The Elixir of Death Read online

  The clerk, for whom one pint of cider was more than enough, left early to meet some friends among the secondaries and vicars in the Close, leaving Gwyn and Nesta to debate other matters with de Wolfe.

  'Do you think confronting de Revelle will achieve anything, John?' she asked. 'You know how much he hates you these days.' Her previous spat of jealousy seemed to have been submerged by concern for his welfare.

  'I can think of no other way for me to advance this obscure situation,' he replied. 'I just want some information about his father and his knowledge of Peter le Calve. I doubt I will get anything but a hostile reception from Richard, but at least the topic is not one that concerns himself or his misdeeds.'

  Gwyn pulled at the bushy ends of his moustache, which hung down below his jaw. 'As long as the reception isn't a shower of arrows from the gatehouse of his manor! He'll be on his own ground there and not disposed to accept any liberties from you, Crowner. '

  'I'll be the soul of discretion!' snapped John, which made Nesta smile, as, though her lover had many worthy qualities, tact was not one of them. Gwyn was still tugging away at his whiskers, usually a sign that he was worrying about something.

  'This talk of Levantines or Turks or whatever you want to call them,' he growled. 'Why the hell should they be in the west of England to aid this bloody prince? There can't be an army of them, so what use can a few be, if the rumour is true?'

  'And where are they, anyway?' added Nesta, typically getting to the heart of the matter. 'No one has seen so much as a turban or whatever they wear. How can it possibly be true?'

  De Wolfe held up his hands in mock protection against their objections.

  'It sounds unlikely, I know, but the King's spies are usually accurate. What Mussulmen have got to do with this money that's to be found, I don't know - perhaps they are going to make the stuff for Prince John!'

  Alexander of Leith's foray to Revelstoke had been made a number of days before de Wolfe's journey there, and the alchemist was now back in the lonely ruin in the forest, still thinking about the visit they had made to the former sheriff.

  When they had left Bigbury to meet Sir Richard de Revelle, Raymond de Blois had escorted the little Scot rapidly across ten miles of the western end of the Devon coast, with the grotesque Fleming hard put to keep up behind them. They had to go inland for half the distance to find a ford over the River Erme, another of the estuaries that cleaved the landscape, then aimed for the Yealm, the next fjord that cut deeply into the coast. De Blois had been here as an envoy - and a spy - several times before, covertly entering England by the western sea route on missions from Paris to the Count of Mortain. He spoke English, knew the terrain and had a mental map of the main tracks through the county, so was able to aim unerringly for Newton Ferrars, a fishing village on the Yealm. This vill was not his destination that day, but rather the manor of Revelstoke, a large honour occupying most of the peninsula south of the Yealm, which stretched down to the cliffs at the western end of the huge bay that arced from Bolt Head to Gara Point. He had visited Richard de Revelle before and knew his way to the manor-house, which stood on the high ground of the peninsula halfway between Newton Ferrars and Stoke Point. This was a headland behind which sheltered the little church of St Peter the Poor Fisherman, built by Richard de Revelle a few years earlier, in a moment of generosity augmented by the belief that it would aid his entry into heaven.

  The trio reached Revelstoke early in the afternoon, as they had been delayed in fording the Erme because of the high tide. The manor-house was set behind a stone wall and a deep ditch as, being so near a lonely part of the coast, there was always the danger of sea raiders. Though a few crofts and tofts lay around it, the manor was more diffuse than the usual village, with some large bartons farming the extensive field systems that occupied much of the peninsula. There were more dwellings down at Noss, where crofts and fishing huts faced Newton across an arm of the branching Yealm river.

