Company of Liars (36 page)

‘Amuse me, my man,’ Osmond said, leaning back against Adela's legs and waving his hand regally.

Zophiel bowed his head and after rummaging around in his boxes, returned with several objects concealed under a cloth. He first withdrew from the cloth a wooden goblet and placed a white marble ball in it. He covered the goblet and when he showed us the contents again, the ball had
turned black. Next a dead toad in a glass bottle was brought back to life and hopped around, trying in vain to leap out. Then Zophiel placed an egg on a cloth and when he passed over it with a stick, the egg rose by itself several inches into the air, before dropping again on to the cloth.

At each new trick, Adela clapped her hands with delight like a small child and the others smiled, gasped and laughed in turn. Only Jofre had fallen silent. He did not join in the applause and laughter, remembering, no doubt, the time he had first encountered Zophiel and had been goaded by him into betting heavily on the outcome of such tricks. He had good reason to be wary; we both knew that at any moment Zophiel might choose to remind him of it and humiliate him in front of the company. But Zophiel, it seemed, had entered into the Christmas spirit of goodwill and for once was refraining from tormenting anyone. He smiled with satisfaction at our gasps of admiration and bowed gravely after each round of applause.

‘And now we must have a story,’ Osmond commanded, turning expectantly to Cygnus. ‘No Christmas feast is complete without one.’

Narigorm wriggled around to look at him. ‘Not Cygnus, Adela should tell it. She must, she's Queen of the Feast, so she must do something.’

Adela shook her head. ‘Cygnus is the storyteller. I don't know any stories.’

‘Tell us about how you and Osmond fell in love then,’ Narigorm persisted.

Cygnus smiled encouragingly. ‘Come on, Adela. I'm sure that is a romantic story, a better one than ever I could tell.’

‘No, leave her, let her rest,’ Osmond protested.

Zophiel snorted. ‘She can speak while she rests, can't she, or is she too feeble even to do that? I, for one, would be
intrigued to know your story. You have never told us what brought you on the road. I imagine your parents did not approve of the match, which is why you find yourself homeless.’

Adela glanced at Osmond. His face was flushed, but it was hard to know if it was from anger or embarrassment. She bit her lip, then began.

‘When I was fourteen years old my parents betrothed me to a man named Taranis. He was twenty years older than I was, wealthy and powerful, and I was afraid of him for although he was courteous, he had cold eyes and I saw from the way he treated his servants that he was cruel. He was impatient to marry straight away, but I pleaded so desperately against it that my parents persuaded him to wait a year until I should prove more willing. But they were adamant that sooner or later I must marry him. As the month of my wedding crept closer, my despair grew deeper. Each day when I went to the well to draw water, I would look down and see my own reflection mirrored in the dark cold depths, and each day I saw myself growing paler and thinner.

‘Then, on the night of my fifteenth birthday, I had a dream. A man, a stranger to me, climbed in through my window and came quietly to my bed. He was young and strong. His eyes were soft and full of gentleness. He told me that I was the beat of his heart, the breath of his life, his soul's desire. He touched me and I melted to his touch. He kissed me and love leaped up in my breast. All night we lay in each other's arms. Then, as the cock crowed, he slipped away. I begged him to come again and he promised he would on condition that I told no one of my dream for if I did he would be lost to me for ever.

‘The next few weeks were the happiest of my life. My
nights were spent in his arms and my days were spent dreaming of the nights. Now when I went to gaze down into the well, I saw the flush of love bloom on my cheeks and the laughter dancing in my eyes. But my cousin grew suspicious. She could see I was in love, and she coaxed me and teased me about it for days. “What harm can it do to tell me? I'm your cousin; you can trust me.”

‘I was bursting to share my great joy with someone, so in the end I told her. But my cousin was filled with jealousy and went straight to Taranis and he told her what to do. That night when I fell asleep, unknown to me, she bolted the window and the door.

‘At midnight I heard Osmond's voice at the window. “Why have you shut the window against me? What have you done? I cannot come to you again.”

