Company of Liars

by Karen Maitland

  We all nodded.

  ‘Break camp quickly then,’ Zophiel said. ‘Our helpful little friend omitted to tell us just how far the drovers’ hut was, and if the track is anything like this one, I don’t want to be travelling it in the snow. Cygnus, see that Xanthus is well watered before we move out, unless, of course, you want to try the water yourself first. Who knows, if our diminutive friend is right, pray nicely and you might grow another wing.’

  Men say many things under the cover of darkness which, come the cold light of dawn, they bitterly regret revealing and Zophiel was no exception. He was clearly furious that he’d been forced to confide in us the night before. And as usual with men like Zophiel, they don’t blame themselves, but those who witness their moment of weakness. He was not going to forgive any of us for having seen his wretched state the night before and it was evident he had no intention of giving way to his fear again. But then it is always easy to dismiss the terrors of the night when it is day, not so easy when darkness falls.

  The baited carcass had caught nothing except a half dozen ravens which lay dead around the leg. None of us really expected to find a wolf lying there, nevertheless we hoped, for the alternative was to accept that whatever was following us was no animal. Rodrigo burned the carcass before we left. At least there would be no more dead birds.

  It was around noon when we found the drovers’ hut. Our little friend was right; it was ‘a bit of a roof’. The hut was long and narrow, made from wattle and daub. Good for sheltering from summer storms, but not from winter’s cold. The roof was an equally flimsy affair of overlapping wooden tiles cut from the ends of logs, but it looked sound and was steeply raked, which would be a blessing if the snow did fall. The most substantial thing about the hut was a rough stone chimney at one end.

  The wooden pinfold nearest to the hut was large enough to contain a flock of sheep. There was a stone water trough inside, so it would hold Xanthus well enough. Several older pinfolds lay some distance away, made of rough stone walling which had collapsed in places. The hut itself was bare inside except for a stack of wool sacks, which served as beds for the drovers, shepherds and stockmen who used the hut. A small sack of withered turnips lay in one corner. I wasn’t sure if Xanthus had ever been offered such fare before, but if we couldn’t find fodder she might be grateful for them, as would we.

  We set the last of the mutton to boil over the fire. It was going to be a meagre supper, but the water would collect the fat and flavour and make a thin broth for the morning. I made Narigorm sort through the sack of turnips and toss in a few of the better ones. They were woody and shrivelled, but they might be edible if we stewed them long enough.

  As I stirred the pot, Adela sat nursing baby Carwyn. Her milk was flowing a little better now and the baby was stronger, but it wouldn’t last if we couldn’t find more food soon.

  As if she had read my thoughts, Narigorm looked up. ‘There’s no more meat left after this, is there? If Adela doesn’t eat meat, the baby will die, won’t it?’

  I saw the stricken look on Adela’s face and said hastily, ‘Don’t say such foolish things, Narigorm. We still have the herbs the healer gave us. Carwyn is in no danger.’

  ‘There’d be another day’s worth at least, if it hadn’t been wasted on useless baits,’ Osmond said, glowering through the open door at Zophiel who was collecting boxes from the wagon.

  ‘Recriminations won’t restore the meat,’ I said. ‘Let’s make sure we lay a piece of this aside for Adela to eat in the morning. The rest of us can do without tomorrow.’

  Zophiel came in with the last of his boxes which he stacked as neatly as ever in the corner.

  ‘Do we have to have those in here?’ Osmond grumbled. ‘There’s hardly enough room for the seven of us as it is.’

  ‘There’d only be six, if your wife had learned to keep her legs crossed. I have to put up with being kept awake half the night by your mewling brat.’

  ‘And we have to put up with being kept awake all night by your howling wolf,’ Osmond snapped. His fists clenched, but Rodrigo laid a hand on his shoulder to restrain him.

  ‘Zophiel,’ I said, ‘why don’t you simply leave the treasures from the church for the wolf to find? I know, I know,’ I added hastily, seeing the look of outrage on his face, ‘they’re yours, you earned them, but surely your life is worth more than a few bits of silver? They’re no good to you if you’re dead.’

  ‘Do you really think that would make him leave me alone? The Bishop may want his treasures, but the wolves feed on fear and blood. It’s about exacting revenge and punishing their victim, not simply recovering what has been taken.’

