Bernard Knight - The Elixir of Death

'If someone can make gold from Devon tin, then Prince John can buy all the armour, pikes and horses he wants,' pointed out Thomas. 'This fits in twice over with what the Chief Justiciar said in his message.'

Even the coroner was scornful at this point. 'But that claim is nonsense, surely! Fools have been trying to make gold since Noah built his ark, but no one has ever succeeded.'

'There have been certain claims of success,' countered Thomas, cautiously. 'Though admittedly none has ever stood the test of time. But eventually, someone has to be first. '

'What about Mistress Hilda?' asked Angerus de Wile, who had stood with his friend in the doorway while the others debated the parchment. 'Shall we go back to Salcombe and start searching again?'

De Wolfe thought for a moment, then shook his head. 'I considered whether it would be quicker for you to take us by ship, but it's not practicable to carry our horses with us and we need them there. You go back to Dawlish and await events. I will seek out the sheriff at once and see what's best to be done.'

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.