Company of Liars (22 page)

‘To whom do the soldiers carry this terrible news?’ I was curious. It seemed unlikely that they had been sent out simply to spread alarm in the country at large.

The old monk looked up in surprise. ‘It was not
that
news they were charged to carry. One of the soldiers told me what was afoot in London, but only because I asked him. I have kin there, you see, my brother and his family. Nieces and nephews, perhaps by now, even great-nieces and nephews, God save them. I know we should renounce all thoughts of kin when we enter the order, but still, one cannot help…’ He spread his hands wide in a gesture of helplessness.

‘And the soldiers?’ I prompted.

‘Ah yes, the soldiers, they go to summon one of the King's noble lords. A Knight of the Garter has fallen to the pestilence and must be replaced, for the King must have twenty-four Garter Knights to attend him at Windsor – he insists on it for the Christmas feasting.’

‘The King is going ahead with the Christmas revels, despite the news from London?’

‘Windsor is not London. The court continues as usual and the King will have his new round table and his knights of chivalry.’

‘Perhaps he thinks the Garter Knights will protect him from the pestilence as well as give him victory in France.’

The old monk peered at me as if he wasn't sure if I was mocking him. ‘The knights are sworn to St George; he will protect them from the arrows that fly from heaven as well as those which fly from the King's enemies.’

‘But you said one had already fallen?’

The old monk wagged his finger at me. ‘Even the King, God save him, cannot read men's hearts. It may be that the knight was not worthy or he betrayed his oath. This pestilence is God's scourge by which he cleanses his temple of licentiousness and lust. We must all pray to be spared, pray to the holy and blessed St Benedict to have mercy. You have not forgotten it is All Souls' Eve. There will be special services tonight for those in purgatory. You will join us, brother, will you not? If those poor Londoners are to be laid to rest in unconsecrated ground, their souls will need all our prayers.’

If the soldiers had no interest in the fugitive, neither did the handful of other travellers who were spending the night in the guest hall. The talk was of rain, flooding, pestilence and their own personal hardships, which brought them back to the rain again. So, after we had ensured that Cygnus's wing was bound tightly beneath his clothes, and with a warning not to play the storyteller in case someone's memory was jogged, Cygnus and the rest of our company came wet, cold and hungry into the hall.

With few in the guest hall, we had our pick of the beds. At least in a monastery you can be reasonably certain that the beds will be clean and not lousy. The ale was good too, though the meal was meagre – thick soup and a small portion of bread; no meat, of course, for it was fast day. The wind
had got up and the rain was lashing against the thick walls, so most of the company were content to spend the afternoon dozing around the great fire in the pilgrims' hall.

As Adela settled herself with her sewing, she and Osmond exchanged a conspiratorial smile and nod, which sent Osmond rummaging in his pack. He straightened up, holding something behind his back, and beckoned to Narigorm. With a flourish, he triumphantly produced a wooden doll and held it out to the child. It had a daintily carved wooden nose and ears, painted eyes, a smiling mouth, rosy cheeks and brown sheep's wool for hair. Even the limbs were jointed and moved. It was a pretty little thing.

‘Adela thought you must get rather lonely, because you don't have any children to play with, so I've made you your very own baby to nurse.’

Adela beamed. ‘And I have some scraps of cloth, so you can come and sit by me and I'll show you how to make a cap for your baby's head to keep her warm, just like I'm making for mine.’

Narigorm, her hands firmly clasped behind her back, stared blankly at them both.

‘She's yours, little one, take her,’ Adela said encouragingly. ‘You can rock her and dress her and pretend she's a real baby. It'll be good practice for you for when my baby's born, because you're going to help me look after my baby, aren't you?’

Narigorm finally took the doll and examined it carefully, running her fingers across the doll's eyes and pressing them hard against its painted mouth. Then she looked up again at Adela. ‘I will practise for your baby. I'll take care of them both, you'll see.’

Adela and Osmond smiled at each other like fond parents,
well pleased with the success of their gift. But Narigorm wasn't smiling.