  ‘But you said yourself the Bishop would pay him well if he recovers the items. So if he retrieves them he’ll be anxious to hurry back to Lincoln to claim his reward. He won’t want to waste time waiting for a chance to find you alone.’

  ‘If Lincoln has been hit by the pestilence, that city is so crowded it’ll run through it faster than flood waters. The Bishop won’t risk his corpulent posterior by exposing it to the city’s foul humours. He’ll have left long ago and our wolf will be in no hurry to seek him out. If the Bishop lives, the wolf may return to Lincoln once this pestilence is over or he may simply disappear and keep the treasures for himself; after all, what he’s paid will be a fraction of what they’re worth. Who’s to know he did not perish in the pestilence? Another good reason for killing me; after all, I might take it into my head to throw myself on the mercy of the Church and confess all, including that he now has the items. No, Camelot, I am not simply going to hand my property over to a hired killer. I can wait too. He may be stalking me, but there is something stalking all of us, including the wolf. For all his assassin’s skill, he can’t fight pestilence or hunger. Whichever kills him, I trust it will be painful and lingering.

  ‘Besides,’ he added with a cold smile, ‘our diminutive friend at the standing stones said this road leads to the sea and so I will finally get my passage to Ireland. The Bishop of Lincoln’s reach is long, but it does not stretch that far. In Ireland I will be safe, safe from the pestilence, safe from the wolf.’

  It was useless to argue with him, but I wondered if Zophiel would still be speaking as easily of waiting when night fell and the wolf howls began again. If the man at the standing stones was correct, we had at least two weeks’ journey ahead of us before we reached the sea, and once the wolf realized where Zophiel was headed, he’d surely try to stop him before he boarded a ship.

  Zophiel peered out of the door at the swollen clouds. ‘At least if it snows today, he won’t bother us tonight. He won’t want to leave tracks, his or his dogs, which could be followed back to him. So all we’ll have to keep us awake tonight is that brat. Did you know the ancients used to leave sickly infants outside in the snow? It either killed or cured them. Perhaps we should revive the custom.’

  Adela clasped Carwyn to her, as if she feared Zophiel would snatch him from her arms.

  Cygnus, glancing at the furious Osmond, said quickly, ‘You’ll sleep sounder under a roof, Zophiel, you won’t even hear little Carwyn.’

  Zophiel’s eyes narrowed. ‘Meaning what exactly, Cygnus?’

  Cygnus hesitated. ‘If I was being hunted, I’d be nervous about sleeping in the open. The howling would terrify anyone. I feel sorry…’ He trailed off miserably, as he saw the look of fury in Zophiel’s face.

  ‘I trust I shall never sink so low as to need the pity of a cripple,’ Zophiel snarled. ‘What use are you to anyone, Cygnus? You can’t hunt. You have to get Rodrigo to fight your battles for you. Tell me, Cygnus, what exactly is the point of you?’

  Only Rodrigo’s iron grip on his shoulder kept Osmond from launching himself at Zophiel.

  Zophiel swung his cloak over his shoulders. ‘I’m going to find fodder for Xanthus; we’ll need as much as we can get if it does snow. I can’t afford to have a dead horse on my hands.’

  ‘But if the wolf is following, you shouldn’t go out there alone,’ I
said.

  ‘Let him go, Camelot,’ Osmond said. ‘Serves him right if the wolf does get him.’

  Zophiel made a mocking bow. ‘Your concern is touching, my friend, but he will not risk striking in the open in daylight.’ He strode out without a backward glance.

  Osmond’s face was flushed with fury. ‘I know being pleasant would be asking too much of him, but considering that little weasel begged for our help last night, you’d think he’d try to curb his tongue, seeing that we are all that stand between him and the Bishop’s wolf.’

  Cygnus muttered something about needing to see to Xanthus and rushed out into the cold.

  ‘If Zophiel doesn’t leave Adela and Cygnus alone, I swear I’m going to kill him,’ Osmond muttered, his jaw clenched. He pulled on his cloak. ‘I’ll see if I can find anything for the pot. If I take it out on a few birds or rabbits, it might stop me pounding Zophiel to a pulp.’

