'Of course,' said Alexander, somewhat huffily. 'I am well known among the community of alchemists, especially in relation to the elixir — which is why this Sir Raymond sought me out in Bristol.'
De Wolfe looked into the two storerooms where the prisoners had been kept. 'So how did all this apparatus appear here?' he demanded. 'Don't try to tell me that these Saracens brought it by sea, for they had to row ashore in a little curragh after the swine had slain the ship's crew! And where did your food and their horses come from? Did they make them by magic in their crucibles?'
Alexander shrugged, still looking innocent. 'It was all here when I came, Crowner. I presumed that de Blois arranged it all secretly. It was none of my business, though if I had known how it was to turn out, I would never have left Bristol, not for all the gold in Christendom!'
This expression was an unfortunate slip of the tongue if Alexander wished to keep the coroner well away from the truth. John seized upon it immediately.
'Gold? Is that not also of prime interest to alchemists?' he snapped. 'My learned clerk here tells me that seeking this fabled elixir of yours is closely allied to the search for creating gold from base matter!'
The Scot looked sheepish, but again did his best to wriggle out of a difficult situation.
'Some say that, sir, but I do not believe it to be true,' he lied. He waved a hand around the gloomy crypt, where the rush-lights were beginning to gutter and fade away. 'Look around here. You'll not find any gold, unless those scheming Arabs had some of their own.'
De Wolfe ignored the invitation and prodded the alchemist towards the stairs, from where they emerged into the twilight of the fading day. The blacksmith had relit the fallen pitch brand and stuck it in the fork of a bush, so that there was some illumination of the area in front of the huts. As they left the priory ruins, John had more questions for the hapless alchemist.
'You come from Bristol? You are sure that it is not Gloucester?'
On moderately safe ground here, Alexander contrived to look surprised as he lied once again. 'Gloucester? I have never set foot in the place.'
'So you have never had any dealing with the Count of Mortain or any of his retainers?'
This was dangerous territory, and for once Alexander was glad that Jan the Fleming had no tongue, for otherwise he might already have told a different tale to this sharp, grim law officer. He shook his head vigorously.
'Prince John? I am but a lowly philosopher, sir. I do not mix with people in such exalted circles. I know my place.'
'In that case, how did you come to be here with Sir Richard de Revelle, a knight and former sheriff of this county?' demanded the coroner.
Thinking quickly, the little Scotsman came up with an answer, and only hoped that de Revelle would tell the same story. 'I do not know him in any real sense, Crowner! he answered gravely. 'He seems to have been a friend of this poor man who lies dead, Raymond de Blois.'
He stopped and assumed an air of sudden inspiration. 'I suspect they were business partners in trying to obtain the priceless Elixir of Life. Maybe it was he who provided everything here. This was his second visit to see de Blois and to try to get those deceitful Turks to achieve some results.'
De Wolfe rasped a hand over his stubble. The story was becoming more plausible as the idea of Richard becoming involved in any dubious scheme that would make him even richer was not difficult to believe.
By now they had reached the kitchen shed, where the faithful blacksmith was standing guard, still grasping his great hammer. Gwyn stuck his head through the doorway and looked down at the three white-clad corpses.
'What are we going to do about these devils?' he growled.
The sight of the bodies reminded John of something that until now had been driven from his mind by the urgency and confusion of the past half-hour.
'This bastard you called Nizam, the leader of this gang,' he rasped. 'Why did he suddenly keel over like that? I was looking forward to spitting him on my sword!' Gwyn decided not to remind him that Nizam had a knife at Richard's throat at that precise moment and Alexander, with a trace of pride, answered the coroner. 'That was my doing! Though it was a close thing, as I had no means of telling when and how completely they would finish that mess they called food.'
John's black brows came together in puzzlement. 'What the hell are you talking about?'
'When they went chasing my man Jan, I took the opportunity to dose their food with a lethal concoction that I prepared for such an eventuality. It would have killed them all eventually, but Abdul and Malik came to a more violent end before it could work upon their systems!'
De Wolfe and Gwyn stared at the weird Scot with more respect.
'What was the stuff you gave them, eh?' demanded Gwyn.
Alexander grinned, his impish face creasing into a knowing smile.
'Among the many experiments I have made seeking the elixir, I had many failures. Some of them dropped rats and cats dead on the spot, others had a delayed action. One batch of the liquid I accidentally proved to be effective on a human, though he was a condemned prisoner,' he added nonchalantly. 'I made up a small vial of that one' yesterday and kept it hidden in case I had use for it.'
Gwyn roared with laughter and slapped the alchemist on the back.
'Remind me never to eat or drink in your company, old man!' he boomed.
De Wolfe seemed less amused and returned to the problem in hand.
'The Christian knight deserves a proper burial, for he was a brave man, trying to attack those bastards with his hands tied behind his back.'
Thomas crossed himself piously as he agreed and made a suggestion.
'If he was a friend of Sir Richard, then perhaps he should attend to his last rites. He may know who his relatives are and could inform them of his death.'
De Wolfe nodded. 'I will tax him with it when later we go across to Revelstoke. But what about these infidels?'
'Are you going to hold an inquest?' asked Gwyn, his doubtful tone suggesting that it would be a waste of effort.
John considered the matter for a long moment. His dogged adherence to orders which had always made him such a staunch follower of King Richard, inclined him to stick to the rules and hold an inquiry on the spot into the four deaths. But common sense was telling him that these were all foreigners and non-Christians, who seemed totally outside the jurisdiction of the Crown. What was the point of sticking to the established routines of First Finder and Presentment of Englishry — and what possible jury could he empanel that would be of the slightest use? Come to think of it, the First Finder was John himself, as much as any of the others present.
The whole process seemed futile, and the ramifications regarding this little alchemist, his dumb servant — and even Richard, Matilda and Hilda — were likely to lead to complications that none of them would welcome. Hilda had stabbed a man to death, and though it seemed wholly justified in the heat of the moment, if the event was recorded on Thomas's rolls, the justices would have to haul her before the next session of the Eyre, with all the attendant publicity throughout the county. Furthermore, he had no desire to have his own wife embroiled in any legal proceedings and suffer the malicious gossip of her acquaintances in Exeter.
He made up his mind, not without some misgivings. 'To hell with it. There's nothing to be gained by probing this open sore!' he growled. 'I must tell the sheriff and Justiciar something, if only to explain the deaths at Shillingford and of the crew of Thorgils' vessel. But I will trim the truth to sensible proportions.'
'So what are we to do with these cadavers?' persisted Gwyn.
'Have you searched them? Maybe they carry something that shows who they were and where they came from.'
The blacksmith, who had stood guard while the others were in the crypt, pointed to some objects on the ground near his feet.