Cygnus and Zophiel had slipped out separately immediately after the meal and when I awoke from the first comfortable nap I'd had in weeks, I found they had still not returned and Jofre had left as well. Still, he was young and full of energy; he'd doubtless gone off to find more amusing company, if that is possible in a monastery, but Cygnus's absence was more worrying. Had he decided to seek sanctuary after all? Surely not; Zophiel was right, no one would take that way out unless they were cornered. Besides, I'd not heard the sanctuary bell ringing. More likely he'd decided to slip out and run for it while Zophiel was not around to stop him. I wouldn't blame the lad if he had.

But I had an appointment of my own to keep. I stepped outside. The day, never bright under the thick grey rain clouds, was darkening as evening hurried on. I wrapped my cloak tightly around me against the wind and rain and hurried across the courtyard towards the stables. A cobbled slope led down from the courtyard into a long underground chamber with a high vaulted ceiling. One side was divided by wooden partitions into stalls for the horses, with wooden platforms above for the grooms to sleep on. Oats, hay and straw were stacked on raised platforms on the other side, though there seemed to be precious little of any, considering winter had barely begun. If the winter turned icy as well as wet, animals would starve as well as people, for there were not enough stores for either. Perhaps it was the living we should be praying for, not the dead. At least the dead had no more need of food.

That afternoon there were only a few horses tethered in the stalls, tugging contentedly at their fodder, blissfully
unaware of what the future might hold, but otherwise the stables appeared deserted. At the far end was a huge store chamber stacked with barrels and kegs. The only light filtered down from two grated holes in the floor above, but there was enough for me to see the man I sought there.

The lay brother who worked in the laundry had exceeded my expectations. At best I had hoped for a couple of worn-out monks? habits, maybe three at the most, but he had managed to bring half a dozen. They were patched, threadbare and stained, just what I was looking for. The longer the robe appears to have been worn the more valuable it is, and as for stains, if there's blood on it or what appears to be blood, so much the better. It was best not to enquire whether the monks' old habits had really been discarded or if some would simply be marked ‘missing’ in the laundry lists, but the lay brother would doubtless ensure that one way or another he would not be called to account for them. He seemed well content with his half of the bargain – a few coins and half a dozen bottles of St John Shorne's water. It was as well I'd stocked up in North Marston.

He slipped out of the stables by his own staircase while I ambled back past the lines of stalls, feeling thoroughly content with the day: a good deal struck, a belly full of hot food and the prospect of a warm and comfortable night's sleep to come. Things were looking up for once.

‘Camelot?’

I jumped as a figure emerged from the shadows behind one of the tethered horses. Such frights are not good at my time of life. I leaned against the partition, heart thumping a little.

‘Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you,’ Cygnus said, grinning sheepishly like a child that has been caught out in a prank.

‘I wondered where you'd got to, Cygnus.’

‘I thought I'd best keep out of the way of the other travellers, just in case one of them should happen…’ He trailed off, looking miserable. ‘Anyway, I thought I may as well make myself useful. You've fed me for a week and I've done nothing to earn my keep. Poor old Xanthus needed a good wash down. Get the mud off her coat. Horses take a chill if their coats are matted; they can't keep warm. Hooves rot too if you don't clean them.’

As if to confirm this Xanthus gave a low whinny and nudged Cygnus gently. He smiled and resumed wiping her down.

‘Didn't Zophiel see to his horse when he stabled her?’

‘He fed her, but he was in a hurry to get back to his cart. Said he needed to check if the boxes had shifted. But never mind Zophiel,’ he added impatiently. ‘What were you and that lay brother up to, Camelot? Are you hoping to sell those old monks' habits to the poor? They won't fetch much, hardly worth the trouble of carrying them, I should think.’

‘Not to the poor, Cygnus, to the rich. Anyone poor enough to need to dress in these rags would not have the money to buy them.’

‘But the rich wouldn't be seen dead in such old things.’

‘Ah, but that's where you're wrong, my lad, the rich would only be seen dead in them.’

He shook his head in bewilderment.