  Adela waited until he was out of earshot. Then she turned anxiously to Rodrigo. ‘Go after him, Rodrigo, please. Stop him doing anything stupid. I’m afraid Osmond might really lose his temper and hit him. He’ll use his fist, but Zophiel always goes for his knife and Osmond is not as good at defending himself as he likes to think.’

  Rodrigo reached over and took her hand. ‘I swear I will not let any harm come to him, Adela.’

  She smiled up at him. ‘You’re a good man, Rodrigo.’

  Rodrigo squeezed her hand, but he did not return her smile. He followed Osmond outside.

  Our friend at the standing stones was right about the snow. By mid-afternoon the first flakes began to fall and soon they were swirling fast in the driving wind. Rodrigo and Osmond both came hurrying in within minutes of each other, banging the door behind them and sending smoke billowing back into the hut. Osmond dropped a pair of snipe on to the floor.

  ‘Best I could do. Missed more than I hit and there wasn’t much to hit. Everything’s gone to ground. Seemed to know the snow was on its way.’ He crouched down at Adela’s feet and looked anxiously up at her. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll try again tomorrow. If this snow stops I may be able to track a hare or two to their form.’

  She brushed the snow from his shoulders and smiled affectionately. ‘You’ve done well to catch anything. Is it bad out there?’

  ‘The snow’s whipping so hard into your face you can’t see a thing.’

  The door crashed open for a third time. Cygnus stood in the doorway. Adela glanced up at the sudden blast of cold air and screamed. We all stared aghast. Cygnus’s hand was covered with bright red blood.

  Osmond, recovering from his shock, started forward. ‘What happened, Cygnus? Are you hurt?’

  Cygnus looked bemused, as if he didn’t know why Osmond was asking.

  ‘The blood on your hand!’

  He stared down at his hand as if seeing it for the first time. ‘Blood… yes, there was a lot of blood… I had to hurry.’

  He swung a sack down from his shoulder and as he pulled off his cloak we saw the front of his gipon was also soaked with blood. He peeled back the neck of the sack and exposed the freshly skinned leg of a sheep.

  ‘Adela needs meat. If the snow lasts we may not get more food. The sheep was old. It’ll be tough, but if we boil it –’

  ‘You slaughtered a sheep?’ Relief spread across Osmond’s face. ‘But who on earth did you buy it from? I walked for ages and I couldn’t see a cottage.’

  Cygnus stared down at the blood on his hand again. ‘I didn’t buy it.’

  Adela gasped. ‘You stole it? That’s a hanging offence. Tell me you haven’t risked that to get meat for me.’

  There was a shocked silence in the room; for a moment all you could hear was the crackling of wood on the fire.

  Cygnus shrugged, avoiding looking at her horrified face. ‘I buried the marked skin under some stones. No one will come here in the snow and if they do, who’s to know this isn’t the same sheep Zophiel and Camelot bought?’

  I swallowed hard. ‘If they find you covered in blood, eating fresh mutton in a drovers’ hut, believe me, they won’t stop to ask questions.’ I was just as shocked as Adela. The penalties for sheep-stealing were merciless. I couldn’t believe that Cygnus, of all people, would take such a risk.

  ‘Camelot’s right, you must wash that blood off quickly,’ Adela said. ‘Give me your gipon and your shirt. If I wash them in cold water before the blood has a chance to dry, we’ll get the stain out.’

  ‘No!’ Cygnus snapped, then, seeing Adela’s hurt expression, he added more gently, ‘No, thank you. I can wash it. I don’t want you to get blood on your clothes.’

  We couldn’t bring the sheep back to life, so there was nothing for it but to eat the evidence. We put the head, trotters and offal to boil straight away and hung the rest of the carcass up in the sack outside where the snow would keep it fresh. The wind had temporarily abated and snow was falling thickly now. It was lying and already the ground of the pinfold was white. By the time Cygnus returned from the spring clad only in his cloak and breeches, he was shivering violently and covered in snow. We hung his wet clothes near the fire to dry, where they steamed. But Cygnus insisted on braving the snow again to lead Xanthus to the side of the hut. He tethered her close to the back of the chimney in the lee of the hut where she could feel the warmth from the chimney stones.

