Company of Liars

  ‘Whoever?’

  ‘Was it not you, Camelot, who first told us the tale of the werewolf? Surely you don’t dismiss the idea? After all, you have the scar to prove it.’

  Rodrigo broke in as if he had only just realized what Zophiel said. ‘Wolfsbane? You carry this poison with you?’

  Zophiel laughed softly. ‘You take me for an assassin? No, I suspected the healer would have some. It grows well near water and it is, I’m told, effective when applied to the bites of venomous creatures, even the bite of a werewolf.’

  ‘The healer gave it to you?’ I couldn’t imagine her handing over a quantity of deadly poison to anyone, especially a man like Zophiel.

  ‘Let us say, she was persuaded to do so.’

  Osmond was on his feet in instant. ‘What did you do to her, Zophiel?’

  Zophiel flinched backwards, but quickly recovered himself. ‘Nothing, my friend, a little bargaining, that is all.’

  ‘What could you have that she would want?’ Osmond asked suspiciously.

  ‘It is more a question of what she has. It’s well known that witches use blackthorn rods to procure abortions. If they are caught with such a rod, I believe the punishment is to burn them on blackthorn pyres. She has a blackthorn hedge big enough to set a whole coven alight.’

  ‘You threatened her, after all she’s done for us?’ Osmond shouted.

  Rodrigo too was on his feet. Faced with the fury of both Osmond and Rodrigo, Zophiel tried to scramble up, but all three froze as the unmistakable sound of the wolf’s howl echoed along the gully, reverberating through the darkness. We stared around frantically, but none of us could tell where the sound came from. Again and again the wolf howled and each time the sound seemed to surround us. First we heard it on one side, then on the other. Osmond and Cygnus ran to the fires, poking them and piling more wood on to them until the flames roared up and golden sparks exploded into the darkness. Rodrigo, his stave firmly grasped in both hands, peered this way and that, trying to see where the attack might come from. Adela crouched on the ground, bending over the baby in her arms, trying to shield him with her own body. Zophiel wheeled around wildly, his knife raised and his lips moving soundlessly as if he was praying. The only one who did not seem to comprehend the danger was Narigorm. She stood motionless, silhouetted by the fire, one hand extended as if she was reaching out to touch the sound. Then it was gone and silence rolled back from the hills, a silence that blotted out the crackling fire and dark rushing water, a silence more unnerving than the howl. We held our breath and listened.

  I don’t know if the others got any sleep that night. We took it in turns to keep watch and stoke the fires, but even when I knew others were on watch, I couldn’t sleep. Finally I saw, with relief, the thin edge of light come creeping over the distant hill. I must have slept then for when I woke, the sun was up and Adela was stirring a pot over the embers of one of the fires. A thin plume of smoke rose vertically into the pale pink sky. My cloak was so stiff with frost it crackled as I tried to rise.

  I glanced up at the healer’s cottage. No smoke rose from her hearth. Perhaps she had not yet risen. I didn’t blame her. If I’d spent the night in a warm bed I wouldn’t hasten to get out of it. Zophiel and Rodrigo still lay asleep recovering from their last watch, but Osmond and Cygnus had already gone to search for wood and Narigorm was drawing water from the river.

  I was finishing a second bowl of broth when I saw Cygnus and Osmond striding back to the camp, their breath hanging white in the air as they hurried along. Both had bundles slung over their backs. It appeared their forage for firewood had been successful. But as Cygnus strode past me I could see that something was wrong. Zophiel had just risen and was crouching by the river, splashing water on his face. Cygnus strode up to him and pulled at the knot in the thong round his neck, letting his bundle drop with a dull thump on to the frozen ground. It wasn’t firewood he carried, but the lifeless body of an owl, a large one. The black beak was wide open as if it had been gasping for air.

  ‘This is what you killed with your wolfsbane last night, Zophiel. No wolf, just this poor creature.’

  Zophiel straightened up and turned, shaking sparkling droplets of water from the tips of his long fingers. He barely glanced at the owl lying on the ground at his feet.

  ‘Any signs the meat had been gnawed?’

  ‘A few strips torn from it, but they were probably taken by the owl.’

