these the same ones who sailed with Makerel that time?'

'They are indeed!' boomed the captain. 'You can ask them the same silly bloody questions if you like,' he sneered. He turned and yelled at his men in a voice like thunder, calling each by name. Half a dozen came to the bulwarks or stopped carrying bales up the plank to listen to what their master had to say.

'Tell the crowner here what he wants to know, lads,' he said in a jeering voice. 'Did any of you upset young Simon? Maybe somebody bent the ship's boy over the rail for bit of fun, eh?'

Their coarse laughter was cut off by de Wolfe's voice, which easily matched Rof's for volume and carried a sting like a whiplash. 'Enough of that, damn you all! This is serious - a young lad came to a shameful death! Now, do any of you have any knowledge of what may have happened to him, either before or after he left this ship?'

There was a silence, in which each man looked at his fellow and shook his head. They were a ruffianly bunch, even for shipmen, and John could sense straight away that even if they had anything to tell, he would never hear it from them. With a gesture of disgust, he turned away, with a valedictory threat. 'If I find that you are concealing anything from me, it will be the worse for you. So think on that!'

He stalked away and, feeling the need for some sustenance, led the way to the Harbour Inn, just inside the lower gate, opposite the church. A surly innkeeper sold them some indifferent ale and cider and put two loaves, butter and cheese on a table, along with a wooden board carrying a half-eaten leg of mutton. De Wolfe had the distinct impression that the king's law officers were unwelcome in Axmouth.

The five men sat around the food in the dingy taproom, ignored by the half-dozen others who crouched on stools or leant against the lime-washed walls. They hacked at the bread and meat with their eating knives and discussed in low voices their lack of progress.

'Now that we are here, I'm going across to Seaton to see if that widow has any further idea what was ailing her son before he died,' said John. 'Thomas, you can tackle that parish priest over there once again. Someone must know something, for Christ Jesu's sake!' His voice betrayed his exasperation at the wall of silence that seemed to surround this village.

'Looking in that warehouse got you no further,' observed Gwyn to Luke de Casewold. He was fond of baiting the choleric Keeper, who he thought was a rash idiot.

'I doubt that anything in the other buildings would tell us anything either,' replied Luke. 'False listings are easy to make and I suspect that the portreeve is an expert at deception. Looking at a pile of goods tells us nothing, it seems. All of it may have been pillaged out at sea and brought in in the guise of legitimate cargo.'

As they finished the last of the food, de Wolfe asked the Keeper what he intended to do next, now that all his avenues of enquiry seemed to have run dry.

'That pedlar who was killed - he must have fallen foul of an illicit load of goods,' exclaimed de Casewold. 'They have to move all their loot out of this village or it is worth nothing to them, so I'm going to lie in wait and see what trundles out of this cursed place at dead of night - and where it ends up.'