  Snow was driving in through the open window which overlooked the pinfold. There was no shutter. The shepherds and drovers who used the hut needed to keep an eye on their charges. I volunteered to go out to the wagon to find something to fasten one of the wool-filled sacks across the window to keep out the snow and the cold.

  Xanthus was leaning gratefully against the warm chimney back, her head lowered. Her mane was already white with snow. Cygnus had tied some old sheepskins across her broad back to keep out the cold, and snow was forming a thick crust on top of them. It occurred to me that I should also fetch a spade from the wagon. If it carried on like this all night, we might have to dig our way out of the hut door.

  At least we would have food to fill our bellies for the next few days. Whilst I was grateful for that, I cursed Cygnus with every name I could think of for taking such a stupid risk. I thought of the day we had first seen Cygnus telling his stories in the market place, and of the purple, swollen faces of the men slowly choking to death on the end of a rope in that same square. Cygnus knew only too well what they did to men who stole sheep. Osmond had asked me that day what would drive a man to risk such a punishment. Had Zophiel’s taunts driven Cygnus to do something so dangerous, or was it what he once said to me, that no one who lets a child come to harm could ever be forgiven? Had he risked the rope for Adela and baby Carwyn?

  But maybe he was right; no one would come looking. If the sheep had been left to wander out on the heath in this, then they were strays or no longer had a shepherd to tend them. Why should we starve and watch a baby die when there was food for the taking? It was hard to adjust to, but the old laws and the old order were crumbling about our ears. There was a new king and his name was pestilence. And he had created a new law – thou shalt do anything to survive.

  I returned to the hut, shaking the snow from my cloak. As Osmond nailed the wool sack across the window, a sudden thought struck me.

  ‘Where’s Zophiel? He can’t still be looking for fodder in this? Did anyone see him when you were out?’

  Osmond shook his head. ‘Just as well I didn’t. I’d probably have thrashed him.’

  ‘Cygnus? Rodrigo?’

  Rodrigo sat hunched over the fire. He didn’t look round. ‘I saw him earlier this afternoon.’

  ‘It’ll be dark soon. Perhaps we should go and look for him. He may be lost.’

  ‘There’s another hour of light left,’ said Osmond. ‘Maybe he walked a long way and it’s taking him time to get back. Anyway, I’m in no hurry for him to return.’

  We waited, but Zophiel did not return. The light was fading fast. Eventually even Osmond had to agree we needed to go out to look. If Zo
phiel had slipped and broken a leg, he might be lying out there helpless, though I dreaded to think what sort of patient he would make if he was hurt. Pain and frustration would do nothing to sweeten his temper.

  Adela clutched at Osmond’s cloak. ‘What if the wolf’s out there?’

  ‘If you mean the Bishop’s wolf,’ I said, ‘Zophiel’s right. He’ll not risk coming close in the snow and leaving tracks. Besides, there’s no reason why he should harm us,’ I assured her, trying to push the image of Jofre’s mutilated body out of my head.

  ‘All the same,’ said Osmond, ‘since those wretched boxes of his are in the hut, I think Rodrigo should stay here with Adela, Narigorm and the baby. Rodrigo’s the most able of us with the stave if it should come to a fight.’

  Rodrigo, when pressed, said he’d last seen Zophiel walking in the direction of the far pinfolds. Pulling our cloaks tightly around us against the stinging wind, Cygnus, Osmond and I set off towards the pinfolds, fanning out so as to cover more ground between us. The snow was ankle-deep, deeper where the wind had blown it into drifts against walls and bushes. We carried torches lit from the fire, waving and calling in the hope that if Zophiel was lost he would at least see the lights or hear the shouts.

  It was hard work, tramping through the snow; several times I came close to slipping and breaking a leg myself. Though the wind had eased a little, the snow was still falling hard and my guttering torch did little more than illuminate the millions of soft white feathers drifting down around us. In the distance I could just make out the bobbing torches of Cygnus and Osmond. I stopped to catch my breath. The sounds of Osmond’s and Cygnus’s shouts drifted back, but otherwise there was a suffocating silence.

  We searched until it was completely dark and my hands and feet were so cold they hurt. Then I saw the two torches moving back towards me. Osmond and Cygnus had evidently decided it was futile to continue. I also turned back. He could be anywhere out on that heath. We didn’t have a hope of finding him in this.