The Elixir of Death by Bernard Knight

though in the villages outside, regular practice with both longbow and cross-bow was looked on as a useful recreation and was often enforced by manor-lords and barons, who might need proficient troops for purposes of their own.
    John thoroughly enjoyed his afternoon and afterwards, as the shadows lengthened, he made his way back to the South Gate, Gwyn going off eastwards towards his home in St Sidwells. As he strode through the cathedral Close, he saw a familiar figure coming towards him, one that stood out from the crowd by virtue of the colourful raiment that he wore. John's friend and partner, the portreeve Hugh de Relaga, was addicted to garish clothing and today was arrayed in a vermilion tunic down to his knees under an open surcoat of lime-green cloth. On his head was wound a capuchin of blue velvet, the free end hanging over one shoulder.
    Hugh greeted him cheerfully, the round face above his short, corpulent body beaming with genuine pleasure. 'Where have you been these past few days, John?' he enthused. 'I have been wanting to pour money into your purse, as we have done so well with that last shipment of cloth to Flanders.'
    John took him by the arm and steered him around towards Martin's Lane, 'Come in and have a cup of wine, friend. There is something I must discuss with you.'
    A few moments later they were sitting at John's hearth, drinking his best Anjou red from heavy glass goblets that he brought out only on special occasions. Matilda was again on her knees in St Olave's church, but even if she returned unexpectedly, John knew that she would be quite civil to de Relaga, as he was always amiable and attentive to her and was one of the few of John's acquaintances whom she tolerated.
    'I regret to tell you that we have lost our good friend Thorgils the Boatman. We urgently need to discuss how our merchandise is to be shipped abroad in future.'
    He explained the whole story of the wreck and the death of the ship-master and his crew. Hugh was shocked at the news, as he had known Thorgils for many years. Then he listened to John's proposition about taking over the ships themselves.
    'It would not only solve the problem of transporting our own goods,' declared de Wolfe, 'but it would be a profitable business in its own right. With the increase in commerce between Devon and the ports across the Channel, we could increase our income by shipping wool, cloth and tin for other merchants.'
    Hugh rapidly became enthusiastic about the idea. 'There are three vessels, as I recall. Could we manage them all?'
    'Two are smaller than the Mary, but are quite seaworthy and already have masters and crew, now idle and unemployed. We would need to repair the Mary, which seems not to be a great undertaking, then find a shipman and crew for her. Thankfully, it's now November, so we have ample time until sailing begins again in the spring.'
    They went on to discuss how Hilda, who had inherited the ships, could be brought in as a sleeping partner and share in the profits. They decided to delicately broach the matter with her on Monday, when they would both attend Thorgils' burial in Dawlish.

    Two days later they rode down to the coastal village for the sad ceremony. Gwyn came with them, as there were always outlaws lurking in the woods along the high roads and whenever he was out of Exeter the brawny Cornishman rarely allowed his master out of his sight. Hugh also brought one of his retainers and the four of them trotted down to the port of Topsham to take the little ferry across a hundred yards of tidal water. Then they carried on across the marshy land that occupied the lower end of the valley of the Exe to reach the hills that ran down to meet the sea at Dawlish.
    The corpses of the seamen had arrived on a cart the previous night and after a sad ceremony were laid to rest in the churchyard. Hilda was her usual dignified self, doing all she could to console the wives and children of the other dead sailors, assuring them that they would