The Elixir of Death

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Matilda was tired of travelling, weary of being shaken about in an unsprung carriage that was little better than an ox-cart with a canopy, curtains and cushions. Admittedly, it was pulled by a pair of rounseys rather than an actual ox, but even that had its disadvantages, as the two horses went somewhat faster and so shook up the occupants even more on the rutted tracks of Devon.

Her sister-in-law, Lady Eleanor, sat alongside her, swaddled in an ermine-lined cloak, which did nothing to thaw the iciness of her tongue. They spoke rarely, and when they did it was with a cold formality that confirmed the antipathy that had existed between them for a decade and a half. Richard de Revelle's wife, the daughter of an Oxfordshire baron, considered that not only had she herself been married off beneath her station, but that her husband's sister had gone down yet another step in the social hierarchy by being wedded to John de Wolfe, the younger son of an insignificant knight from somewhere in the wilds of Devon.

Now they had to put up with each other in the close proximity of a lady's wagon, trundling between Exeter and Revelstoke, a journey of over two days halfway across a county, that, after Yorkshire, was the largest in England.

Richard had called at the house in Martin's Lane on his way to Revelstoke from his manor at Tiverton, to where he had again journeyed to fetch Eleanor. His aloof wife much preferred Tiverton, but he was insistent that he had urgent business down in the far west of the county and, with an ill grace, she was persuaded to accompany him. Her ill grace increased when she discovered that he had again invited his sister to stay with them at Revelstoke, but was slightly tempered by the news that this was because the scoundrel John had left her to live with a common ale-wife — and a foreign Welsh woman at that.

'You would be well to be competely rid of him,' said Eleanor, during one of their infrequent conversations. 'Can you not petition the Church for some sort of annulment?'

Matilda, who had no intention of either making it easy for John or losing a coroner-knight for a husband, had a ready excuse.

'He is too thick with the Archbishop of Canterbury. When he was a soldier, Hubert Walter was well acquainted with my knavish husband.'

'Then go straight to the Pope!' said her sister-in-law, airily. 'A man like that deserves excommunication, before hanging and drawing!'

Much as John de Wolfe was out of favour with her, Matilda resented Eleanor sneering at him. Insulting John was solely her privilege, and she relapsed into a stony silence that lasted for almost the rest of the journey. Eventually they reached Revelstoke, and Richard and his half-dozen men, who had been riding with the wagon, dismounted with groans of relief and came to assist the ladies from their conveyance.

'I hope by Christ and all his angels that they have a good fire going in our chambers,' were Eleanor's first words, as she stiffly descended the steps placed at the back of the cart. It was blowing fine snow again, and though this was unlikely to settle, the cutting wind and the grey skies of the waning afternoon made the manor-house a dismal sight. Amid the bustle of servants carrying their bags and bundles indoors and the chink of harness as the horses were taken away to the stables, the two women walked to the door of the hall. Here they were met by serving women with possets of warmed wine and honey, before they went wearily to their chambers — the large house had half a dozen rooms, apart from the main hall.

That evening, the three of them dined in one of these rooms, as, unless they were feasting or entertaining guests, Eleanor disliked eating in the hall with the commoners. For once, this was a sentiment with which her fellow arch-snob Matilda fully agreed, and they sat alone in the candlelight before a large log fire, working their way through fresh poached fish, roast pigeon, venison and a blancmange of chicken and rice boiled in almond milk, flavoured with cinnamon. Afterwards there was flummery of boiled oatmeal, strained with raisins and honey.

In spite of the good food and the excellent wine, which Richard imported through Plymouth from Anjou and Bordeaux, the trio was silent and morose. Eleanor had virtually exhausted her repetoire of condemnation of Matilda's husband during the long journey, and Richard seemed worried and preoccupied about something.

'I have to ride out again tomorrow morning,' he said eventually. 'But I will be back before nightfall.'

His wife scowled at him, just as Matilda did when her own husband announced another absence from home, which she always assumed was an excuse for drinking and wenching.

'We have only just arrived,' protested Eleanor. 'Why must you vanish again so soon?'

