Company of Liars

by Karen Maitland

  Zophiel looked up from sorting the nets and lines. ‘What’s the matter with you, boy? Anyone would think he was a naked woman you were too scared to touch. Wrap the cloak round him and give him a good rub with it. Get his blood flowing to warm him. The last thing we need is him falling sick of ague.’

  Jofre flushed scarlet and picked up the cloak from where it had fallen, but Rodrigo stepped quickly forward and took it out of his hands.

  ‘I will do it. You are as cold as he is. Go down to the brazier, get warm.’

  Jofre stumbled towards the stairs without a word. Rodrigo wrapped the cloak around Osmond’s shoulders and pummelled him vigorously, until Osmond laughingly protested that he’d rather die of cold than be beaten to death. At that moment Adela returned with dry clothes.

  We ate in the chapel. None of us could bear to go down into the dark, damp crypt to eat our Christmas feast. The winter sun shining through the windows, though not warming, filled the chapel with a light that we had craved for so long, and we drank it in like hungry prisoners who have been kept for months in a dungeon. Dappled lights from the river below were reflected up on to the white wall of the chapel, sending an endless pattern rippling across its surface, like shoals of tiny rainbow fish.

  In defiance of Osmond’s warning, Adela went out of her way to include Cygnus in the light-hearted chatter and ensure that he received a good share of the meats. Cygnus had returned in a melancholic humour, but even he could not fail to be seduced by the irresistible aroma of roasted duck and trout and, recognizing Adela’s efforts to include him, tried his best to conceal his melancholy thoughts.

  We ate our food slowly to make it last, not easy when you are hungry, washing each mouthful down with ale that was beginning to turn sour. We cracked open the ducks’ skulls and scooped out the roasted brains, no more than a mouthful, but every mouthful counts, and sucked at the feet which had been set to boil with the last handful of beans. When every piece of flesh had been stripped from bird and fish, we tried to pretend to one another that we were full, though our stomachs told us we were lying, and sat chewing the ends of the duck bones to extract every last flavoursome mouthful.

  Rodrigo wistfully began to describe the Christmas banquets he had enjoyed in his lord’s employ: the dancing and singing, the gaming and cock fights and the lewd games played by the young men and women, in which all normal decorum was cast aside for the Christmas season. He told us, much to Adela’s giggling embarrassment, how the men had fastened huge false cocks on themselves and chased the women. How men and women changed clothes and played at being the opposite sex, the men mincing and simpering in their kirtles, while women strode about belching and shouting orders. Then the women would climb on to the men’s backs and ride them like horses in races around the hall and end in a great tangled tumble among the rushes, giggling and laughing.

  Then, Rodrigo said, came the feast itself with its endless procession of pages and servants bearing in stews and breads, puddings and pies. There were swans, geese, partridges, larks and great haunches of venison. And to crown the feast, a succulent roasted boar would be carried by four servants staggering under the weight of it. It would be glazed so that its skin shone in the torchlight and garlanded with holly, ivy and mistletoe and set about with roasted crab apples and dried fruits.

  Rodrigo’s descriptions of the food were making us as hungry as if we had not eaten at all, and in the end, to stop him talking about food, Zophiel told him to do his duty as a musician and play something. Rodrigo smiled broadly as if he had just been waiting to be asked. He took up the pipes for once instead of his beloved lute and began to play the familiar strains of an old carol-dance. Cygnus, his dark mood pushed aside for the moment, got to his feet and gravely bowed to Adela.

  ‘Will you honour me with a dance, m’lady?’

  Osmond started to his feet as if to protest, but Adela had already laughingly refused with a shake of her head and her hand on her swollen belly. ‘You do me great honour, m’lord, but I fear I could not waddle, never mind dance.’

  Cygnus then turned to Narigorm and took her by the hand, pulling her to her feet. ‘Then, little mistress, I must beg a dance from you. Will you join us, m’lord Osmond, for we must have four at least?’

  Osmond, already standing, looked as if he would refuse, but at Adela’s urging he finally conceded, made a stiff bow, then looked round for a partner. A dark look from Zophiel was enough to warn all of us that while it might be Christmas, there were still some liberties that should not be taken, not if you valued your life. So, since he obviously considered that my dancing days were long over, Osmond marched across and grabbed Jofre by the hand.