  Zophiel prodded the feathers with the toe of his boot. ‘Eagle owl. Valuable hunting bird. It might be wild, but most likely some careless falconer lost it. I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes; they’ll take the price of it from his hide. Still, it’s worthless now, you may as well throw it away.’

  Cygnus was trying to keep his temper in check, but he was losing the battle.

  ‘Never mind the value of the bird, Zophiel,’ he shouted. ‘What about the meat you left out? A few scraps of raw meat laced with poison would have been enough to kill a hungry wolf. But you put out a whole leg and part of the side too. Adela and the baby need that meat. It would have fed all of us for at least a day. You took it without even consulting us. Now, because you’ve poisoned it, we can’t even use the bone for broth. I know you’re terrified of the wolf, Zophiel, but this was a stupid and needless waste.’

  Zophiel’s expression had grown increasingly venomous as Cygnus spoke. At the mention of his terror of the wolf, his eyes flashed dangerously, but unlike Cygnus, his voice was controlled and quiet.

  ‘May I remind you that it was my skill and my gold that bought that sheep and the wine, therefore the sheep and wine were mine. The fact that I chose to share them with you, as I have also shared my wagon and my provisions, is something you should be thanking me for on your knees. Had I not chosen to be generous, you, like Adela, would have gone hungry yesterday. What I chose to do with the remains of the carcass was entirely up to me.’

  ‘We all share what we have, Zophiel,’ Osmond protested. ‘There’s many a night you’ve dined on what I hunted or what Camelot bartered for one of his relics.’

  Zophiel ignored the interruption and continued to stare malevolently at Cygnus.

  ‘I sacrificed the meat, meat which I also could have eaten, in an attempt to keep all of us from the fate of our headstrong young friend. I trust you will allow that it is worth the sacrifice of a day’s food. I hope you’ve not forgotten what Jofre’s body looked like when it was recovered. It’s hard to eat a slice of mutton without a throat. I suggest you keep that in mind before you venture to criticize me again. And as for wasting the meat, we’ll lay it out again tomorrow night and the night after if we have to. Who knows, if we’re lucky, we may succeed in ridding the world of another of your feathered cousins.’

  He kicked the body of the owl out of his way and began to walk away from the riverbank. As he brushed past Cygnus, he knocked hard against him with his shoulder. Cygnus slipped on the frosty grass and staggered backwards, teetering on the edge of the river bank. Unable to regain his balance, he fell backwards into the water. The river was not deep, but it was icy. The shock made him gasp, just as the wave caused by his splash broke over his face. He choked as the water filled his mouth and lungs. Unable to get a foothold on the slippery boulders and weighed down by his heavy, waterlogged cloak, he panicked, his eyes bulging, thrashing wildly with his one arm.

  Rodrigo ran across the grass and splashed into the river. He grabbed Cygnus, just as his head was going under again. He pulled him upright, dragged him to the bank and hauled him out.

  Cygnus sank to his knees on the grass, coughing and spluttering. Rodrigo thumped him on the back as he fought for air. He remained where he was on the ground, breathing in painful shallow pants and shivering uncontrollably.

  Rodrigo put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Take off your wet clothes and come to the fire. Narigorm, fetch a blanket.’

  But Cygnus was unable to move. Rodrigo crouched down and began to peel the sodden cloak from his back. As he helped the shivering boy out of
his wet clothes, Rodrigo looked up at Zophiel who was watching the proceedings with amusement.

  ‘You deliberately pushed him in, Zophiel. I saw you.’

  ‘His temper needed cooling.’

  ‘You know he cannot swim.’

  ‘Then it’s time he learned. Isn’t that what swans do, swim? Surely that is the point of being a swan, that and making a fine roast for the table. After all, they’re no use for anything else.’

  He paused, stared and suddenly threw his head back, roaring with laughter.

  ‘But what have we here? It seems I was mistaken. Our little prince is not a swan after all.’

  We turned and followed Zophiel’s mocking gaze. Cygnus still knelt on the grass. But he was stripped to the waist now and we saw at once what Zophiel meant. There was no wing, no feathers, just a soft pink fleshy stump, about the length of his foot, with six tiny protuberances ranged along the bottom, buds of flesh, no bigger than a woman’s nipples.