'I have urgent business to attend to, not far away. You ladies never seem to appreciate that a manor-lord has many duties and obligations. Revelstoke won't run itself, you know, and I can't depend on bailiffs and reeves for everything. '

'So you will be within the demesne, if we need you?' Richard looked shifty at this. 'Not that close, my lady. But I will be home for supper, I assure you,' he replied, evasively.

'Can we not ride with you, if it is but a short distance?' demanded Matilda. 'It would relieve the boredom of remaining within these walls.'

Eleanor scowled at her implication that their hospitality was tedious. Richard for once was on her side and soon squashed the suggestion.

'It is likely to be foul weather tomorrow, sister. This snow looks set for another few days and there is a keen east wind. You will be better off near a good fire. Next time, you may accompany me, if the weather improves.'

So the next morning the lord of Revelstoke set off with only two armed retainers. His steward and bailiff offered to accompany him as added protection, but he declined. The fewer who knew of his destination and the nature of his seditious business, the better he would be pleased. He even bribed the two escorts with a few pence and the threat of dire retribution if they gossiped about the expedition. They rode the ten miles towards Bigbury and, after they had passed St Anne's Chapel, de Revelle pulled them off the main track and on to a forest path, well before reaching the village. The half-blind custodian of the shrine had heard their hoofbeats and dimly saw three riders going by, but could not distinguish any details. He wondered again at the unusual activity that had disturbed his placid life these past few weeks, but decided it was none of his business, even when a couple of hours later he heard the same horses returning and vanishing westwards.

As soon as they had gone far enough along the forest track to lose sight of the Bigbury lane, Richard de Revelle ordered his bodyguard to dismount and stay there with their horses until he returned. He added a strict command for them not to wander off, but to rest there and enjoy the food and drink in their saddlebags. He wanted no witnesses to the activity at the old priory and castle, even two thick-headed peasants like these. He rode on down the narrow path, which he had travelled once before, when Prince John's men had come to renovate the crypt for the alchemists. Just before he reached the clearing, he almost fell from his saddle in surprise, as two men reared up from the bushes on either side of him, one with a longbow ready pulled, the arrow aimed at his heart. The other held a lance high up over his shoulder and seemed quite prepared to launch it at the interloper.

'Stop there, you!' yelled the one with the lance. Richard now recognised the two Saxon ruffians who guarded the place. He identified himself in his usual arrogant fashion and demanded to be taken to Raymond de Blois. Still surly and suspicious, Alfred and Ulf let him pass, but followed closely, the bow and the lance still at the ready.

When he reached the derelict bailey of the old castle, Raymond de Blois came out of the kitchen hut and saluted him, sending the two guards away to continue their patrols of the area.

'I only wish the damned Moors were as obedient as those Saxons,' muttered the Frenchman. 'They come and go as they please, in spite of my orders that they keep out of sight as much as possible.'

'Where are they now?' asked de Revelle, noting that when they entered the hut for some food and wine, the place was empty.

'Down in the crypt — for once, they actually seem to be doing what they came for,' said de Blois grudgingly. 'I've had that weird Scotsman moaning at me ever since he came, saying that this Nizam has made no progress with his alchemy. In fact, Alexander suspects that he is a fraud.'

Richard drummed his fingers irritably on the rough table.

'The whole point of this dangerous enterprise is to produce gold for the Count of Mortain' s future campaign to seize the crown!' he said. 'It seems obvious that my royal namesake is never going to return from his wars in France. The country is going to the dogs, being bled dry by that bastard Hubert Walter, just to fund the King's mania for warfare. England needs Prince John — and he'll be generous with his thanks to those who helped him.'

The French knight looked doubtful. 'Well, there seems little prospect of getting any gold nuggets out of these fellows here. I sense that Alexander is genuinely trying his best, but he expected that the Turks would be bringing new knowledge from the East to bolster his own efforts.'

Richard swallowed the rest of the inferior wine and stood up.

'You wanted me to speak to them to impress upon them the importance of this mission. What are they like, these Saracens?' De Revelle had never met any such people.

'Very strange indeed,' muttered Raymond. 'The two ruffians Nizam has with him neither understand nor speak a word of French or English, unless they are playing a very deep game. The alchemist himself speaks a little of both when he chooses, but I suspect he is far more literate than he admits. They are surly, secretive men, whom I wouldn't trust a hand's-breadth out of my sight.'

