Bernard Knight - The Elixir of Death

That was the last she saw for some time, as suddenly an oat-sack was thrown over her head from behind. Rough hands pinned her arms to her side, dragging her off her feet and carrying her bodily away, her cries of distress muffled by the smelly hessian of the dirty sack.

During the week that followed, life for John de Wolfe went on much the same as usual — at least, much the same as since he had moved out of Martin's Lane and taken up residence with his mistress Nesta. He was by turns happy and uneasy, then content and irritated. Life had changed radically, even though the people he was with were the same and the orbit of his life still revolved mostly within the same quarter of a mile.

He sat now at his table in the Bush, warmed by the same fire and drinking the same good ale brewed by the woman he loved, yet he could no longer slump by his own hearth, stroking the head of his old hound until it was time for a leisurely amble down to the Bush. He leaned now against the door-post of the inn's cook shed, watching Nesta and her girls preparing food for hungry customers, yet he could no longer perch on Mary's little stool in her kitchen, cadging hot pastries and gossiping about the day's events.

Passionate nights in Nesta's warm bed were a delight, and he certainly did not miss the barren mattress in Matilda's solar. But even up in the little room in the Bush's loft, he felt it was somehow unseemly for Gwyn or a castle man-at-arms to come tapping on Nesta's door when there was some midnight emergency, rather than being woken by Mary climbing the solar steps. In short, the familiar routines of the past couple of years had become so ingrained that this abrupt change to a different set of routines had unsettled him. He realised this well enough himself, but was powerless to shake off the mood of unease. John even daydreamed about giving up this split lifestyle and running off with Nesta to live in Wales or Cornwall, making a fresh start. But the practicalities were insuperable. There was his obligation to the King to continue as coroner, as well as Nesta's attachment to her beloved Bush, which gave her both an intense interest in life as well as a fair living.

The cold light of every morning saw him back in his chamber in the castle gatehouse, and the familiar round of duties drove any decisions about the future direction of his life into the background once again. John called briefly at his house in Martin's Lane every day, choosing early afternoon when he knew Matilda would either be snoring in her bed during an afternoon siesta or on her knees in St Olave's church. He went there to check that Mary had sufficient money to meet domestic expenses and to replenish the cash in his chest in the solar for Matilda's benefit, even though she had an income of her own from her father, dispensed by Richard de Revelle. John's earnings came from his venture with Hugh de Relaga, which was increasing in value as the months went by, thanks to the boom in Exeter's economy.

On calling at the house almost a week after he had moved out, he learned from Mary that on this particular day he need not have timed his visit to avoid his wife, as she had had just departed again with her brother to his manor at Revelstoke, taking Lucille with her.

'She didn't say when she was expecting to come back,' added Mary, severely. 'So you just carry on back to your hideout until you come to your senses!'

Any other cook-maid would have received a whipping from their master for such forthright criticism, but given their past history, John knew that Mary was trying to be helpful- and deep down, he suspected that she was right.

Hilda was a very intelligent woman and she rapidly decided that her best chance of survival was to play the part of a simple peasant who would be no danger to anyone. It soon became clear that she had not been captured by common outlaws who were intent on robbery and rape. After she was thrust inside the coarse sack, a rope was tied over it around her waist, effectively pinning her arms. Then she was half dragged, half carried a short distance before being thrown to the ground, a heavy foot planted on her back preventing her from getting up.

Two gruff voices began debating her fate, using English with a coarse local accent. At that moment, she determined to speak only in that language and pretend to be ignorant of the French that someone else now began using, this time in far more refined tones.

The upshot of the discussion was that the two Saxons, Alfred and Ulf, had found a woman wandering within a few hundred paces of the camp and had brought her back with them. The two guards spoke abysmal French, but their master now replied in passable English.

'Take that damned sack off and let's have a look at her.'

The rope was loosened and the hessian bag hoisted over her head. Hilda found herself lying in long grass inside some kind of ruin, with remnants of old masonry and a few dilapidated shacks. A tall and rather handsome man was standing over her, as the two burly ruffians displayed her much as though they had brought in a deer from the hunt.

'Who are you, woman? And why were you spying on this place?' demanded Raymond de Blois in French.

She looked blankly up at him, pretending not to understand. The younger oaf repeated the question in English, ogling the blonde as he realised for the first time that she was attractive, even though she was almost old enough to be his mother.

Hilda rapidly improvised her story. Haltingly and fearfully, she claimed to be a pilgrim who had come to St Anne's well to pray and collect holy water to treat her mother's advancing blindness. She was staying in the village while she waited for her fellow pilgrims to return the next day, but had got lost in the woods while out looking for mushrooms. Ulf called her a silly cow for expecting to find mushrooms this late in the year, but did not seem to find this a significant flaw in her story. Raymond de Blois studied her dishevelled appearance, and her plain rural clothing and accepted that she was some pathetic Saxon, of no danger to their mission.

'What shall we do with her, sir?' asked Ulf. 'Kill her, perhaps? Alfred and me could have some fun with her first. Pity to waste such a fair woman.'

The chivalrous knight was outraged at the suggestion and ordered the two outlaws to lock her in one of the small storerooms in the crypt.

'Put a mattress and a bucket in there, and find some food and drink for her. If either of you so much as lays a finger on her, you'll answer to me with your lives.' He slid his sword halfway out of its scabbard and slammed it back again, the hiss of metal on leather emphasising his determination to preserve the woman's life and honour.

Grumbling under their breath, they reluctantly led Hilda away. Seeing no hope of escape at that moment, she thought it best to stay passive and let herself be pushed down the steps and through the gloomy undercroft, where the strange sight of three Saracens and two other even odder fellows gave her plenty to think about after she was locked into a small, almost dark room. It was lit only by a narrow shaft in the side wall which was almost totally obscured at its upper end by profuse vegetation.

When her eyes became accustomed to the dimness, she saw some crates and jars stacked in the chamber, the rest being a floor of damp earth. After a straw-filled palliasse and a bucket were provided, Hilda sat on a crate and considered her position. A brave woman, she accepted that she might not survive this abduction, but felt sure that this sinister camp in the forest was in some way connected with her husband's death. She had not the faintest idea what was going on in this place, but the presence of Moors and the general air of concealment and mystery told her that it must surely be connected with the scraps of information that John de Wolfe had told her about. There was no chance of getting out of this secure prison, as the light shaft was almost vertical and wide enough only for a dog. All she could hope to achieve was to learn more about this mysterious place and trust that she could somehow survive long enough to tell it to the law officers.