Company of Liars (55 page)

He smiled. ‘These are not my swans, Camelot. This is the tale of the Swan Knight, grandfather to the great Godfrey
de Bouillon, knight of the Crusades. It comes from a song the minstrels sing, a courtly tale. Perhaps Rodrigo will know it.’

Rodrigo frowned, but didn't answer. Cygnus drew his cloak more tightly around him and began.

‘King Oriant of Lillefort was a handsome young man, skilled in all the noble arts, but his chief delight was the bow and arrow and often when he was restless, he would go out at night to hunt by moonlight. One winter's night when he was hunting alone down by the lake, he heard the singing of feathers in the frosted air. Looking up, he saw a swan, stretched out across the darkening sky. She glided through the cobalt night on wings as strong as freedom and came to rest upon the silvered waters of the lake. She was a magnificent creature and King Oriant wanted to take her more than he had wanted any other beast or bird he had hunted. He drew back on his bowstring and aimed, but just as he was about to loose the arrow, she cried out in a human voice, and when he looked again, he saw walking out of the water towards him not a swan, but a beautiful woman with eyes as dark as the midnight sky and hair the colour of moonlight. And tangled in her hair was a single white swan's feather. The King fell instantly in love with her. He caught her in his arms and kissed her and as he did so, he pulled the feather from her hair. Feeling her feather gone, she begged him to return it for without it she would have to remain in human form, but the King refused, saying he would only return the feather if she became his wife.

‘King Oriant carried his swan bride back to the castle. He hid the feather in a chest, in a tower, in a forest, on an island where she would never find it. And when on their wedding night she begged him for the feather, he refused her, saying he would return it to her only when she bore him a son. So
the sylph was forced to remain with him and she bore him five sons. Each time a son was born she begged the King to return the feather and each time he refused, saying, “when you have given me another son, then I will return it to you.”

‘But the children of a king and a sylph are not mortal children and unknown to their father, each son, like his mother, could change himself into the form of a swan. Their mother placed around their necks golden chains, from which hung silver moons. As long as they wore the chains they remained in human form, but at night they laid aside their chains, transformed themselves into swans and flew out into the starry sky. Their mother warned them never to lose the golden chains, for if they lost them, they would remain as swans for ever. Then she begged her sons to transform into swans and search for her feather and after much searching they found the island, and on the island they found the forest, and in the forest they found the tower, and in the tower they found the chest, and in the chest they found their mother's feather. They brought it to their mother who slipped it into her hair, kissed her sons and flew away for ever.

‘King Oriant was heartbroken that his wife had left him, but it was not long before his advisers persuaded him to remarry and he took a new bride. But though his young wife was lovely, she was mortal, and how can human beauty compare to the beauty of a sylph? Each time the King looked at his sons, with their eyes the colour of the midnight sky and their hair the colour of moonlight, he sighed. His new wife grew jealous and looked for a way to destroy his sons, for she knew that as long as he looked on them, he would never forget his swan bride. So she began to spy on them and soon discovered the secret of the chains. One
night when the young men had transformed themselves into swans she stole the necklaces from their room, all save one, that belonging to the eldest son, Helyas, for he had hidden his chain in a mousehole and a spider had woven a web across it, so that she could not find it. Before dawn the swans returned and flew into the room. Helyas at once resumed his human form, but the others could not find their chains and as dawn broke they were forced to fly away.

‘For seven years Helyas searched the castle looking for the chains and for seven years the swans returned each night and flew away each dawn. Then on the seventh day of the seventh month of the seventh year, Helyas at last found the chains. He hurried out to greet his brothers and as each swan landed on the water, he threw the chain around his neck and each brother resumed his human form. But in his joy Helyas did not notice that the chain of the youngest swan was broken, and when Helyas threw it, the chain fell from the swan's neck to the bottom of the deep lake and the youngest brother remained a swan for ever, bound to serve his brothers in that form.