  The bailey around the manor-house was guarded by a sturdy gatehouse, where a surly porter let them in as soon as he recognised Raymond de Blois. Inside, Alexander saw that the large bailey surrounded an imposing stone-built house of two storeys, with a number of timber outbuildings and barns at the rear. Jan the Fleming knew his place as a servant and took the horses off to the stables, leaving the Frenchman and the alchemist to be received by the steward. As they climbed the wooden stairs to the elevated door, this rather pompous head of the household staff bowed his head to the French knight, but gave only a cursory nod to the Scotsman, accompanied by a look of disapproval that suggested that such curiously garbed eccentrics were not welcome at Revelstoke. He led them inside the large hall, however, and indicated a table near the fire-pit where they could enjoy refreshments while they waited for the manor-lord, whom he said was presently with his wife in the solar. Servants rapidly appeared, bearing hot mutton pies, slices of ham and pork, together with fresh bread, butter and cheese. Washing these down with wine and ale, the ill-assorted pair ate in silence, their travel-chilled bodies warming up by the heat of the glowing logs. When they had finished, Raymond began to get impatient at being kept waiting for so long by a knight of equal rank to himself. Though he had met Richard de Revelle several times, both here and in Bristol, he did not like the man, thinking him a sly and supercilious fellow who could not be trusted.

  Just as de Blois was working himself up to protest to the hovering steward that he did not like to be kept waiting, the former sheriff of Devonshire appeared in a doorway at the side of the hall. Richard was a slim man of average height, with a narrow face that appeared almost triangular, as he had a pointed beard of the same light brown as his hair, which was worn slightly longer than the severe crop favoured by most Norman gentlemen. He was an elegant dresser, favouring green in most of his tunics, such as the one he wore now, which had a crenellated pattern of gold embroidery around the neck and hem. A jewelled belt of soft leather ran around his waist, from which a purse dangled from plaited cords. His shoulders were covered with a surcoat of a darker green velvet and his shoes had long curled toe-points in the latest fashion.

  The visitors rose to their feet as De Revelle walked across the hall, ignoring the bows of his steward and two other servants, to extend his hand to Sir Raymond, grasping his forearm in geeting.

  'I regret my delay in attending upon you, de Blois, but my wife was indisposed,' he brayed, in his rather high-pitched voice. 'I am afraid that Lady Eleanor is of a somewhat delicate disposition.'

  The Frenchman murmured some sympathetic platitudes, then turned to introduce Alexander of Leith. De Revelle regarded the apparition with obvious distaste, echoing the response of his steward.

  'Does he speak our language?' he loftily asked Raymond in the Norman French that was his first tongue.

  'Ay, and Latin and Gaelic as well - but I am more comfortable in English!' tartly retorted the little man, using the speech of the more lowly inhabitants of the islands.

  Richard reddened, then regarded the strange tunic and long tartan kilt. He came to the conclusion that such eccenticity must betoken considerable academic and technical skill, and adjusted his manner accordingly.

  'You are welcome, magister. I trust that you can help to achieve what is required?'

  Alexander scowled, as he had also taken an instant dislike to this arrogant lord. But as they had a mutual purpose, for which he was to be well paid, he felt obliged to swallow his resentment.

  'Much depends on these other people, sir. I have great experience of my art, yet have so far fallen slightly short of the desired goal. With the help that is promised by them, we shall suceed.'

  The three men sat again at the table and Richard snapped his fingers at his steward for more wine.

  'I have not yet set eyes upon these others who have come to assist you,' he said to Alexander. 'Have you all that you require at this den which has been provided?'

  'What I saw in the short time I was there seems adequate,' replied the Scotsman, cautiously. 'I too
have failed to meet these alleged geniuses of my art.'

  De Revelle's eyebrows rose as he turned to Raymond de Blois. 'Where are they, then? I thought it was agreed that it would be unwise for them to be seen abroad more than is absolutely necessary.'

  The Parisian knight gave a very Gallic shrug. 'They seem to do as they please, Sir Richard. Communication is difficult, as only one speaks a bastard kind of French and none of them has a word of the English tongue. They seem to come and go as they wish, like ghosts in the night.'

  De Revelle scowled. 'This is not satisfactory. The Prince would be concerned if he knew, as would your king. Have they achieved anything yet in their task?'

  'I doubt they have tried - they seem to be waiting for Alexander here to join them.'

