The Elixir of Death

'According to my dear wife's lying brother, they were recruited to help this Arab alchemist in his final search for the elixir. He says Raymond de Blois found this Alexander in Bristol, where he had a reputation as a noted philosopher. I suspect that this is about the only part of the story that could be proved to be true.'

'So what are you going to tell the Justiciar?' asked Rufus.

'Nothing but the truth,' snapped de Wolfe. 'But perhaps forgetting a few details that will help no one.'

'And letting de Revelle off the hook is one of them,' grumbled Gwyn into his ale-pot.

'I'll tell Hubert Walter that the plot he was warned of no longer exists. Three dangerous Moorish assassins burnt themselves to death rather than be captured after failing in their mission — that's readily believable, from what we know of the members of this sect, who seem to relish dying!'

'What about the deaths of the old Templar, the shipmen and the two at Shillingford?' asked the chaplain. 'To say nothing of the blasphemous desecration in the cathedral? '

'I'll be able to resume all the inquests on those now,' answered John, with genuine satisfaction. 'The blame will quite rightly be attributed to these foreign assassins, who got into the country by stealth in order to carry out their murderous schemes against old Crusaders and their families. This is the absolute truth — all this nonsense about the Elixir of Life was a smokescreen and I see no need even to mention it!'

'So what about this Raymond de Blois?' asked Brother Rufus.

John shrugged. 'I don't know who he was or what he was doing here. I have my own suspicions, but they would only open a bag of worms that's best left undisturbed. He was a brave man, trying to save the others at the cost of his own life, so I will let him lie in peace.'

'Where is he lying, by the way?' asked Nesta.

'We buried him three days ago in that little church of St Peter the Poor Fisherman, at the foot of the cliffs in de Revelle's manor. Matilda and Hilda came with us and we saw him put in the earth in a most decorous manner, thanks to the priest that conducted the Mass in such a fine manner.'

Thomas blushed and hung his head in embarrassment at the unexpected compliment. The conversation went on for a time, until John had run out of explanations and the others had exhausted their theories about this strange business. One by one, they drifted away, Thomas to get ready for midnight Matins in the cathedral and Gwyn back to the castle for a game of dice in the guardroom. Rufus decided to join him, and at last John and Nesta were left alone at the table. He felt very uneasy and stared into his quart pot, turning it around restlessly in his fingers.

Nesta placed a hand over his. 'Come on, Sir Crowner,' she murmured, in the half-mocking, half-affectionate way she had when he was out of sorts. 'Up the ladder and rest your weary head. It's been a hard few days, especially for old fellows like you, well past their prime!'

He pinched her bottom in reprisal, but wasted no time in following her up to the loft, watched by the envious eyes of some of the patrons, who came to the Bush as much for the sight of the fair Nesta as for her excellent ale.

In the little chamber in the corner of the large space beneath the thatch, John slumped down on the large feather mattress laid on a raised plinth, just above the floor. He still regretted the loss of their French bed, consumed in the recent fire, and resolved to remind the new ship-masters in Dawlish that the new one he had ordered must be brought over from St-Malo as soon as sailing started again in the spring. The thought of Dawlish brought the beautiful Hilda into his mind and added to the turmoil there, as Nesta sank down beside him, her head on his shoulder.

Mentally gritting his teeth, he plunged straight into the problem. 'Nesta, my love, tomorrow Matilda will be back in Martin's Lane.'

He steeled himself to continue, willing himself to remember the words that he had been rehearsing since the messenger had brought the news of his wife's return. But the remarkable woman who was his mistress raised her head to kiss his cheek and laid her forefinger across his lips.

'Hush, cariad, there's no need to explain!' she whispered in Welsh. 'Of course you must return home. You can't leave the poor woman there after all she's been through.'

John looked at Nesta almost fearfully, his long-held suspicions that she must have the power of second sight confirmed.

'How did you know what I was going to say?'

She smiled sadly and patted his big, rough hands as they lay across his lap. 'I've known for a few weeks that you would not stay with me, John. You miss your freedom, your dog, your cook-maid, even fighting with your wife!'

John's long face flushed slightly. 'I would have stayed with you for ever, but for this happening. I cannot leave her now.'

Nesta nodded gently. 'I believe that you truly love me, John. If there were no Matilda and you could take your dog, your chattels and even your maid with you, we could go away and be happy somewhere else. But as long as you are married and are the King's Coroner, it cannot happen.'

'I'll not give you up, Nesta!' He sounded like a petulant youth, she thought affectionately.

'I know that, John, but home you must go! Let your wife get over this awful thing in her own time. To have been within minutes of being burned alive will have scarred her mind and will disturb her nights for months to come. I should know, for it almost happened to me not long past!'

He turned to her and seized her almost desperately, pulling her back on to the bed, kissing her passionately.

'You are my elixir of life, Nesta! Without you, it would have no meaning. My body may have to return home, but my soul will stay here!'

As they fumbled at each other's garments, she vowed that his body would also return to the Bush as often as possible!

It was late the next day before de Revelle's retainers appeared in Martin's Lane, ending the leg of the journey from Buckfast Abbey. As the sound of hoofs brought John to his street door, the sight of the blackbird devices on their jerkins gave him a momentary vision of the two guards on the track near Bigbury, with cross-bow bolts sticking from their backs. Then he was hurrying out to help a grim-faced Matilda from her palfrey, Mary following close behind to chaperone Lucille as one of the escorts hauled her from her pony. Leaving the two younger women to organise the bags and packages from the horses, John led his wife inside and took her into the gloomy hall, where a huge fire was blazing in the chimneyed hearth. Mary had placed food and wine ready on the table, and with uncharacteristic gallantry John led Matilda to her favourite cowled chair before the fire and helped her off with her heavy riding cloak.

'You must be chilled through after that long ride,' he said solicitously. 'I'll pour you a cup of wine and soon Mary will bring hot stew.'

He fussed over her for a few minutes as she silently warmed herself before the fire. Then he brought his own goblet to sit on the other monk's chair, wondering desperately how to find something to say that would not spark controversy. But as had Nesta the evening before, Matilda saved him the trouble.

'Are you living back here now?' she demanded, her gimlet eyes boring into his.

'I am indeed, wife! You need not fear any further assault now — those men are all dead.'

She turned to stare at the flames in the hearth.

'I am glad you are back, John: she murmured tonelessly. 'The house was not the same without you here to cause me trouble.'