‘Many miles away the Emperor Otto was holding court at Nimwegen. The Duchess of Bouillon pleaded with him for justice against the Saxon Duke Renier who accused her of having committed adultery when her late husband was alive. As brother to her husband, he declared that her lands should therefore be forfeit to him. Adultery in a woman so highborn was a grave charge and the Emperor ordered her to prove her innocence in trial by combat. If her champion lost the fight she would be put to death and her lands given to Renier. But so fierce a warrior was Renier, so skilled with the sword and so merciless to those who opposed him, that no champion would come forward to stand for her.

‘After three days of searching, still no champion could be
found and the Emperor ordered his soldiers to seize the Duchess and put her to death. But just as they laid hands upon the weeping woman, a cry rang out from the river and people turned to see an unknown knight gliding down the river towards them in a boat pulled by a swan. Helyas, eldest of the swan brothers, stepped ashore and offered himself as champion against Renier. The battle was long and bloody, both men were skilled and courageous, but right was on the side of the innocent Duchess, so Helyas was able to slay Renier.

‘As a reward for his services the Duchess offered the hand of her beautiful daughter, Beatrix, in marriage, bestowing all her lands and wealth on the couple. Helyas agreed on one condition, that neither Beatrix nor her mother should ever ask him his name or his lineage. They both readily agreed and so the wedding took place.

‘Seven joyful and prosperous years Helyas and Beatrix spent together and their union was blessed with a beautiful daughter, Ida, who had her father's dark eyes. Each day at dawn and at sunset, Helyas went down to the river to talk to his brother the swan, and each time she saw him feeding the bird with his own hand, Beatrix wondered about her mysterious knight, but she kept her vow and did not ask him who he was.

‘But many other nobles in the land were jealous of the wealth and happiness of Helyas and Beatrix. “Who is this knight?” they asked. “Why would a man of noble birth wish to hide his lineage, unless he had disgraced his family's name?” The rumours reached Beatrix's ears. Even her own serving maids whispered among themselves that perhaps this swan knight she had married was no knight at all, that he was of common birth, ignoble birth even. Finally Beatrix could bear the whispering no longer and one night when
Helyas returned from the lake she asked him that question which she had sworn she would never ask.

‘Helyas was a knight and the law of chivalry demanded that he answer her truthfully. But as soon as he had spoken the truth, he saw his brother swan appear in the river, drawing the little boat. Helyas stepped into the boat and sailed away.

‘Their dark-eyed daughter, Ida, grew up to marry Eustace, Count of Boulogne, and Ida's son, Godfrey de Bouillon, became the great knight commander of the First Crusade, Defender of the Holy Sepulchre, who some now title the first King of Jerusalem.

‘But as for Beatrix, she never laid eyes on her beloved husband again. The Swan Knight had vanished. She searched for him for the rest of her life, but she never found him, and when at last she knew she never would, she died of guilt and grief, for she had betrayed the most gallant knight in Christendom. She had learned the truth, but the truth had destroyed them both.’

There was silence as Cygnus finished his story. Then Adela gave a great sigh of satisfaction and touched Cygnus's arm. ‘That was beautiful, Cygnus.’

But he was not looking at her. Instead he was looking intently at Rodrigo. For a long time they stared at each other, comprehension dawning in Rodrigo's face. He looked horrified, then he turned away and buried his face in his hands. Finally he raised his head again and opened his mouth as if he was about speak, but Cygnus shook his head.

‘No, Rodrigo, don't say it. The guilt is mine. I am a coward. Zophiel was right; I am neither man nor bird. I have neither an immortal soul in the next life nor purpose in this one. I had nothing to lose. It should have been me who did it. Forgive me, Rodrigo, forgive me.’

He adjusted the heavy purple cloak around his shoulders and strode rapidly away into the darkness. Overhead we heard a singing in the air, three swans flying towards the river. Spreading their strong white wings, they glided down and disappeared from sight.