  The talk continued for some time, consisting mainly of the former sheriff haranguing the others to ensure some action and to keep their associates in line. He ended with a stern recommendation to them to have a good night's sleep after the evening meal and to set off home early the next day to get on with the job that they had come so far to complete. Rising from the table, he bade them a curt farewell and, throwing his cloak dramatically back over his right shoulder, stalked away to his private chambers, leaving a Frenchman and a Scot united in their dislike of their host.

  John's journey westwards was long and arduous, mainly because he was deprived of the usual gossip from Gwyn and the banter between his officer and Thomas de Peyne. With Matilda alongside him, stiffly upright on a decent sized palfrey hired from Andrew's stable, conversation was as sterile as usual. The maid Lucille, muffled up to her thin nose in a dun-coloured cloak, trotted miserably on the other side of her mistress on another rounsey hired from Andrew's stable. Gwyn sullenly kept well out of the way, riding behind with the two men-at-arms that John had commandeered from the garrison to act as an additional escort. Normally, de Wolfe rode alone with Gwyn, but he felt that their efforts to repel any attack by highway thieves might be hampered by the presence of a lady, so he added this pair as a deterrent.

  As with their last journey, they stopped at Buckfast for the night, rather than Totnes, for accommodation for female travellers was better in the large abbey hostel than in Totnes Castle. Though there were no nuns there, the hostel was run by lay servants, whose wives and daughters were employed in the segregated part reserved for women.

  John was glad of the respite from the grim presence of his wife which he had endured during the many hours they had ridden from Exeter. He sat thankfully in the travellers' hall with Gwyn, their soldiers and a few other patrons, drinking ale and putting the world to rights with their gossip.

  The next day, they were off again soon after dawn to cover the remaining twenty miles to Revelstoke, the last eight being through small lanes and tracks off the main Plymouth high road. As they went farther west, the already leaden sky darkened even more and a cold wind sprang up, with a few flakes of snow spinning in its icy breath. Around them, the countryside was hunkering down for the coming winter, the last of the leaves being whipped from the trees by the stiff breeze.

  John had never been to his brother-in-law's manor before - he had never been invited. When they reached it, he was surprised by the extent of both the surrounding farmland and of the house itself. He wondered cynically how much of the money that Richard had embezzled in his various schemes had been invested in improving the property. As they reined up outside the gatehouse, he looked at the stone-tiled roof and castellated parapet that were visible above the boundary wall and wondered whether de Revelle was more concerned with defending himself against sea rovers or possible retribution from the king, if he was up to his old schemes again.

  Once within sight of her old home, Matilda lost some of the icy impassiveness that she had shown throughout the journey. She became restless on her side-saddle, and John could see her biting her lip as they rode up to the gate. He wondered whether she was becoming anxious about their reception or whether a reunion with her disgraced brother was difficult for her to bear, since her former hero-worship had been so ignominiously undermined. As had often happened in the past, the sight of his wife in a state of obvious worry and unhappiness stirred both his conscience and his compassion. He leant across and touched her arm.

  'He'll be glad to see you, never fear,' he growled, but Matilda made no response, other than to pull her arm away from his hand.

  The porter, recognising the lord's sister, lugged open the gates and they walked their horses across the heavy timbers that spanned the deep ditch that ran around the walls. Inside the large compound, grooms came scurrying to take the horses and Gwyn and the two men-at-arms went with them to see that the beasts were fed and watered. John assisted Matilda to dismount and together they walked towards the steps to the hall, followed by Lucille, lugging a large parcel of her mistress's clothing. Warned by a blast from the porter's horn, the steward appeared, and his wrinkled face broke into an obsequious smile as he saw Matilda climbing up to the doorway into the hall.

  'My wife is fatigued after the long journey,' rasped John, determined to take the initiative from the start and not appear at any disadvantage in this house of a man he despised. 'Please conduct her to Sir Richard and Lady Eleanor at once.' Several servants appeared from side doors and two women bobbed their knee to Matilda and ushered her away, followed by another man carrying her two large leather bags, which had been slung across the backs of the soldiers' mounts.

