Bernard Knight - The Elixir of Death

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.'