Liars and Thieves (A Company of Liars short story) by Karen Maitland Page B

beast, a pony or donkey. More rope was lashed around me, binding me tightly over the beast’s back. There had to be at least three men, probably more. But they clearly had no need to speak to each other. This was a well-practised kidnapping.
    Adela was yelling for her husband, Osmond, but he could have been anywhere in the forest and even if he heard his name above the howling wind, it would take some time for him to reach us. Adela’s cries were abruptly severed and a cold dread seized me. Had they knocked her unconscious or silenced her for ever?
    I heard Xanthus’s shrill whinny and guessed someone had pulled the caltrop from her hoof. At least they’d not abandoned her to suffer. My head thumped and jolted against the pony’s side as it was pulled forward. My ribs were being crushed against its back, and I was struggling to draw breath inside the suffocating sack. Thin whipping branches slashed across my head and legs. They were dragging us through dense vegetation. My head was pounding so violently that I began to fear the caltrop spike had been tipped with poison. It was not unknown.
    The pony stopped. Hands fumbled with the knots in the rope that tied me to its back. The rope gave way and I slid off. There was a moment of relief as the pressure on my ribs eased. But as my shoulder hit a rock, a shock of pain engulfed me and I passed out.
    The roar of the wind in my head grew louder and the burning pain in my shoulder surged back with it. Every bone in my body felt as if it had been pounded with a hammer. I opened my eyes, but could see nothing except a dim light filtering through the weave of the sack. I’d been propped up in a sitting position against a tree. I could feel the rough bark pressing into my back. When I tried to lift my hands, I found that both my wrists and ankles were tightly bound.
    ‘Nothing in his pack worth having either,’ a man’s voice growled, ‘save for a few teeth and bones. And the bones are that old and dried, can’t even use them to flavour the pot.’
    They’d found my saints’ relics. Pity they couldn’t feel holiness emanating from those bones, but that was hardly surprising considering they’d been purloined from a charnel house and might have belonged to any old sinner. Maybe I should’ve told them what I told the people in the marketplace –
That scrap of cloth was cut from the very cloak of St Apollonia and is a certain cure for toothache. Wear that finger bone of St Hyacinth around your neck and you’ll never fear drowning.
But there are some men even I cannot convince with my tales.
    ‘He must have the silver under his shirt.’
    Footsteps came towards me. I heard the rasp of a man’s breathing as he bent over me. Instinctively I drew my legs up, trying to protect my chest, bracing myself for the dagger thrust which I was sure was coming. My fear was made worse by not being able to see where he would strike.
    ‘If I’d silver or gold on me,’ I said, ‘I’d not be tramping through mud, carrying a sack of bones. I’m a piss-poor pedlar, nothing more.’
    A man grunted. ‘He’s awake then. What’s he saying?’
    Hands seized the front of my shirt, jerking me forward.
    ‘You try anything and I’ll cut your throat quicker than a kestrel can pounce on a mouse.’ The man’s voice had a peculiar whistle to it.
    I felt the sack being dragged upwards. The cold wet air hit my face like a slap. I greedily sucked it into my searing lungs. The world began to steady around me and I peered blearily upwards.
    We were in a forest clearing, surrounded by birch scrub, spindly saplings and the rotting stumps of ancient trees. The ruins of an ancient rough-stone building stood nearby. Its corners were covered over with frames fashioned from branches and woven through with reeds and bracken, in an effort to provide some shelter from the rain. Several tiny bothies made from a ragbag of fallen stones and rough-hewn wood huddled against the half-tumbled walls.
    Zophiel and