  As she vanished up a staircase in the wall, John turned to the fire-pit and stood above the burning logs, rubbing his hands to warm his fingers, his riding cloak still hanging from his shoulders. A fat priest sat on a stool opposite, drinking ale and two other men occupied a bench to one side, dressed in rustic clothing that suggested that they were falconers or huntsmen. All acknowledged him with nods, but made no attempt at conversation.

  The steward hurried back and with much head-bowing and gestures conducted the coroner to a side chamber, where a fire burned in a small hearth with a chimney, obviously a more modern addition to the structure of the house. It was much warmer than the gloomy hall outside and was well furnished, with several leather-backed folding chairs, a table, stools and a bench. John could see that an inner door led to a bedchamber and he assumed that this was to be the accommodation for Matilda and himself. The steward, who John later learned rejoiced in the name of Geoffrey de Cottemore de Totensis, stood by as an old woman and a young girl brought in food and wine to set on the table. 'Lady Matilda is being entertained by my lord and lady, sir,' Geoffrey announced loftily. 'She says she will join you later. Supper will be served in the hall soon after dusk.'

  Having confirmed that Gwyn and the soldiers were being cared for in the servants' huts at the back of the manor, the steward strode out and John was left alone to enjoy a hot pottage made of lumps of meat and bone swimming in a mixture of herbs and vegetables. There was a wooden bowl containing a large apple and an orange, an ostentatious import from southern France. The bread and cheese were accompanied by a good Anjou wine, so John assumed that he was not going to be cast out of his brother-in-law's house that night. He ate heartily, keeping to the old soldier's dictum that one should eat, sleep and make love whenever the occasion presented, in case the opportunity never arose again.

  When he had finished the food, he went to the window and pulled open the shutter that covered the narrow slit. The late afternoon was darkened by a heavily overcast sky, which had that pinkish-grey hue that suggested snow. A few flakes were still falling, but nothing was yet settling on the ground. John earnestly hoped that they would not get snowed in, as the shorter the time he had to spent under Richard's roof, the better he would be pleased. He wanted to be off again early in the morning.

  He pulled one of the chairs nearer the fire and sat down with a pewter cup of wine. A few moments later he was snoring, dreaming that he was in an inn near Vienna, a sense of foreboding and recrimination clouding the scenes in his mind. It was a dream he had had many times during the past three years, b
ut now it vanished as the creak of the door opening jerked him awake. In the failing light, he saw Richard de Revelle standing on the threshold, glaring at him. Rising to his feet, he faced his wife's brother and for a long moment the two men stared silently at each other.

  'You are tolerated here for Matilda's sake, de Wolfe,' said Richard finally. 'I am told that, as far as you are concerned, your visit is upon official business. I doubt that you would have had the temerity to come for any other reason.'

  His tone was flat, but there was an undercurrent of bitterness that was not lost on John.

  'I need to ask you some questions, Richard. They concern your father.'

  This was a surprise to de Revelle, who had expected some stern interrogation connected to his own recent misdeeds. He had been ejected as sheriff by the Chief Justiciar several months earlier for illegally appropriating treasure trove destined for the royal treasury, but there were older, more serious allegations relating to his support for Prince John which might be revived at any time. But now to be asked about his long-dead father was as unexpected as it was welcome, if his own transgressions were not at issue.

  'My father? You have come all this way to enquire about Gervaise de Revelle? You well know that he died many years ago.'

  He stood aside as a servant came into the chamber with two three-branched candlesticks and placed the lights on the table. As he left, Richard waved a hand towards the chairs, inviting John to be seated. He himself went to stand in front of the hearth, hands behind his back, deliberately posing as the lord of Revelstoke to emphasise his ascendancy over his unwelcome visitor. Reluctantly, de Wolfe lowered himself into the chair, which creaked as he leaned back against the thick hide of the back-rest.