  ‘Come, pretty maid, you shall dance with me. Now don’t be shy,’ he added as Jofre tried to pull away.

  ‘Come on, Jofre,’ Adela called out. ‘You must or you’ll spoil the fun.’ Jofre reluctantly allowed himself to be dragged into the ring. Rodrigo started up the carol again and the four of them pranced around, weaving round one another in a parody of a dance. Soon they were all laughing helplessly as they repeatedly turned the wrong way and collided. They tried to shout out steps to one another which left them in worse confusion, until Adela, tears of merriment streaming down her face, begged them to stop for she had a stitch in her side from laughing too much. While little Narigorm, giggling louder than any of us, begged to do it all again.

  Breathless and still laughing, they collapsed on to the floor of the chapel. Osmond, scarlet in the face, waggled a finger at Zophiel.

  ‘Come, we let you off the dance, so now it is your turn to entertain us.’

  Zophiel smiled, not ungraciously. ‘I see, my friend, that you have appointed yourself King of the Feast, but it is the custom, is it not, that the one finding the bean in his pudding is the rightful lord. You must present your bean, if we are to obey you.’

  Osmond laughed. ‘I fear we have eaten every bean in the place.’

  ‘Surely not, my lord.’ Zophiel leaned forward and, placing one cupped hand under Osmond’s chin, tapped him smartly on the back. As Osmond opened his mouth in a gasp at the slap, a dry bean shot into Zophiel’s cupped hand. The surprised look on Osmond’s face made us all burst out laughing. It was an old trick, but neatly done.

  ‘Now that you have presented your bean, my lord, your wish is my command. What would you have me do?’

  ‘Amuse me, my man,’ Osmond said, leaning back against Adela’s legs and waving his hand regally.

  Zophiel bowed his head and after rummaging around in his boxes, returned with several objects concealed under a cloth. He first withdrew from the cloth a wooden goblet and placed a white marble ball in it. He covered the goblet and when he showed us the contents again, the ball had turned black. Next a dead toad in a glass bottle was brought back to life and hopped around, trying in vain to leap out. Then Zophiel placed an egg on a cloth and when he passed over it with a stick, the egg rose by itself several inches into the air, before dropping again on to the cloth.

  At each new trick, Adela clapped her hands with delight like a small child and the others smiled, gasped and laughed in turn. Only Jofre had fallen silent. He did not join in the applause and laughter, remembering, no doubt, the time he had first encountered Zophiel and had been goaded by him into betting heavily on the outcome of such tricks. He had good reason to be wary; we both knew that at any moment Zophiel might choose to remind him of it and humiliate him in front of the company. But Zophiel, it seemed, had entered into the Christmas spirit of goodwill and for once was refraining from tormenting anyone. He smiled with satisfaction at our gasps of admiration and bowed gravely after each round of applause.

  ‘And now we must have a story,’ Osmond commanded, turning expectantly to Cygnus. ‘No Christmas feast is complete without one.’

  Narigorm wriggled around to look at him. ‘Not Cygnus, Adela should tell it. She must, she’s Queen of the Feast, so she must do something.’

  Adela shook her head. ‘Cygnus is the storyteller. I don’t k
now any stories.’

  ‘Tell us about how you and Osmond fell in love then,’ Narigorm persisted.

  Cygnus smiled encouragingly. ‘Come on, Adela. I’m sure that is a romantic story, a better one than ever I could tell.’

  ‘No, leave her, let her rest,’ Osmond protested.

  Zophiel snorted. ‘She can speak while she rests, can’t she, or is she too feeble even to do that? I, for one, would be intrigued to know your story. You have never told us what brought you on the road. I imagine your parents did not approve of the match, which is why you find yourself homeless.’

  Adela glanced at Osmond. His face was flushed, but it was hard to know if it was from anger or embarrassment. She bit her lip, then began.