‘I ran to the window and flung it wide, but it was too late – he was gone. The next day when I went to the well and looked down into the dark, icy water, I saw not the reflection of my own face, but the face of Osmond. His eyes were open, but he could not see me.

‘I went to the ancient woman who keeps the bees, for she has many wise ways, and I asked her how I could reach Osmond.

‘ “He lies at the bottom of the well. He is not yet dead, but he is dying. Taranis has conjured a Sending from the bone of a dead man and sent it against him. As the Sending draws nearer, he will grow weaker and in three days he will die.”

‘“How can I stop it?” I begged her.

‘“With the bone of his bone. You must go to the grave at midnight and take the thighbone of the corpse Taranis used to conjure the Sending. You must drill a hole in it and descend with it to the bottom of the well.”

‘I did as she said, though I was very frightened. At midnight I went to the graveyard. Shadows ran under the moon and voices whispered through the yew trees. There were many graves and I did not know which one Taranis had used. But then I heard the voice of a man crying, “Give me back my bone.” I crept forward and saw the skeleton of a man risen half out of the grave, trapped up to his kneecaps in grave mould. I was terrified, but I thought of Osmond's face and so I ran forward and snatched away his thigh bone. But though I had faced fear, I knew I could never jump down into that deep black water.

‘The next day I returned to the well and, looking down, saw the face of Osmond again. His eyes were closed as if he was sleeping. But I was too afraid to jump in for I knew I would drown.

‘On the third day, I looked down into the well and Osmond's face was as pale as death. I wept bitterly. Osmond was dead and I could not bear to live. My fear of life without him was greater than my fear of death. I closed my eyes and jumped.

‘The icy water closed over me and I sank down and down into the blind, black depths, but when I opened my eyes, I discovered I was in a round chamber. The walls shone with many pale colours like the rainbows in a waterfall. The floor was as soft as moss and in the middle of the chamber stood a great round bed, hung about with curtains glistening like green water weed. Osmond was lying on the bed. His skin was as cold as stone, his lips blue and his breath was very faint. I tried to shake him, but I could not rouse him, I kissed him, but his lips did not respond to mine. Then, as I sat in despair watching over him, I saw a fly crawling across his face. I tried to brush it away, but it kept buzzing around his head. I raised the thighbone to try to kill it, and the
words of the old woman came into my head, “With the bone of his bone”.

‘As I said the words the fly alighted on the bone and crawled into the little hole. I stopped the hole with my finger and at once Osmond's eyes opened and he sat up.

‘I told him what had happened, and he quickly sealed the hole in the bone with a rag torn from his shirt, for he knew the fly was the Sending sent by Taranis to kill him. Now that the Sending was trapped in the bone, Osmond commanded it to take us from the well and far away across the hills, for we knew that once Taranis had discovered the Sending had failed, he would conjure another, more powerful one. As soon as we were safe, we wrapped the bone in a baby's caul and tossed it into the middle of a bog where the Sending could do no harm.

‘For six days we were happy, radiant with joy. Osmond's eyes shone with my smiles and my mouth sang with his kisses. All through the day we walked hand in hand, delighting in each other's company, and all night we lay side by side, joyous in the heat of our passion.

‘But on the seventh day my cousin looked into the black waters of the well and saw me lying naked on the silken sheets beside Osmond. Full of rage and jealousy, she went to Taranis. He conjured another Sending, a more terrible Sending, in the form of a flayed bull that dragged its bloody skin behind it. As it drew close, Osmond grew sleepy and I could not rouse him. It carried me off from Osmond's bed while he slept. It set me down in a great granite castle. The floors were made of white marble and the beds were made of iron. Taranis placed a heavy chaplet upon my head that bruised my skin. He weighed down my neck with chains of emeralds and about my wrists he twisted bracelets of rubies that cut me whenever I moved. I wandered from room to
room, weeping, for everything was cold and hard; there was no warmth or softness anywhere in the castle. He tried to force himself upon me, but I fought him. He tried to woo me with gifts, but the gifts that he brought me were dead things.

‘So I fled the castle and wandered though the land seeking Osmond until my clothes were torn to rags and my shoes were worn away. And naked I came at last to the sea and to the shore of the singing rocks.