  Zophiel was grinning broadly. ‘Naturally, if I had known he was just a poor cripple, I would never –’

  Cygnus flinched at the word cripple, but Zophiel did not get the chance to finish his sentence. In one swift movement, Rodrigo had crossed over to him and struck him hard across the mouth with the back of his hand. Zophiel fell backwards on to the grass, but he recovered swiftly. Holding his left hand to his mouth, he struggled to his feet. I glimpsed a flash of sunlight reflecting off something in Zophiel’s right hand. I tried to shout a warning, but Osmond reached Zophiel first. He grabbed Zophiel’s wrist and twisted. The knife fell to the frozen ground.

  Osmond kicked it away. ‘Oh no you don’t, Zophiel, you asked for that.’

  For a moment Zophiel stood glaring at Rodrigo, then he wiped away the blood trickling down his chin from a rapidly swelling lip.

  ‘Have a care, Rodrigo,’ he said quietly. ‘This is the second time you’ve raised your hand against me. I will not tolerate a third.’

  21. The Standing Stones

  There was still no smoke rising from the healer’s hearth by mid-morning when we were packing up to leave the camp. I was becoming increasingly concerned, but the others were too preoccupied by the argument between Rodrigo and Zophiel to notice.

  As they went about their tasks, the tension between Zophiel and Rodrigo was palpable. Osmond was keeping an anxious eye on both of them in case tempers flared again and he had to leap in to separate them. It was like watching a pair of growling dogs, knowing it is just a matter of time before they savage each other. Cygnus, on the other hand, was so sunk in misery and humiliation that he hardly seemed aware of his surroundings. He shook off Rodrigo’s hand when he tried to help him to his feet, snatched the blanket and took himself off to dress alone. Dry, but with his teeth chattering uncontrollably, he returned to the camp. He wouldn’t look at any of us. When Adela tried to get him to drink some hot broth to warm himself, he pushed it away without a word and went to prepare Xanthus for the wagon. But not even Xanthus’s nuzzling drew a response from him.

  As we packed, I kept glancing up at the healer’s cottage. I had vowed never to go back there, but I knew I couldn’t leave without finding out if something was wrong. Once again I felt responsible. If I had taken the roasted meat and wine to her the day before and not Zophiel, he wouldn’t have had the chance to threaten her. What if he had gone beyond threats? What if he had pushed her, as he had Cygnus, and she was lying injured or worse?

  It’s madness in these times to approach a dwelling where no hearth fire burns. I knew that, yet still I climbed the path to the healer’s cottage. I called out as I reached the gate, but there was no reply. The garden was as I’d seen it the day before, the hens still clucking and scolding among the herbs. I walked cautiously up the path. The strange fruit on the rowan tree hung heavy with frost. The tiny bodies sparkled as they slowly revolved in the light breeze.

  When I reached the cottage and still got no reply to my calls, I pushed aside the heavy leather curtain and held it up so that the weak winter sunshine would illuminate the dark interior. Rocks which were part of the hillside jutted into the room, forming natural ledges and shelves on which were stacked pots and clay jars. Bunches of dried herbs hung from the roof timbers. The black iron pot suspended over the fire in the centre of the room was empty and the fire below was banked down so that hardly a whisper of smoke escaped. Only a few blood-red lines in the grey ash, like tiny veins, showed that beneath, the fire still glowed. The furnishings in the room were simple: a wooden clothes chest, two low stools and a narrow bed raised only a few inches above the beaten earth floor. The bed was occupied by a lanky grey cat which was curled up in the centre, regarding me impassively with big green eyes.

  ‘Where’s your mistress then?’

  The cat blinked and licked a paw.

  I backed out and looked around the garden, peering behind bushes to see if the healer was lying unconscious somewhere, but there was no trace of her. Perhaps she had been so frightened by Zophiel that she had fled. I scanned the gully and the hill above, but there was no sign of anyone. The waterfall roared down over the rocks into the dark pool below. If she had fallen in there and been dragged down by the force of the water I had no hope of seeing her beneath the churning foam.