25. The Mermaid and the Mirror

We searched for Cygnus most of the night and found him just after dawn, about half a mile downstream. His body was floating face down in the river. His shirt sleeve had caught on the sharp broken ends of a clump of reeds and had held him against the bank, otherwise he would have been swept away. The purple cloak had floated out to cover his head. We knew from the way the body drifted lifelessly in the current that there was no hope, but Rodrigo plunged in recklessly as if he thought he could still save him, if only he could get to him quickly enough. Osmond and I helped Rodrigo to haul the body out. As soon as he had clambered out himself, Rodrigo fell on Cygnus's body, pushing and pressing him as if, by shaking him, he could get him to breathe. Finally, Osmond had to restrain him.

‘It's no use, Rodrigo. He's gone. He's been dead for hours. He must have fallen in last night and the cloak pulled him under.’

Rodrigo pulled Cygnus towards him and sat cradling him in his arms, as if he was a sleeping child.

‘What I can't understand is why we didn't hear a splash or a cry,’ Osmond continued. ‘Unless he had already walked too far from the camp.’

Rodrigo looked up at us, his face haggard. ‘He did not want us to hear.’

Osmond's eyes opened wide. ‘You're not saying he deliberately went into the river to… to drown himself? But he was sitting here last night with all of us, calmly telling us a story. Why would a man do that and then go out and kill himself? Why would he do that to us? We were his friends. None of us ever said anything cruel to him. The only one who tormented him was Zophiel and he's dead.’

I thought of what Osmond had said to Cygnus when he failed to return with a midwife for Adela. How quickly we forget our own cruelty.

‘He did it because Zophiel is dead.’ Tears were now rolling down Rodrigo's cheeks.

‘What do you mean
because
Zophiel is dead?’

‘I think Rodrigo means he… he drowned himself out of guilt,’ I said.

Osmond sank on to the grass, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘So are you telling me that Narigorm was right all along, that it wasn't the wolf that killed Zophiel, it was Cygnus…? Not that I blame him. But why kill himself? Did he think we would turn him in?’

‘No!’ Rodrigo shouted. ‘No, he did not murder Zophiel.
Il sangue di Dio!
Did you not hear what he said last night, the last thing he said? He said it should have been him. He thought he had forced me to become a murderer, because he was too cowardly to do it himself. Zophiel accused him of not even being able to defend himself and he thought I believed that too.’

Osmond's expression was growing more bewildered by the minute.

I crouched down and put an arm round Rodrigo's wet shoulders. ‘But Cygnus was mistaken, wasn't he? You didn't
kill Zophiel. It was the wolf.’ I wanted desperately to believe that.

Rodrigo looked down at Cygnus's body. The eyes were closed, the face peaceful and smooth, all the anxiety of the last few weeks washed away. ‘I killed him.’

It was impossible to tell if he was talking about Cygnus or Zophiel.

‘No, Rodrigo, listen to me. You didn't kill anyone. You're not to blame for either of their deaths.’

Rodrigo spoke in a low monotone, his gaze fixed on Cygnus's face. ‘When Zophiel left the drovers' hut, I went after him. I begged him to leave Cygnus alone before he drove him to his death as he had driven Pleasance and Jofre to theirs. He said they had brought their own deaths upon themselves. It was nothing to do with him, he said. Sodomites like Jofre, he said, are condemned in this life and the next. His death was God's judgment for his perversion. Then he turned his back and walked away. I threw the knife as he walked away from me.’

Suddenly, I remembered the two lepers on the road in the gorge who had beaten the traveller to death, how they had turned on Osmond. A picture flashed into my mind of Rodrigo throwing his knife, of the leper's screaming, then falling dead. With a sickening jolt, I knew he was telling the truth. Rodrigo had murdered Zophiel.

‘And the arms?’ Osmond asked shakily. ‘You… cut off the arms?’