‘The rich with guilty consciences buy monks' robes to be buried in, then when the devil comes to carry their souls to hell for all their wickedness, he passes over them for he sees not a rich sinner, but a poor, pious monk. If the monk who wore it was holy enough, then the odour of sanctity will be in his robes and may shorten the sinner's time in purgatory
or even open the doors of heaven itself. Smell these.’ I thrust a particularly rank robe under Cygnus's long nose.

He recoiled at the stench.

I laughed. ‘The angels will smell the holiness on this one long before he ascends the ladder and will fling wide the gates. They'll not want to stop and question him too long, for they'll be too busy drawing him water for a bath.’

‘Do they think the angels and the devil can be so easily fooled by such tricks?’

‘If a man can be fooled himself he takes everyone else for a fool too, even the devil himself. And if it comforts their last hours and their grieving families, who are we to grudge them that? Every man, rich or poor, needs hope in his last hours and every widow needs solace in her grief.’

‘But surely that's why they pay for chantry prayers and masses, so they can shorten their days in purgatory by prayer.’

‘Ah, but that is not enough to reassure them. The rich have learned to mistrust their fellow men. In their experience loyalty can only be secured by two things: money and fear. When a rich man is dead he can no longer command by fear, and what if the money runs out or those paid to pray grow negligent? Better to wear your salvation than depend on others for it.’ I thrust the last of the robes into my pack.

‘I still can't believe the rich will buy these rags.’

I chuckled. ‘You'll see in time, my lad, that's if you stay with us, of course.’

Anxiety returned to his face. ‘Narigorm said that Zophiel won't hand me over to the bailiff,’ he said uncertainly.

‘Did he tell her so?’

He frowned as if trying to remember her words. ‘I don't think she said as much, but he must have done. She seemed so certain.’

The image of the runes, the feather and the seashell flashed across my mind. Was she reading the future or was she trying to create it?

Cygnus bit his lip, peering anxiously at me, trying to find some kind of reassurance in my face. ‘Why? Don't you think she's right?’

‘Let's hope so.’ Then, seeing the flash of fear again in his face, I added hastily, ‘I doubt anyone is looking for you any more. The message would have reached here by now if they were. People have more pressing concerns. With things being what they are, they won't have the men to spare to go scouring the countryside looking for a fugitive.’

It was better that he should believe that than worry himself to death. If they did arrest him, there would be time enough for him to worry about his fate then.

I grasped his arm. ‘Don't be tempted to run from here, lad. You can't return to your old profession, at least not until you know for certain they're no longer looking for you, and life is hard out there for anyone on the road just now. You'd end up begging for a living and that's no living at all. At least, with us, you'll eat when we eat, and who knows, if you make yourself useful enough with that horse, Zophiel might see you're more use to him as a groom than a bounty.’

Cygnus nodded. ‘I won't run, Camelot. I meant it when I said I wouldn't endanger Adela or little Narigorm. I don't believe that anyone who brings harm to a child can ever be forgiven; that's why I could never have done such a dreadful thing to that little girl. If I had a child, I would wrap her so tightly she would never know a moment's pain or fear.’ Tears shone in his eyes, and he fiercely brushed them away.

I remembered that passion only too well. When I first held my baby son and saw the blueness of the sky concentrated in those big eyes, his soft little mouth open in wonderment,
his fragile little fingers curling tightly around mine, trusting that I could protect him from anything in the world, I knew I would give my life to defend my son from harm. I could never have foreseen how that promise would be put to the test, but I meant it then and I have not for a single day of my life regretted keeping it. Cygnus didn't weep for a lost child, though, he wept for the child he knew he would never have. It's not just princesses who refuse to marry swan-boys.

He suddenly blurted out, ‘Zophiel was right when he said, “What use is one wing?” That was my mother's grief. I saw it every day in her eyes, that look of pity and guilt when she watched me, like the way you might look at an animal that you have maimed without meaning to. I think she'd hoped that I would be born with two wings or with two hands. I don't think she would have minded which it was, but I was born neither bird nor man. She had faith, you see, but not enough for two wings, not enough to believe that a wing would grow in place of a good right hand. That's why I left in the end.’

‘Like the swan-brother in the story?’ I asked gently.