Bernard Knight - The Elixir of Death

'I tell you, Mary, I'm leaving!' he shouted in exasperation. 'She's gone too far this time. We can't stand the sight of each other, so why prolong this charade of living together?'

'Because you are married, Sir Coroner,' said the maid calmly, using the faintly sarcastic title she reserved for when she was annoyed with him. 'You stood with her in that cathedral around the corner and the Church joined you with a bond that no one except God can put asunder. And he's not likely to come to your aid, I'll warrant!'

De Wolfe marched up and down outside her kitchen door in a ferment of passion. Brutus looked up at him warily, conscious that something unusual was going on. 'Why must I continue to live here in misery, Mary, when I can live happily just a few streets away in Idle Lane? Answer me that.'

'Because you are married and you have to put up with it,' repeated Mary, equably. 'It's the way life is, I'm afraid. You have many other blessings, sir. Money, position and power over the likes of me.'

He stopped pacing and glared at her. 'Well, it doesn't have to be like that, girl. I'm not bloody well staying here to be treated like a mangy dog by the de Revelle family. Don't worry, I'll see that this household carries on as before. You are safe in your hut here and I'll see you and Brutus most days.'

He turned to leave, but she laid a hand on his arm. 'Have you told the mistress what you intend?'

John looked at her blankly. 'She must surely have guessed that from the way we parted last night!'

Mary shook her head emphatically. 'You have to speak to her face to face, if you really mean it. She deserves that, at least. Until you come to your senses when your temper cools, she will be expecting your step at the door every evening. You cannot just leave it like this.'

He stared at her for a long moment, then nodded abruptly. 'You are right, as always, good girl. Send word to me at the Bush when she returns from Fore Street and I will call on her.'

With that, he gave Brutus a farewell pat on the head and loped off towards the front door.

Commensurate with the severity of their falling-out, Matilda stayed much longer with her long-suffering cousin, and for the rest of that week John heard nothing to suggest that she had returned to Martin's Lane. Thankfully, the coroner's workload received a sudden boost after the previous slack period and he was too occupied each day to have much time to worry over his personal affairs. It also kept him out of the Bush until dusk, as even his somewhat insensitive nature was aware that it would not be wise to cling endlessly to his lover's skirts.

Monday was taken up by the county court, held in the bleak Shire Hall in the inner ward of Rougemont. He had cases to present to the sheriff, and Thomas was kept busy handing out his parchment rolls and whispering cues into his master's ear, as John's literary abilities had not yet extended beyond signing his name and recognising the date.

Tuesday and Thursday mornings saw more hangings, so again the coroner's team were busy at the gallows in Magdalen Street outside the city walls, recording the executions and the forfeited possessions of the miscreants. As with inquests, all this information had to be offered to the King's Justices when they eventually arrived to hold the Eyre.

Apart from these administrative tasks, there was the coroner's usual workload of cases to be dealt with. Fatal accidents in the city and the surrounding countryside called him out a number of times. Children falling into mill-streams and drowning under mill-wheels or being crushed by runaway horses or over-laden carts were the staple diet of his inquests. A shop that caught fire in North Street was another case, though thankfully no one was killed. There was a rape in a village ten miles east, which turned out to be by the woman's brother-in-law and a serious wounding occurred in a fight outside an alehouse in Chagford, one of the Stannary towns on the edge of Dartmoor. The last two cases involved some more travelling and John was thankful that Thomas was somewhat faster on a horse now that he sat astride it.

The little clerk appeared to be rejuvenated after his visit to Winchester. All the months of depression and feelings of worthlessness had been banished by the brief ceremony in the cathedral. It was true that he still had no pastoral duties, but Thomas's main interests in the Church lay in the more academic and theological fields rather than labouring as a parish priest. The employment he had been given in the archives was an earthly form of paradise to him, as not only could he indulge himself in sorting through ecclesiastical records, but he could covertly read his way through the substantial library of books and manuscripts that lined the walls of the scriptorium on the upper floor of the Chapter House. His daily Masses for his deceased patrons satisfied his liturgical needs and the weekly teaching sessions with the choristers allowed him to indulge his desire to impart his learning to others. All in all, life was now good for Thomas, but he never forgot his debt to the coroner, who had taken him in at the lowest ebb of his life and who had stood by him steadfastly during a number of crises, including an attempt at suicide.

The three men settled back into their routine and for a number of days John almost forgot his domestic troubles. He called at his house every evening to see Mary and to take Brutus for a walk. Each night that the cook-maid reported that there was no sign of Matilda, extended his contentment for another day. His hound was the only one who seemed to sense that all was not well, as he sometimes caught Brutus eyeing him reproachfully, as he cocked his leg against a grave mound in the Close or waited for his master to catch him up in Southgate Street. They no longer walked down to the Bush, as John would have had to bring the dog all the way back again each evening, so Brutus missed out on his titbits under the table in the taproom.

John restrained himself from going down to Dawlish again, though the temptation was always lurking at the back of his mind. Even when Hugh de Relaga urged him to visit their new partner, he made excuses and managed to delay the trip. The portreeve wanted him to let Hilda know the outcome of the shipwright's visit to the Mary and Child Jesus , as the man from Topsham had reported that the task would be easier and cheaper than expected.

'Together with the two ship-masters and a couple of crew, we can easily rig a jury mast,' he pronounced confidently. 'Pick a calm day and we can sail her round Bolt Head to Salcombe, before the winter gales set in. In that protected haven, the proper repairs can be carried out, ready for the spring sailing season.'

Hugh wanted John to reassure Hilda that all was going well, but John pointed out that she would have to come up to Exeter before long, to put her mark on the deed of partnership, which Robert Courteman, the only lawyer in Exeter, was drawing up in his office in Goldsmith Street.

De Wolfe did not want to risk making his love life any more precarious by stirring up the wrath of Nesta with any unnecessary dealings with the widow of Dawlish. One sword of Damocles hanging over his head in the shape of Matilda was more than sufficient.

Nothing further was heard that week from either Shillingford or Ringmore, but the mystery was never far from the coroner's thoughts. Only one aspect of the killings was followed up — that of the two cross-bow bolts brought from Shillingford. John closely scrutinised the worn marks hammered into the leather flights of the short arrows, but could make nothing of them. Even Thomas, usually a fount of arcane knowledge, had to confess that they meant nothing to him, but suggested someone who might have a better knowledge of Levantine calligraphy. The jovial and portly chaplain of Rougemont, Brother Rufus, had come to the castle earlier that year from a similar post at Bristol, but previously had been with the King's forces in France, and before that, at the Crusade.