  I turned to go, pausing only to leave a small flagon of Zophiel’s wine by the door. Zophiel didn’t know he had made her the gift, but I thought it was the least he could do.

  I’d closed the gate and was on the path down, when the voice called out behind me, ‘If that is wine you left at my door, I thank you.’

  I turned. The gate was open and the healer was standing with one hand on it, but whether she had opened it from the inside or the outside, I couldn’t tell.

  I walked a few paces back up the path, near enough to speak without shouting, but not so close that she could touch me.

  ‘I came to apologize for Zophiel, the man who came to you last night… and to assure you that whatever he said, we will not let him carry out his threats.’

  ‘Your friend is a terrified man and with good cause judging by the howls I heard last night. I pity him. That’s why I gave him what he wanted, not because he threatened me.’

  ‘You heard the wolf then.’

  ‘I heard it. Your friend did not succeed in killing it.’

  This was a statement not a question. I wondered just how sharp her hearing was. ‘It didn’t take the bait. But we’re leaving. I think it will follow us, so you don’t need to fear it.’

  ‘I fear priests and others who believe the Christ of compassion is best worshipped with bone-fires and racks, but not that wolf. I know I am not its quarry.’

  I looked down at the camp. I could see Cygnus backing Xanthus between the wagon shafts. ‘I must go, but many thanks for your help. The woman and child are already improving.’

  ‘I’m glad.’

  I turned away and took a couple of paces down the path before turning back; the healer was still standing there, one hand on the gate, as if she expected me to say something else.

  ‘Forgive me, but I’m curious. Where were you, just now? I couldn’t see you anywhere. Did you hear me calling out to you?’

  She smiled. ‘I heard you. I was there.’

  An image of grey fur and green eyes flashed into my head and before I could stop myself I blurted out, ‘The cat?’

  She laughed. ‘You also think I am a witch? No, not the cat, the waterfall. Water is transparent, yet it can conceal better than a solid door. There’s a cave behind it. I discovered it long ago and my mother knew it before that. If people looked they would see it, but they don’t. If you want to conceal yourself, the best place is often in plain view. But then I think you have already discovered that.’

  The journey that day was more fraught than usual. The ground was frozen hard, which made Xanthus’s job easier and the going quicker, but despite the winter sunshine, a storm cloud had settled over the company. Adela tried to keep up a bright stream of chatter, but it had no effect. Zoph
iel’s swollen and evidently painful lip was a constant reminder of the humiliation he’d suffered and he was never one to bear such humiliations in silence. Only Narigorm was spared Zophiel’s taunts. He had been wary of her ever since that night in the chantry crypt when she had spoken of wolves guarding the paths of the dead, but his unwillingness to challenge her did not extend to the rest of us. He vented his spleen first on Rodrigo, then Cygnus and finally on Adela, goading them at every opportunity until Osmond came close to giving him a black eye to match his lip. Rodrigo, ignoring Zophiel, tried desperately to engage Cygnus in conversation, but Cygnus, answering only in monosyllables, made it plain he wanted to be left alone.

  To make matters worse, the track now began to skirt the edge of an ancient forest. Though the sun sparkled from the frost on the bare black branches of the trees, the forest made everyone uneasy. There were no leaves on the trees or bushes, but the thick trunks and tangle of last year’s brambles made it hard to see far into the woods. After the fears of the night before, we were all on edge. Anything might be keeping pace with us in the shadows, slinking behind the trees. And it was not just beasts we had to worry about, there are human predators too. A band of cut-throats might easily be concealed around the next bend and every bird call, every rustle might be their signal.

  As the afternoon wore on and there seemed no end to the forest, we quickened our pace, not even stopping to eat, until we came to a fork in the road. The main track ran on through the trees, but a smaller, rougher one appeared to lead away from them into open country once more. None of us wanted to spend the night sleeping near that forest, so by common consent we turned Xanthus on to the rougher track.

  The sun was low and the cold chill of night was already rolling in. Apart from the dark line of forest at our backs, the only thing to be seen in any direction was a distant ring of standing stones. The dark stones stood out starkly against the vast expanse of pinking sky. It was a bleak and barren place. I shuddered to think of the nature of the gods they might once have worshipped here.