Company of Liars by Karen Maitland Page A

through the dead man's clothes. The murder had not been subtle. The victim's head was a bloody mangle of hair, brain and bone. His face would have been unrecognizable even to his own mother. The blows had doubtless been inflicted by the heavy wooden clubs which still dangled on leather straps from the murderers' wrists. The robbers had not even troubled to drag him off the track into the undergrowth to do their work and now, far from running off in fear when they saw us approach, they continued to work over their prey, like feral dogs who cannot be scared away from their kill.
    Osmond was the first to break the stunned silence; yelling, he started towards the men, waving his arms as if to drive off animals. The two robbers raised their heads. They threw back their hoods, but remained crouched over the bloody corpse.
    ‘Going to stop us, young master?’
    It was Osmond who stopped. The faces that leered up at him appeared at first to be grinning. But those were not smiles on their faces. Their lips, like their noses, were being eaten away. Patches of grey dead flesh covered their faces, like mould on rotting fruit. They were lepers.
    They stood up and began to limp towards us, spinning the cudgels on their wrists as they no doubt had done before they struck the unfortunate wretch on the track.
    ‘Going to lay hands on us, young master? Going to take us? I've got an idea – why don't you give us that fine wagon of yours? I'm tired of walking. I could do with a wagon to carry me. I'll bet you've some good food on that wagon, wine too. Come on then, hand it over, or do you want us to give you a great big kiss for it?’
    They had nothing to lose. The Church had alreadydeclared them dead to the world. What could the law do to them that was worse? Hang them? In their condition hanging might have been a blessing, if any man had dared, but they were right, who was going to lay hold of them to bring them to justice? Who would have the courage to seize those fingerless hands and bind them tight or put a noose round those scabby necks? Can you execute a dead man? We steal relics from the dead and now it seemed the dead were going to steal from us.
    It was Rodrigo who threw the knife. It was a powerful throw from a muscular arm. The blade sank deep into the leper's chest. He screamed, staggering backwards from the impact, trying to wrench the knife out with the stumps of his fingerless hands. Then he tottered towards us, mouth open, arms stretched wide as if he would gather us all to the grave with him, before he crumpled lifeless into the mud. His companion had already turned tail and was scuttling into the trees. He did not look back to see his friend fall.

5. The Cripples' Wedding
    The six of us were obliged to spend many more nights sleeping outdoors in the cold and wet. The encounter with the lepers in the gorge seemed to have convinced Zophiel that it was not safe to travel alone, especially with the roads and tracks as waterlogged as they were. And although I now know that Zophiel had a more pressing reason for travelling in our company, at the time I believed that, despite his contempt for St John and his miracles, even he could see the sense in making for his shrine and settling there until the worst was over and the ports were open again. I, for one, was thankful for that, for we needed his wagon for Adela. She was in no condition to trudge through the mud, wind and rain, mile after mile.
    It had rained every day for the past three months and though summers had been bad these last few years, none of us could remember any as bad this.
    ‘If rain on Midsummer's Day should fall, it will rain for seven weeks more,’ Adela had recited cheerily at first, much to Zophiel's intense irritation.
    But seven weeks had come and gone. St Swithin's Day and his forty days and forty nights of rain had also come and gone. And still it rained. Not even Adela had faith inher rhymes any more. There was nothing natural about this rain.
    And