Richard de Revelle also got the same message and his devious mind began to plan evasive action. As he held a linen kerchief to his throat to mop up the blood still oozing from the shallow cut, he glared at Alexander, then gave him a covert wink that was not lost on the Scotsman. Both of them had the same desire to draw as heavy a veil as possible over their activities. In this, they were greatly aided by the fact that all the Saracens were dead and Raymond de Blois was also beyond providing any explanations. If possible, it would be a considerable advantage if the coroner never learned that he was French, rather than Norman.
Richard looked down at the man's corpse, lying on its side in a pool of blood that had welled from the multiple wounds in his chest. Thomas was crouched alongside the body, making the sign of the Cross over it and murmuring suitable incantations in Latin. De Revelle, justifying his self-interest, thought it was just as well that he had been killed, as a spy found in England in the service of Philip of France could look forward only to the gallows.
Gwyn was still comforting Hilda, but he gestured to the brawny blacksmith to drag the four corpses into one of the huts. The man pulled the three Saracens unceremoniously by their heels into the kitchen hut, still strewn with the hay that was to have started the conflagration that would burn their captives alive. Their turbans had come off in the grass, revealing lank black hair coiled into plaits. When Thomas had finished shriving the Frenchman, the smith was more circumspect in handling his corpse, fetching a horse blanket from the stable. He wrapped it around de Blois to smother the blood, then lifted it into his arms and staggered back to the stable with it.
For the moment, de Wolfe's priority was the well-being of the two women, his wife and his former mistress. As the fire of conflict died down and his mind began to function more coolly, he wondered how to manage this matter of Matilda and Hilda. He was aware that his wife knew the identity of the blonde woman, and in view of her caustic sarcasm and constant hostility over the past few years, he thought it best to separate them as soon as possible. He laid a hand on his brother-in-law's shoulder.
'Richard, there is much to be explained about this sad affair, but I feel that your sister needs rest and the solace of your home and wife until she is recovered.'
He was not being deliberately sarcastic in his allusion to the Lady Eleanor, though he was well aware that the two wives did not enjoy very cordial relations. 'Your manor is not that far distant and I have already sent Matilda's maid Lucille back there. She also had a bad experience when those bastards dragged Matilda from the chapel, so the bailiff of Ringmore has taken her to Revelstoke, where she can care now for Matilda's needs.'
He wondered what had happened to the rescue party he had ordered William Vado to rouse from Revelstoke — there had been no sign of them, though admittedly events had moved very fast that afternoon.
Richard readily agreed, as he felt it would give him more time to think up some credible cover story. His self-confidence was returning quickly, and he solicitously led his sister across the bailey, to where several horses were tethered to a rail outside the third hut, used as a stable.
John was wondering what to do about Hilda, when his wife stopped dead and spoke rationally for the first time. All traces of her recent well-justified hysteria seemed to have vanished.
'Hilda must come to Revelstoke with us!' she announced firmly. 'She has been kind to me and I cannot leave her cast adrift here.'
John was astonished at this change of heart by Matilda, but he was wise enough to conceal it. One problem was that none of the horses had side-saddles, but Hilda, rapidly recovering from shock herself, solved the problem by tearing the skirt of her kirtle up the front as far as her knees and accepting Gwyn's help to mount one of the smaller rounseys. De Wolfe experienced further astonishment when Matilda, after one look at the woman from Dawlish, bent down and did the same to her own gown, which John felt was akin to sacrilege, given the way his wife usually worshipped her garments. Almost too hastily, Richard de Revelle helped her into the saddle of another palfrey and, climbing on to his own horse, on which he had arrived, hurried the two women off along the path back to the distant road.
'I shall follow you shortly!' de Wolfe called after him. 'I need to explore this den of murderers first.'
He turned first to Alexander, who stood uncertainly in the midst of all this activity. 'Now, sir, what's been going on here?'
'Nothing but my art and my science, Sir John!' replied the Scot, evasively. 'I was employed by this knight who now lies dead, to come from Bristol with my assistant, to join with another alchemist in attempting to complete my life's work, the preparation of the Elixir of Life.'
'You expect me to believe that?' snapped John, sarcastically.
'It is the truth, Crowner! I was deceived, for this Turk was an impostor!'
'Who was this knight?' demanded de Wolfe.
'His name was Raymond de Blois. I know almost nothing about him, he was very secretive. He sought me out in Bristol and offered me a sum I could hardly refuse to meet with an alchemist from the Orient — one he alleged was renowned for his expertise, as are many Arabic philosophers. He claimed to have met him in Outremer, when he was there as a Crusader. This Nizam turned out to be a brazen sham, but it took me a week or two to discover that.'
'Why should this de Blois give you money for such an unlikely enterprise, eh?'
Alexander shrugged. 'Various claims have been made for the discovery of the elixir — I have come very near it myself. Any man who succeeds would rapidly become rich beyond any imagining!'
De Wolfe regarded the Scot with a stony stare, unconvinced by his tale.
'God's guts, man, do you expect me to believe that some unknown knight hires a Scottish alchemist to work with three bloody Arabs in England, to discover a potion to give everlasting life? And why in a secret hideout like this? Do you take me for a fool?'
The quick-wined Scot had a ready answer. 'There is a simple explanation, Crowner. As I have indicated, such an elixir would be worth a fortune, which is why Sir Raymond sought to acquire it. Rivals would kill for its secret — as they have done in the past — so absolute secrecy is essential to avoid the theft, of the formula!'
He shook his bulbous head sadly. 'Unfortunately, these Mussulmen tricked de Blois into giving them a great deal of money, though they were charlatans!'
John glared suspiciously at the little man. 'Are you trying to tell me that he brings them across the Channel, lets them slaughter a whole ship's crew to preserve their secret, just to conduct some half-magical rituals?'
Alexander shrugged. 'I know nothing of how they came here, sir! I just jogged in on a horse with my manservant. They were already here long before I arrived.'
Still unconvinced, John ordered Alexander to show him the underground laboratory in the crypt of the old priory. When they reached the bottom of the steps, he was at least reassured that some of the Scotsman's blather was true. With Gwyn and Thomas at his side, he looked in mystification at the flasks, crucibles, alembics and furnaces that cluttered the benches around the hearth.
He turned to his clerk. 'You are the one with most learning, Thomas! What do you make of all this?
The small priest had been peering with interest at the assortment of apparatus, especially several large parchment folios. 'It is certainly the paraphernalia of alchemy, master! The subject is foreign to me, but those books are full of the symbolism and cabbalistic texts of that art.'