Read Online Company of Liars by Karen Maitland - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Karen Maitland
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man's boot. Many old people in the village swearthey actually saw the devil trapped in the boot, but he made himself as small as a beetle and crept out through one of the lace-holes and flew away. And now that same boot is on display beside his shrine. They say anyone who puts the boot on will feel their gout fly away with the devil out of the very same lace-hole. The crowds –’
‘Listen!’ Jofre called out again urgently.
We stiffened, motionless, straining to hear. And this time we heard the sound too. It was a long way off, but unmistakable, a howl, then another and another. Then nothing.
Rodrigo drew his cloak more tightly around him. ‘Go back to sleep, ragazzo. It is only a dog.’
‘That's no dog, that's a wolf's howl,’ Zophiel said sharply.
Adela gasped and Osmond put his arms round her protectively. ‘Don't joke; you're upsetting Adela.’
I shook my head. ‘He's not jesting; it is a wolf. But it came from the other side of the hill, not the gorge. And even if it enters the gorge, the fire will keep it at bay.’
‘If the wolf is a beast, yes,’ said Zophiel, ‘but if it's a human wolf then the fire will attract it towards us.’ He was staring intently out of the mouth of the cave into the darkness beyond. He had rocked forward into a crouching position, his hand fumbling for the knife in his belt. ‘There are bands of robbers and murderers who use the calls of wolves and owls to signal one another. Hills and gorges like this are infested with them.’
Osmond looked stricken. He seemed torn between rushing out of the cave to attack the cut-throat band single-handed and holding Adela so tightly in his arms that he was in danger of crushing her.
‘That's a relief, Zophiel,’ I said, trying to lighten the mood. ‘For a moment I thought you were talking about werewolves, but if we're talking mere robbers and murderers, why, youfour strapping lads are more than a match for them. Besides, as I said, the howl didn't come from the gorge, so they'll not see the fire, whatever they are.’
Zophiel, as we were all to discover in time, was not a man who tolerated his words being dismissed lightly. His eyes, when he turned to me, had narrowed and the mouth curled into that mocking smile I was beginning to know only too well.
‘Werewolves, Camelot? Come now, you surely don't believe those tales told to frighten women and children. I didn't take you for a superstitious fool. Now, if young Osmond here had said such a thing…’
Young Osmond, his anxiety temporarily forgotten, looked as if he was about to do more than simply say something.
I feigned a look of surprise. ‘I'm shocked, Zophiel. Has the Church not declared it heresy to deny the existence of werewolves? Are they not just as real as mermaids?’ I touched my scar. ‘How do you think I came by this?’
Adela opened her eyes wide. ‘A werewolf did that?’
Rodrigo opened his mouth to say something, but I caught his eye and he contented himself with a knowing grin. Having gained their attention, I settled myself more comfortably and began my tale.
‘Many years ago, when I was a child, I lived with my mother and father in a remote, thickly wooded valley on the border between Scotland and England. My father worked in the woods as a board-hewer, cutting trees to make joists and beams. He worked hard for a living and we got by well enough. But one day, as he was at his work, his axe head worked loose from the shaft and flew off, embedding itself in his foot. The cut was deep; it festered and in less than a week, he died. My mother struggled on, but it was a hard,cruel life for a woman alone and there was little food on the table.
‘Then one summer's day, we found a stranger, a traveller, lying gravely wounded in the forest. We took him home and tended his wounds, not knowing whether he would live or die. For many days he tossed and turned in a fever, but eventually the fever broke and he began to recover. He was a handsome man, strong
‘Listen!’ Jofre called out again urgently.
We stiffened, motionless, straining to hear. And this time we heard the sound too. It was a long way off, but unmistakable, a howl, then another and another. Then nothing.
Rodrigo drew his cloak more tightly around him. ‘Go back to sleep, ragazzo. It is only a dog.’
‘That's no dog, that's a wolf's howl,’ Zophiel said sharply.
Adela gasped and Osmond put his arms round her protectively. ‘Don't joke; you're upsetting Adela.’
I shook my head. ‘He's not jesting; it is a wolf. But it came from the other side of the hill, not the gorge. And even if it enters the gorge, the fire will keep it at bay.’
‘If the wolf is a beast, yes,’ said Zophiel, ‘but if it's a human wolf then the fire will attract it towards us.’ He was staring intently out of the mouth of the cave into the darkness beyond. He had rocked forward into a crouching position, his hand fumbling for the knife in his belt. ‘There are bands of robbers and murderers who use the calls of wolves and owls to signal one another. Hills and gorges like this are infested with them.’
Osmond looked stricken. He seemed torn between rushing out of the cave to attack the cut-throat band single-handed and holding Adela so tightly in his arms that he was in danger of crushing her.
‘That's a relief, Zophiel,’ I said, trying to lighten the mood. ‘For a moment I thought you were talking about werewolves, but if we're talking mere robbers and murderers, why, youfour strapping lads are more than a match for them. Besides, as I said, the howl didn't come from the gorge, so they'll not see the fire, whatever they are.’
Zophiel, as we were all to discover in time, was not a man who tolerated his words being dismissed lightly. His eyes, when he turned to me, had narrowed and the mouth curled into that mocking smile I was beginning to know only too well.
‘Werewolves, Camelot? Come now, you surely don't believe those tales told to frighten women and children. I didn't take you for a superstitious fool. Now, if young Osmond here had said such a thing…’
Young Osmond, his anxiety temporarily forgotten, looked as if he was about to do more than simply say something.
I feigned a look of surprise. ‘I'm shocked, Zophiel. Has the Church not declared it heresy to deny the existence of werewolves? Are they not just as real as mermaids?’ I touched my scar. ‘How do you think I came by this?’
Adela opened her eyes wide. ‘A werewolf did that?’
Rodrigo opened his mouth to say something, but I caught his eye and he contented himself with a knowing grin. Having gained their attention, I settled myself more comfortably and began my tale.
‘Many years ago, when I was a child, I lived with my mother and father in a remote, thickly wooded valley on the border between Scotland and England. My father worked in the woods as a board-hewer, cutting trees to make joists and beams. He worked hard for a living and we got by well enough. But one day, as he was at his work, his axe head worked loose from the shaft and flew off, embedding itself in his foot. The cut was deep; it festered and in less than a week, he died. My mother struggled on, but it was a hard,cruel life for a woman alone and there was little food on the table.
‘Then one summer's day, we found a stranger, a traveller, lying gravely wounded in the forest. We took him home and tended his wounds, not knowing whether he would live or die. For many days he tossed and turned in a fever, but eventually the fever broke and he began to recover. He was a handsome man, strong
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