Company of Liars (51 page)

‘Heathen?’ he said indignantly. ‘Did you not hear us singing to the Blessed Virgin? People have been coming up here for generations. The water which runs down that stone has healing powers. Why, cripples who could not walk a step have been carried here and put in that basin and they have walked back down that path on their own two feet.’

Zophiel snorted. ‘We have a cripple among our company. Born without an arm. Do you think your water will grow him a new one?’

‘It's easy to mock, my fine fellow, but you'll be laughing on the other side of your face when you fall sick with the pestilence and we do not.’

I stepped in quickly. ‘Forgive my friend, good sir, he didn't sleep well last night. He is in a choleric humour.’

‘Then perhaps he should try the water,’ the man said acidly.

‘I'll see that he does. I take it you know these parts well?
Tell me, the main track over there, does it continue through the forest for many miles?’

The man considered this for a long time, before finally saying, ‘It does.’

‘Is there a crossroads or a road that forks off it?’

He considered the matter again. ‘There is.’

I tried not to get impatient, but trying to extract any information from this fellow was like trying to milk a flea. ‘How far along the forest road before you reach a fork?’

‘About a mile.’

‘Does this fork go anywhere?’

‘Same direction as this. Crosses the heath, but lower down.’

‘Forgive me, sir, but I meant, is it a dead end like this one or does it lead somewhere, to a village or town perhaps?’ I could see Osmond grinning behind the man's back and I tried not to meet his eye.

‘Leads to the sea. Take you a couple of weeks or more to get there, mind.’ Then, taking a reckless plunge, he added, ‘But if you take that road you'll not get to anywhere before nightfall and you'll want to be somewhere before then.’ He glanced up at the sky. Heavy clouds were rolling in from the north. ‘Wind's shifted. We'll see some snow before long.’

He turned to go, then stopped as a new thought struck him. ‘There's a drovers' hut near a pinfold along that heath track. You might make that, if the snow holds off long enough. It'll be a bit of a roof over you. There's a spring there to water the horse. But,’ he added, glowering once more at Zophiel, ‘it's not a healing spring, so if you want to get rid of your friend's choler, I'd give him a good bath here first if I were you.’

With that he turned on his heel and stalked off, leading his band of shivering supplicants back down the track towards the forest road.

‘Well done, Zophiel,’ Osmond said, ‘You've certainly ensured we can't look for lodgings with them. They'll be waiting for us with pitchforks and burning brands once the news spreads.’ He turned to Rodrigo and me. ‘Do we make for the drovers' hut? If it's going to snow, we'll need more shelter than these stones.’

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.’