The Elixir of Death Read Free Page B

childbed!' objected Thomas. His compassion was mixed with his usual desire to contradict everything said by his burly colleague.  
    The bailiff of Ringmore, one William Vado, had arrived at the coroner's chamber in the gatehouse of Exeter's Rougemont Castle early the previous morning. He had ridden the thirty-five miles in a day and a half, forcing the pace to carry news that had the coroner and his two men saddled up within the hour. They stayed that night in Totnes Castle, the bailiff having parted from them earlier to hurry home to his wife. By late afternoon of the following short November day, they had reached the place overlooking the River Avon that Vado had described.  
    Now John de Wolfe led the way towards Ringmore across the undulating heath land behind the cliffs. It was deserted apart from some scraggy sheep and a few goats lurking among the bracken and stunted gorse bushes bent over by the prevailing winds. There were only sheep tracks to follow, and John saw that down to his left was another smaller beach at the end of a valley between the cliffs, with a few ramshackle fishermen's huts above the water's edge. The only guides they had to these parts were some instructions offered by the bailiff, together with a rough sketch map hastily drawn on a scrap of parchment by the steward at Totnes Castle.  
    They crossed this valley higher up and a few minutes later reached the head of yet another glen, where a small stream cut its way down to the sea. Here a lonely village nestled in the valley where, protected from the worst of the winds, trees softened the landscape and some strip fields backed on to the dwellings. Ringmore was little more than a collection of tofts and crofts around a tiny Saxon church. Below it on the slope was a large tithe barn and a fortified house within a rectangular wooden stockade. The cottages were all built either of lime-washed cob on wooden frames or of weathered timber, with roofs of thatch or turf.  
    'Not much of a place, is it!' grumbled Gwyn, who, though born in Polruan, an equally undistinguished fishing village at the mouth of the Fowey river, had adopted the airs of a city dweller after twenty years as a largely absentee citizen of Exeter.  
    'As long as they've got somewhere with a sound roof and a fire to dry ourselves by, I don't care what it looks like!' whined little Thomas, his thin shoulders shivering under the threadbare black cloak that enveloped him. He wore a shabby pilgrim's hat and his pallid, thin face peered out miserably from under the wide, floppy brim.  
    John let his old warhorse Odin pick his way carefully down the slippery rutted track that served as the village street, heading for the larger house that lay inside the palisade of old stakes.  
    'Does a manor-lord actually live in this God-forsaken place?' grunted Gwyn, looking around at the humble dwellings, most of which were wattle-and-daub huts.  
    The coroner shook his head, drops of water flicking off his dark, beetling eyebrows. 'The land belongs to Totnes, that's why the steward there could draw us a map. But someone must have ruled here years ago for there to be a manor-house, poor though it looks.'  
    It turned out that the bailiff now occupied the old place, using it as his base for looking after several villages hereabouts that belonged to the lord of Totnes. This was a legacy from the days of the Conqueror, who gave many parcels of land in this area to his supporter Judhael, who built the castle at Totnes to subdue the local Saxons and Celts.  
    They rode up to the gate in the stockade and found William Vado hurrying out to meet them in the gathering dusk. He was a stocky fellow of about thirty years, with a square face, a bulbous nose and lank yellow hair that was a legacy from his Saxon mother. He wore a thigh-length tunic of coarse brown serge, clinched with a wide leather belt. Cross-gartered breeches and wooden-soled boots clothed his lower half.  
    William waved to a couple of