'What about the other two?'

'This Scottish dwarf is strange, but seems honest enough. He has a great dumb ox of a Fleming to look after him, lacking both a tongue and a brain.'

With these discouraging words, de Blois led his visitor across the overgrown compound to the hidden doorway to the crypt. At the bottom of the stairs, Raymond looked quickly to his left, towards the door to the storeroom at the far end of the long vaulted chamber. It was tightly closed and there was no sound from beyond. Richard de Revelle had no reason to notice his host's rapid scrutiny, as he was taking in the scene in the rest of the crypt. Many flickering wicks floated in their cups of oil on sconces around the walls, but nearer the hearth, whose fire itself contributed much of the illumination, a denser concentration of lamps and candles shed their light on the complex apparatus of alchemy.

Here three men stood with their backs to him, intent on the arcane equipment spread on two tables. One was a huge man dressed in black, with a face that came from someone's worst dreams. He was standing immobile, holding a flask under the long spout of a distillation flask, into which a short, fat fellow in a blouse and kilt was pouring a red liquid.

'That's Alexander of Leith and his servant,' said Raymond in a low voice, following the direction of Richard's gaze. 'And next to him is this Nizam fellow.'

At the second table, de Revelle saw a thickset man dressed in a belted white robe, a cloth wound turbanwise around his head. On the floor near his feet squatted a villainous-looking Arab with a hooked nose and nutbrown face. He was pumping away at a bellows connected to a small furnace that glowed at the edge of the hearth and on which was a pottery crucible. Beyond this Turk, another man of similar appearance was curled up on the floor like a dog, apparently sound asleep. In Richard's imagination, the dim flickering light and the glow from the fire and the furnace turned the scene into a ruddy representation of the lower circles of Hades.

'Alexander! Nizam! We have a visitor,' called de Blois.

All the figures in this tableau from hell turned around at the sound of his voice, the one on the floor even waking and rising to his knees.

Uneasily, Richard de Revelle followed Raymond across the large chamber to meet them. The Fleming remained impassive, but his Scots master gave Richard an appraising stare, then raised a hand in salute.

'I am pleased to meet you again, sir. I understand that it is to you that we are indebted for our food and other necessities, for which I thank you.'

This civilised little speech helped to restore de Revelle's confidence, but he was less sanguine about the attitude of the Saracens. When he turned from Alexander, he found that the three of them were now on their feet, staring at him, even the bellows-man having abandoned his task. All three gazed at him with their dark, piercing eyes, as if he were some exotic animal on show in a fairground booth.

As Raymond introduced him to the eastern alchemist, Richard stood unnerved by the intense scrutiny of the three Mohammedans.

'You are the son of Gervaise de Revelle?' were Nizam's first words.

Too bemused to wonder why the man had not asked whether he was Richard de Revelle, the manor-lord nodded. The three men now looked at each and Nizam said something in a strange tongue. The other two nodded and then all three turned back to give Richard their basilisk stare.

He cleared his throat nervously and launched into his speech about the urgency of completing their task as soon as possible. 'The Prince is relying upon you to assist him in a great endeavour,' he brayed. 'King Philip of France sent you here to work your expert miracles and produce gold for the purchase of weapons of war.'

Privately, Richard thought the likelihood of anyone making gold was remote, otherwise the country would have been awash with it centuries earlier. But his task was to facilitate whatever the Count of Mortain wanted — failure was none of his business, as long as his credit with Prince John was raised by his efforts to carry out his wishes. He was here today because Raymond de Blois wished him to exhort these people to greater efforts. Whether they were misguided fools striving for the moon or charlatans was no concern of his, as long as he did what was asked of him.

He harangued them for several minutes, and when he paused, Alexander of Leith was nodding his head in agreement. 'I am doing my very best, Sir Richard, you may be assured of that. I cannot say as much for these other men, though these past few days they seem to be striving more, though so far to little effect.'

Richard struggled to follow the strange accent from north of the border, but he was appeased by the small man's apparent earnest attitude.

