Free Company of Liars by Karen Maitland Page A

Rodrigo. And since it can no longer serve me by seeing, I may as well put it to good use to provide food for our bellies and a dry bed.’
    Rodrigo shook his head, smiling, then he suddenly turned to Osmond. ‘Speaking of shelter, I have been thinking. You and your wife should come with us to St John's shrine. You paint holy scenes. If the shrine is rich, perhaps they will need a painter. And, for Adela, it will be a good place to rest over winter while she has the child. You will find lodgings there and a midwife to help Adela when her time comes, will he not, Camelot?’
    Osmond glanced at Adela and both beamed eagerly at me.
    I could feel the smile freeze on my face and silently cursed Rodrigo. Did he think this was some sort of a pilgrimage? As if things weren't hard enough already, now he was making me responsible for getting a pregnant woman, who could barely walk, all the way to North Marston. I could not afford to be saddled with them too. I'd wager the skull of St Peter that our turtle doves had no more experience on the road than Rodrigo and Jofre. They would slow us down badly.The pestilence was closing in from the south and west. I didn't have time to act as nursemaid to a pack of novices. Who did they think I was – Moses? But what could I do? I saw the hope in their faces and I could not bring myself to say no.
    There were no more wolf howls; only the steady beat of rain on leaves and the rushing torrent of the river broke the silence of the darkness outside. My body was aching with tiredness, but my mind was too full of the journey which lay before us to allow me to sleep, so I offered to take first watch, and the others made themselves as comfortable as they could for the long night ahead.
    Osmond unbuckled Adela's shoes, then peeled off her sodden and filthy hose, tenderly massaging her cold wet feet. The pointed red shoes were light and shapely, patterned with daisies formed by punched holes in the leather. They'd been fashioned for duties about the house or strolling in cloistered walkways, but they were useless for trailing through puddles or tramping along cart tracks. It was sheer stupidity to set out on the road in them. This journey they were bound on had not been well planned; maybe it had not been planned at all.
    What would force a young couple like this on to the road in such haste? My throat suddenly grew dry. What if they had come from Bristol and had fled when the pestilence struck? What if the contagion already lay upon their clothes? I shook myself impatiently; I could not start jumping in fear every time I met a stranger, for everyone was a stranger on the road. There were not enough caves in England for us all to take to the hills and live like hermits. Besides, even hermits need someone to bring them food.
    ‘Here.’ I wrapped one of the hot stones in sacking and slid it towards Adela. ‘Warm your feet on this.’
    She smiled gratefully. ‘You're kind. Thank you.’
    I picked up her shoes and set them to dry near the fire. Cordwain leather, the finest, you could tell that simply by touch despite the mud on them. It was many years since I'd indulged in shoes that were not made for walking and I'd never have that luxury again. The skin on my feet had grown so hard and callused from all the miles I had tramped, they'd make a pair of leather shoes themselves.
    Adela sat hunched, her arms wrapped around herself, her soft bare feet pressed tightly against the hot stone. She shivered. Her cloak was still too wet to wrap around her, but evidently neither of them had thought to bring anything else.
    I sighed and tossed her my blanket. ‘Wrap yourself in this before you catch your death.’
    ‘But I can't take your blanket. You might catch a chill.’
    It was not politeness that made her say it. Despite her exhaustion, her eyes were full of genuine concern. Doubtless at her young age she saw me as some old dotard who should be wrapped up and fed slops, but for all that I was touched – most