‘I went to the first rock and asked, “Where can I find my love?”

‘The rock said, “Give me payment for my song.”

‘So I cut off my hair and gave it to the rock, but the rock's song was without words. And without my hair I was ashamed.

‘I came to a second rock and asked, “Where can I find my love?” And I cut off my breasts and gave them to the rock, but the rock's words had no letters. And without my breasts I could not suckle a child.

‘To the third rock I gave my feet, but the rock's letters were without meaning. And without my feet I could not dance.

‘To the fourth rock I gave my hands, but the rock's notes had no pattern. And without my hands I could neither weave nor spin.

‘To the fifth rock I gave my eyes, but the rock's song was without a tune. And without my eyes I could neither write nor read.

‘To the sixth rock I gave my ears and if the sixth rock answered me with a song, I could not hear it.

‘Then I came to the seventh and last rock, and asked, “Where can I find my home and my love?”

‘And I let the rock cut out my tongue. And without my
tongue I had no voice. All that was left of me was my tears and my tears fell into the hollow of the rock and become a pool on the shore of the sea.

‘But all this while, Osmond had been searching for me. He had found the castle of Taranis, and there they had fought until Osmond had overpowered him and killed him. Hearing the commotion, my cousin came rushing in, but all she found left of Taranis were three tiny drops of blood on the white marble floor.

‘Osmond seized her and threatened to kill her likewise unless she told him where I was. She looked into the well and there, in the black water, she saw the singing rocks and the pool of tears. But she warned him that at the next spring tide, the sea would break over the pool of tears and he would never find me for I would become just a drop of water in the vast seas.

‘Osmond searched for me for many weeks and finally, on the evening of the first of the spring tides, he came to the singing rocks, and at the first rock he found my hair and smelt it. He found my breasts and caressed them. He bathed my feet. He kissed my hands. He cried into my eyes. He whispered love into my ears and poured honey on my tongue until finally he came to the pool of my tears. But it was growing late and the waves were already crashing on to the rocks, each higher than the last. He had all that was me, yet he did not have
me
and he did not know how to make me whole again. He called my name forwards and backwards, he tried to scoop up the tears and carry them away, but they slid through his fingers, and all the while the sun was sinking and the waves were crashing higher and higher until they almost touched the lip of the pool.

‘Then, as the next wave rushed towards the rocks, he remembered the words of the old woman. “With the bone
of his bone.” He quickly drew out his knife and cut off the third bone of his little finger and dropped it into the pool of tears. At once I lay whole again in the pool, but I did not breathe. I was like one drowned, for the wave had splashed into the pool and my spirit had already begun to float adrift out into the wide vast sea. But as Osmond reached out to touch my face, three drops of the blood from his bleeding finger dropped into my mouth and my eyes opened. And our tears then were tears of joy.’

Adela reached over and drew Osmond's paint-stained hand towards her, kissing it, before holding it up to show the missing top of his finger. Osmond blushed and hastily pulled his hand away.

Cygnus clapped his hand enthusiastically against the stones of the floor. ‘Well done, Adela. That is a beautiful love story. It is you that should be the storyteller, not me.’

Rodrigo slapped him lightly on the back. ‘Come, Cygnus. You must better it.’

Cygnus protested he could not, but instead told us the comic tale of the fools who try to rescue the moon from the river. As he told the tale he gibbered and capered around the chapel, making such a mime of trying to rake out the moon from an imaginary river that we were all soon helpless with mirth again. Only Jofre did not join in the laughter, but sat lost in his own thoughts.

It may not have been as grand as the Christmas festivities that Rodrigo had described, but for a few hours at least we had contrived to forget our own fears and the misery of what lay outside the chapel. But now the afternoon was drawing to a close and shadows were lengthening in the chapel. The merriment had died away and we sat reluctantly preparing ourselves for another cold night down in the
crypt. I thought of Pleasance lying alone in the dark forest and felt guilty at laughing again so soon.

Osmond sprawled on the floor, his head resting on Adela's outstretched legs. He was lost in his own thoughts, gazing up at the painting at the far end of the chapel, as if he was itching to get back to it.