  ‘When I was fourteen years old my parents betrothed me to a man named Taranis. He was twenty years older than I was, wealthy and powerful, and I was afraid of him for although he was courteous, he had cold eyes and I saw from the way he treated his servants that he was cruel. He was impatient to marry straight away, but I pleaded so desperately against it that my parents persuaded him to wait a year until I should prove more willing. But they were adamant that sooner or later I must marry him. As the month of my wedding crept closer, my despair grew deeper. Each day when I went to the well to draw water, I would look down and see my own reflection mirrored in the dark cold depths, and each day I saw myself growing paler and thinner.

  ‘Then, on the night of my fifteenth birthday, I had a dream. A man, a stranger to me, climbed in through my window and came quietly to my bed. He was young and strong. His eyes were soft and full of gentleness. He told me that I was the beat of his heart, the breath of his life, his soul’s desire. He touched me and I melted to his touch. He kissed me and love leaped up in my breast. All night we lay in each other’s arms. Then, as the cock crowed, he slipped away. I begged him to come again and he promised he would on condition that I told no one of my dream for if I did he would be lost to me for ever.

  ‘The next few weeks were the happiest of my life. My nights were spent in his arms and my days were spent dreaming of the nights. Now when I went to gaze down into the well, I saw the flush of love bloom on my cheeks and the laughter dancing in my eyes. But my cousin grew suspicious. She could see I was in love, and she coaxed me and teased me about it for days. “What harm can it do to tell me? I’m your cousin; you can trust me.”

  ‘I was bursting to share my great joy with someone, so in the end I told her. But my cousin was filled with jealousy and went straight to Taranis and he told her what to do. That night when I fell asleep, unknown to me, she bolted the window and the door.

  ‘At midnight I heard Osmond’s voice at the window. “Why have you shut the window against me? What have you done? I cannot come to you again.”

  ‘I ran to the window and flung it wide, but it was too late – he was gone. The next day when I went to the well and looked down into the dark, icy water, I saw not the reflection of my own face, but the face of Osmond. His eyes were open, but he could not see me.

  ‘I went to the ancient woman who keeps the bees, for she has many wise ways, and I asked her how I could reach Osmond.

  ‘ “He lies at the bottom of the well. He is not yet dead, but he is dying. Taranis has conjured a Sending from the bone of a dead man and sent it against him. As the Sending draws nearer, he will grow weaker and in three days he will die.”

  ‘“How can I stop it?” I begged her.

  ‘“With the bone of his bone. You must go to the grave at midnight and take the thighbone of the corpse Taranis used to conjure the Sending. You must drill a hole in it and descend with it to the bottom of the well.”

  ‘I did as she said, though I was very frightened. At midnight I went to the graveyard. Shadows ran under the moon and voices whispered through the yew trees. There were many graves and I did not know which one Taranis had used. But then I heard the voice of a man crying, “Give me back my bone.” I crept forward and saw the skeleton of a man risen half out of the grave, trapped up to his kneecaps in grave mould. I was terrified, but I thought of Osmond’s face and so I ran forward and snatched away his thigh bone. But though I had faced fear, I knew I could never jump down into that deep black water.

  ‘The next day I returned to the well and, looking down, saw the face of Osmond again. His eyes were closed as if he was sleeping. But I was too afraid to jump in for I knew I would drown.

  ‘On the third day, I looked down into the well and Osmond’s face was as pale as death. I wept bitterly. Osmond was dead and I could not bear to live. My fear of life without him was greater than my fear of death. I closed my eyes and jumped.

  ‘The icy water closed over me and I sank down and down into the blind, black depths, but when I opened my eyes, I discovered I was in a round chamber. The walls shone with many pale colours like the rainbows in a waterfall. The floor was as soft as moss and in the middle of the chamber stood a great round bed, hung about with curtains glistening like green water weed. Osmond was lying on the bed. His skin was as cold as stone, his lips blue and his breath was very faint. I tried to shake him, but I could not rouse him, I kissed him, but his lips did not respond to mine. Then, as I sat in despair watching over him, I saw a fly crawling across his face. I tried to brush it away, but it kept buzzing around his head. I raised the thighbone to try to kill it, and the words of the old woman came into my head, “With the bone of his bone”.

  ‘As I said the words the fly alighted on the bone and crawled into the little hole. I stopped the hole with my finger and at once Osmond’s eyes opened and he sat up.

