the biscuits have more weevils than flour.’
‘How many people died on this voyage?’
‘Two. The captain and the cook, Scabgut.’
‘What did the latter die of?’
‘He suffered from similar cramps. But there’s usually a death on every voyage — if it’s not the food, then a man falls overboard.’
‘So,’ Cranston intervened, ‘there was nothing suspicious about Roffel’s death?’
‘Nothing whatsoever. Though he did have his own supply of wine.’
‘But I drank from that as well,’ Coffrey the clerk intervened.
‘In which case,’ the surgeon concluded, ‘Captain Roffel ate and drank nothing we didn’t.’
‘We understand,’ Athelstan said, ‘that Captain Roffel was a hard man?’
‘Like flint,’ Cabe replied. ‘Hard as rock. He had a stone for a heart.’ He smirked. ‘God’s Bright Light! What a name for the devil’s own ship!’ He lifted a hand. ‘Oh, don’t get me wrong, Roffel was successful. We always came back with our holds full of treasure. But we took no prisoners. Roffel always made sure of that.’
‘And Ashby?’
‘No bloody use at all!’ Peverill the master-at-arms snorted. Athelstan caught the jeering note in his voice.
‘A landsman if there ever was one. Sir Henry Ospring always insisted that he joined us for at least part of the voyage. No bloody use, was he?’
A murmur of approval greeted his words.
‘Sick as a dog he was,’ Cabe added. ‘He hated ships and he hated the sea. I think that’s why the old bastard sent him. Captain Roffel was always taunting and making fun of the lad.’
‘And Ashby hated Roffel?’ Cranston asked.
‘No, he didn’t hate him, he despised him. Almost as badly as he did Sir Henry Ospring.’
‘Well, it may come as news to you,’ Cranston said ‘but Ospring’s dead and Ashby’s in flight.’
His words created little surprise and the coroner quickly gathered that both Roffel and his patron Sir Henry Ospring had been hated as iron-hard taskmasters.
‘But Ashby had left the ship before Roffel died?’
‘Yes, he landed at Dover on 19th October. Our holds were full of booty and Sir Henry’s estates he two miles to the north of the port. Ashby took his master’s portion, a very generous one too, and left.’
‘And Roffel was sickly then?’
‘Yes, he had been for some days, Sir John.’
‘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
‘How many people died on this voyage?’
‘Two. The captain and the cook, Scabgut.’
‘What did the latter die of?’
‘He suffered from similar cramps. But there’s usually a death on every voyage — if it’s not the food, then a man falls overboard.’
‘So,’ Cranston intervened, ‘there was nothing suspicious about Roffel’s death?’
‘Nothing whatsoever. Though he did have his own supply of wine.’
‘But I drank from that as well,’ Coffrey the clerk intervened.
‘In which case,’ the surgeon concluded, ‘Captain Roffel ate and drank nothing we didn’t.’
‘We understand,’ Athelstan said, ‘that Captain Roffel was a hard man?’
‘Like flint,’ Cabe replied. ‘Hard as rock. He had a stone for a heart.’ He smirked. ‘God’s Bright Light! What a name for the devil’s own ship!’ He lifted a hand. ‘Oh, don’t get me wrong, Roffel was successful. We always came back with our holds full of treasure. But we took no prisoners. Roffel always made sure of that.’
‘And Ashby?’
‘No bloody use at all!’ Peverill the master-at-arms snorted. Athelstan caught the jeering note in his voice.
‘A landsman if there ever was one. Sir Henry Ospring always insisted that he joined us for at least part of the voyage. No bloody use, was he?’
A murmur of approval greeted his words.
‘Sick as a dog he was,’ Cabe added. ‘He hated ships and he hated the sea. I think that’s why the old bastard sent him. Captain Roffel was always taunting and making fun of the lad.’
‘And Ashby hated Roffel?’ Cranston asked.
‘No, he didn’t hate him, he despised him. Almost as badly as he did Sir Henry Ospring.’
‘Well, it may come as news to you,’ Cranston said ‘but Ospring’s dead and Ashby’s in flight.’
His words created little surprise and the coroner quickly gathered that both Roffel and his patron Sir Henry Ospring had been hated as iron-hard taskmasters.
‘But Ashby had left the ship before Roffel died?’
‘Yes, he landed at Dover on 19th October. Our holds were full of booty and Sir Henry’s estates he two miles to the north of the port. Ashby took his master’s portion, a very generous one too, and left.’
‘And Roffel was sickly then?’
‘Yes, he had been for some days, Sir John.’
‘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
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