lay in the dark at the back of the cave wrapped in his cloak. Rodrigo had urged him to come closer to the fire and share its warmth with the rest of us, but he had made the excuse that he wanted to sleep, although I sensed he was still very much awake. I suspected he was faking sleep in order to avoid Zophiel, but it isn't easy to avoid someone when you're sharing a small cave with them.
Jofre had been as taut as a drawn bowstring ever since we'd pulled Zophiel's wagon out of the mud. I knew he was dreading Zophiel raising the subject of the wager again. I was as anxious as he was to prevent that particular word slipping out, for if Rodrigo found out just how much of their hard-earned money his pupil had lost, he'd be furious, and who could blame him? But if he tore a strip off the lad in front of everyone, Jofre was likely to storm off into the night, and if he didn't break his own neck in the dark, one of us would surely break ours if we had to go looking for him.
Up to then, Zophiel had been too preoccupied with hisboxes to concern himself with conversation, but now that everyone was settling in for the night, a diversion was called for, so I cast about for a subject that would lead us far away from wagers and magic tricks.
‘Adela, is this your first baby? I thought so, judging by the way your poor husband is clucking round. Make the most of it now, come the second one and he'll be lying down with a headache while you do the fetching and carrying.’
Adela, blushing, glanced at Osmond, but said nothing.
I tried again. ‘You'd best push it out early; his nerves won't stand a long confinement. When's it due?’
‘Around Christmas or a little before,’ she said shyly, glancing up at Osmond again.
He rubbed her hand and grimaced.
‘That's four months yet. If she can't manage to walk now, what's she going to be like come December?’ Zophiel said coldly, his gaze fixed on the darkness outside.
Osmond leaped to his wife's defence. ‘She can walk. It was the crowd of people all leaving the town so quickly, they were jostling her and she grew faint. She's strong usually, aren't you, Adela? And besides, we'll have our own house somewhere long before her baby's due.’
Zophiel turned to look at Osmond. ‘So you'll have your own house, will you, my young friend? You have property, do you? Money?’ He inclined his head in a mocking bow. ‘Do forgive me, my lord, I didn't realize I was travelling in the company of nobility.’
Osmond blushed furiously. ‘I'll earn money.’
‘Doing what exactly?’ Osmond's earnestness seemed to amuse Zophiel. He glanced over at their packs. ‘You're travelling light. So what are you, my friend, a merchant, a jester, a thief perhaps?’
Osmond's fists clenched and Adela's hand flew up to grab his shirt. He took a deep breath, evidently struggling to keep his reply civil.
‘I, sir, am a painter, an artist employed to paint the pictures of saints and martyrs on church walls. The Nativity, the Crucifixion, the Last Judgment, I can do them all.’
Zophiel raised his eyebrows. ‘Is that so? I've never heard of a married man in such employ, surely it's monks and lay brothers who undertake that holy task?’
Adela was biting her lip. She seemed on the point of saying something, but Osmond answered first.
‘I paint those churches which are too far away from the abbeys and monasteries to be visited by the artists in holy orders. I paint the poor ones.’
‘Then you will make a poor living.’
Osmond's fists clenched again. ‘I can earn enough to –’
‘What's that sound?’ Jofre was leaning forward, staring beyond the fire, all pretence of sleep abandoned.
Zophiel was on his feet in an instant, staring out into the darkness beyond the cave. We listened, but heard nothing except for the crackling of the wood on the fire, and the thunder of water in the river below. After a few minutes, Zophiel shook his head and settled down by the fire once more, but his eyes darted
Jofre had been as taut as a drawn bowstring ever since we'd pulled Zophiel's wagon out of the mud. I knew he was dreading Zophiel raising the subject of the wager again. I was as anxious as he was to prevent that particular word slipping out, for if Rodrigo found out just how much of their hard-earned money his pupil had lost, he'd be furious, and who could blame him? But if he tore a strip off the lad in front of everyone, Jofre was likely to storm off into the night, and if he didn't break his own neck in the dark, one of us would surely break ours if we had to go looking for him.
Up to then, Zophiel had been too preoccupied with hisboxes to concern himself with conversation, but now that everyone was settling in for the night, a diversion was called for, so I cast about for a subject that would lead us far away from wagers and magic tricks.
‘Adela, is this your first baby? I thought so, judging by the way your poor husband is clucking round. Make the most of it now, come the second one and he'll be lying down with a headache while you do the fetching and carrying.’
Adela, blushing, glanced at Osmond, but said nothing.
I tried again. ‘You'd best push it out early; his nerves won't stand a long confinement. When's it due?’
‘Around Christmas or a little before,’ she said shyly, glancing up at Osmond again.
He rubbed her hand and grimaced.
‘That's four months yet. If she can't manage to walk now, what's she going to be like come December?’ Zophiel said coldly, his gaze fixed on the darkness outside.
Osmond leaped to his wife's defence. ‘She can walk. It was the crowd of people all leaving the town so quickly, they were jostling her and she grew faint. She's strong usually, aren't you, Adela? And besides, we'll have our own house somewhere long before her baby's due.’
Zophiel turned to look at Osmond. ‘So you'll have your own house, will you, my young friend? You have property, do you? Money?’ He inclined his head in a mocking bow. ‘Do forgive me, my lord, I didn't realize I was travelling in the company of nobility.’
Osmond blushed furiously. ‘I'll earn money.’
‘Doing what exactly?’ Osmond's earnestness seemed to amuse Zophiel. He glanced over at their packs. ‘You're travelling light. So what are you, my friend, a merchant, a jester, a thief perhaps?’
Osmond's fists clenched and Adela's hand flew up to grab his shirt. He took a deep breath, evidently struggling to keep his reply civil.
‘I, sir, am a painter, an artist employed to paint the pictures of saints and martyrs on church walls. The Nativity, the Crucifixion, the Last Judgment, I can do them all.’
Zophiel raised his eyebrows. ‘Is that so? I've never heard of a married man in such employ, surely it's monks and lay brothers who undertake that holy task?’
Adela was biting her lip. She seemed on the point of saying something, but Osmond answered first.
‘I paint those churches which are too far away from the abbeys and monasteries to be visited by the artists in holy orders. I paint the poor ones.’
‘Then you will make a poor living.’
Osmond's fists clenched again. ‘I can earn enough to –’
‘What's that sound?’ Jofre was leaning forward, staring beyond the fire, all pretence of sleep abandoned.
Zophiel was on his feet in an instant, staring out into the darkness beyond the cave. We listened, but heard nothing except for the crackling of the wood on the fire, and the thunder of water in the river below. After a few minutes, Zophiel shook his head and settled down by the fire once more, but his eyes darted
Similar Books