The reaction of the Mussulmen was totally different, in that there was no reaction at all. They remained staring at him, until Nizam's guttural voice asked, 'You have sons and daughters?'

The complete irrelevance of this took de Revelle aback. 'No, I have not been so blessed. A wife and sister complete my family. Why do you ask?'

There was no reply, but the alchemist again turned and gabbled something to his men.

Richard launched once again into his prepared homily about the importance of their work and how at great expense they had been brought here and given every facility to succeed in their efforts at transmutation. Eventually, after much repetition, he stuttered to a halt, the faces of the Moors having remained totally impassive throughout his speeches.

'We'll do our best, sir, you can depend on it,' said the Scotsman, the earnest expression on his odd face a welcome contrast to the blankness of the others. 'Nizam claims to have made small quantities of the precious metal and has shown me little particles — but he seems to have lost the knack of doing it while I watch him.'

There was an underlying sarcasm in his voice, which produced no reaction from the Saracen.

Richard looked helplessly at Raymond de Blois. 'There seems little else that I can say or do,' he admitted. 'How long are we going to persist with this venture? It has been several weeks now, with no result.'

The French knight shrugged. 'I have no orders concerning that. We must see what the next messenger from Gloucester has to say. It is up to Prince John how he proceeds.'

As Richard turned to leave, there was a sudden change of attitude from Nizam. His harsh voice cut across the crypt.

'You will come again in a few days. I promise you I will have gold then. Much gold. Enough for you to take, as well as plenty for your prince.'

De Revelle swung back to face the Turk. The mention of gold for himself had instantly concentrated his attention. 'You mean you are really near success? Are you sure?'

'I promise it. My experiments have been long and difficult, but maybe even tomorrow I will have gold. I will need more mercury, tin and copper later, to produce much gold.'

'I'll believe that when it happens,' muttered the Scotsman, loud enough for Richard to hear.

The lord of Revelstoke thought quickly, his mind suddenly stimulated by the thought of wealth. 'Today is Tuesday. Will you have completed your work in two days' time?'

'I will have finished by then. Come that day and see what has been achieved.'

Feeling relieved and excited, Richard left the chamber and climbed back up to the open air, Raymond close behind. Alexander pattered behind him, and when they reached the bailey above, the little Scot grasped the Frenchman's arm.

'This is foolishness! He has said nothing to me about suddenly attaining success! He has made no gold at all. How can he promise large amounts in two days' time?' Again de Blois gave one of his Gallic shrugs. 'We must just wait and see, that's all we can do.'

'He seemed very sure of himself just then,' commented de Revelle, already counting piles of gold coins in his head, his former doubts about transmutation allayed by even the most tenuous prospect of becoming rich.

'It's out of character for the miserable fellow,' grumbled Alexander. 'He rarely says a civil word to me, just gabbles to those thugs in his heathen tongue.'

They waited until Alfred had brought Richard his horse, and as soon as he was mounted de Blois asked him whether he was really coming back in two days' time. 'For the sake of a ten-mile ride, I'll chance it,' he replied almost cheerfully. 'I think you'll agree that my visit today has moved us on a little, to say the least.'

As he rode off and vanished along the track between the trees, Alexander of Leith was in his most dour mood. 'I don't like it at all. I smell trouble with those Moors. That Nizam is lying through his teeth.'

He stared up at the tall knight. 'And what about the woman down there in that storeroom? What's to become of her? I'll not be party to any killing!'

The Frenchman shrugged again and walked away without replying. All of them were unaware that the subject of the Scotsman's concern had been pressed against the inside of her door all through Richard's visit. Her original intention had been to yell, kick and scream to draw the attention of this new and cultured voice, but as he passed across her narrow field of view, she recognised him as the former sheriff, whom she had seen on numerous occasions in Exeter, including times when she had accompanied her husband to guild feasts, fairs and local tournaments.

Knowing of John de Wolfe's endless antipathy to de Revelle and his tales of the man's faithlessness and treachery, she decided to keep very quiet and learn whatever she could about his presence there, as it was unlikely that any help would be forthcoming from him — indeed, if he discovered who she was, she would be in an even more dangerous situation.