  ‘I told him what had happened, and he quickly sealed the hole in the bone with a rag torn from his shirt, for he knew the fly was the Sending sent by Taranis to kill him. Now that the Sending was trapped in the bone, Osmond commanded it to take us from the well and far away across the hills, for we knew that once Taranis had discovered the Sending had failed, he would conjure another, more powerful one. As soon as we were safe, we wrapped the bone in a baby’s caul and tossed it into the middle of a bog where the Sending could do no harm.

  ‘For six days we were happy, radiant with joy. Osmond’s eyes shone with my smiles and my mouth sang with his kisses. All through the day we walked hand in hand, delighting in each other’s company, and all night we lay side by side, joyous in the heat of our passion.

  ‘But on the seventh day my cousin looked into the black waters of the well and saw me lying naked on the silken sheets beside Osmond. Full of rage and jealousy, she went to Taranis. He conjured another Sending, a more terrible Sending, in the form of a flayed bull that dragged its bloody skin behind it. As it drew close, Osmond grew sleepy and I could not rouse him. It carried me off from Osmond’s bed while he slept. It set me down in a great granite castle. The floors were made of white marble and the beds were made of iron. Taranis placed a heavy chaplet upon my head that bruised my skin. He weighed down my neck with chains of emeralds and about my wrists he twisted bracelets of rubies that cut me whenever I moved. I wandered from room to room, weeping, for everything was cold and hard; there was no warmth or softness anywhere in the castle. He tried to force himself upon me, but I fought him. He tried to woo me with gifts, but the gifts that he brought me were dead things.

  ‘So I fled the castle and wandered though the land seeking Osmond until my clothes were torn to rags and my shoes were worn away. And naked I came at last to the sea and to the shore of the singing rocks.

  ‘I went to the first rock and asked, “Where can I find my love?”

  ‘The rock said, “Give me payment for my song.”

  ‘So I cut off my hair and gave it to the rock, but the rock’s song was without words. And without my hair I was ashamed.

  ‘I came to a second rock and asked, “Where can I find my love?” And I cut off my breasts and gave them to the rock, but the rock’s words had no letters. And without my breasts I could not suckle a child.

  ‘To the third rock I gave my feet, but the rock’s letters were w
ithout meaning. And without my feet I could not dance.

  ‘To the fourth rock I gave my hands, but the rock’s notes had no pattern. And without my hands I could neither weave nor spin.

  ‘To the fifth rock I gave my eyes, but the rock’s song was without a tune. And without my eyes I could neither write nor read.

  ‘To the sixth rock I gave my ears and if the sixth rock answered me with a song, I could not hear it.

  ‘Then I came to the seventh and last rock, and asked, “Where can I find my home and my love?”

  ‘And I let the rock cut out my tongue. And without my tongue I had no voice. All that was left of me was my tears and my tears fell into the hollow of the rock and become a pool on the shore of the sea.

  ‘But all this while, Osmond had been searching for me. He had found the castle of Taranis, and there they had fought until Osmond had overpowered him and killed him. Hearing the commotion, my cousin came rushing in, but all she found left of Taranis were three tiny drops of blood on the white marble floor.

  ‘Osmond seized her and threatened to kill her likewise unless she told him where I was. She looked into the well and there, in the black water, she saw the singing rocks and the pool of tears. But she warned him that at the next spring tide, the sea would break over the pool of tears and he would never find me for I would become just a drop of water in the vast seas.

  ‘Osmond searched for me for many weeks and finally, on the evening of the first of the spring tides, he came to the singing rocks, and at the first rock he found my hair and smelt it. He found my breasts and caressed them. He bathed my feet. He kissed my hands. He cried into my eyes. He whispered love into my ears and poured honey on my tongue until finally he came to the pool of my tears. But it was growing late and the waves were already crashing on to the rocks, each higher than the last. He had all that was me, yet he did not have me and he did not know how to make me whole again. He called my name forwards and backwards, he tried to scoop up the tears and carry them away, but they slid through his fingers, and all the while the sun was sinking and the waves were crashing higher and higher until they almost touched the lip of the pool.