The Elixir of Death (37 page)

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.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

In which Matilda goes to pray

On Wednesday, Richard de Revelle could not plead the weather as an excuse to his sister. Though it was grey and overcast, the wind had dropped and it was marginally warmer. Reluctantly, he agreed to her demand to go riding with him the next morning, and Matilda heard with satisfaction the refusal of Lady Eleanor to accompany them.

'Why, by Holy Mary's name, should I want to leave my fireside and my tapestry to trudge through these miserable lanes for hours on end?' she said loftily. 'And might I ask what you are going to do with your sister while you attend to this mysterious business of yours? ,

Richard's wife was well aware of his many dubious dealings, but though she chose to ignore their doubtful legality as long as they increased their wealth, she could not resist an occasional dig at his furtive behaviour.

To save him answering, Matilda rose to the bait. 'Richard tells me that there is an ancient chapel near by, with a holy well claiming to offer healing powers. I would like to stop there and pray for a time, while he is conducting his affairs.'

She was careful not to enquire as to the nature of these affairs, in case the answer was not to her liking. Eleanor's supercilious sniff conveyed her opinion of Matilda's devoutness, and there was a guarded truce between them for the rest of the evening.

Soon after dawn the next morning, Matilda de Wolfe appeared in the bailey muffled in a heavy cloak of green serge, a wide hood pulled up over her wimple and coverchief. She wore fur-lined gloves and boots of fine leather. Her maid Lucille, sniffing back a head-cold that seemed to afflict her most of the time, followed reluctantly in a markedly thinner cloak, a brown woollen scarf tied tightly around her head.

With the aid of one of the menservants, she helped her mistress on to her horse before clambering awkwardly on to the side-saddle of her own pony. Richard, elegant as ever in a long mantle of yellow linen lined with ermine, waited impatiently on his own white gelding for the two women to settle down, then gave the signal for the small party to move off. He rode with Matilda, with Lucille behind and the two armed servants bringing up the rear. Almost half the journey would be on his own lands and he had little fear of outlaws or footpads there. Beyond that, the land belonged to the Count of Mortain, though that was no assurance against trouble, which was why he had brought the two experienced men, armed with ball-maces and long-handled fighting axes. He himself carried a short riding sword and a mace hung from his saddle, though he fervently hoped that he would not be called upon to use either of them.

For such a thickset, inactive woman, Matilda was a surprisingly good horsewoman, a legacy of her youth, when she had been more addicted to exercise than eating and praying. She sat on her palfrey with a confident ease, unlike her maid, who clung to the pommel of her saddle as if it were the mast of a ship in a storm.

They set off along the lanes, passing through the empty fields, the strips now being ploughed ready for winter sowing or allowed to lay fallow, exposed to the frosts until spring. Soon heathland appeared, and beyond that the trees closed in, though this near the sea they were low and stunted, except where the track dipped into more sheltered valleys and where they passed other villages, such as Battisborough and Holbeton. Though there was no actual frost, the mud beneath their horses' hoofs had dried into a firm paste and the going was fairly easy. Crossing the River Erme upstream at a low-tide ford caused them no more than a few splashes on their legs, and once through Kingston they were nearly at St Anne's Chapel.

'I will leave you with your maid at the shrine,' said Richard firmly.

'You can come to no harm there in a House of God - though from its size, it's more like His privy!'

Matilda scowled at her brother for his frivolous sacrilege, but she had to admit that when the chapel came into sight, his remark was apt enough. The tiny building looked sad and neglected, but her devotion to anything that had been consecrated overcame her disappointment. Richard sent one of the guards inside and a moment later the bandy curator, Ivo de Brun, appeared, head outstretched like that of a goose as he peered at the blurred images of the visitors.

'I am leaving this good lady and her maid in your care for a few hours, fellow,' called out Richard imperiously. 'Lady Matilda wishes to see the sacred well and then meditate in your chapel for a while. There will be a couple of pennies for you at the end of it.'

Ivo kept his thoughts to himself as he leaned on his staff and watched while Lucille and a servant helped Matilda dismount. The two horses were tied to a fence rail outside the chapel, then the two women followed Ivo into the building as Richard and his men moved off towards Bigbury.