Willows for Weeping (19 page)

Sunlight slanted through the trees, touching the treetops with gold and encompassing grass, flowers and the reclining bodies of the jongleurs in its warm glow. Bernard's staff lay close beside her, illuminated in its own pool of light. Janna picked it up, feeling a pang of regret for the untimely death of the kind pilgrim. Was an unknown thief responsible for his death? The idea did not sit easy in Janna's mind. A stranger would have knocked Bernard unconscious and made his escape with the spoils. There was no need to go to the trouble of killing him unless he was known, unless Bernard could identify him. All the evidence pointed to Adam, who was already paying penance for one murder. Why shouldn't he kill again in order to escape? It also made sense that Adam would take the trouble to stage an elaborate sacrifice in order to disguise his true motive and throw everyone off his scent. Yet Ulf believed in Adam's innocence, for this death at least. Was that because Ulf himself knew different?

Janna gazed thoughtfully at Bernard's staff, wishing it could tell her what she wanted to know. She turned it around in her hands, and noticed a fine line just under the handle. She peered closer. The crack ran right around the wooden shaft. She hadn't noticed it before, it was only that the shining sunlight illuminated the length of the staff save for that small, telltale shadow.

Janna examined it, hoping that the crack wasn't as bad as she feared, and that the staff would be strong enough to support her until she came to Winchestre. After that she would have no further need of it. She gripped the handle with one hand and gave the shaft a twist, testing its strength. To her surprise, the handle turned slightly. She gave another tentative twist and it turned further. Suddenly apprehensive, she glanced around. But the jongleurs were either dozing or chatting amongst themselves. No-one seemed to be paying her any attention. To be on the safe side, she turned her back on them all and continued to unscrew the handle of Bernard's staff.

It was hollow inside. Janna's heart jumped erratically as she noticed the small packet of parchment carefully concealed within the handle. Knowing already what she would find, she carefully drew it out and studied the bishop's seal. So this was how Bernard had managed to secrete the parchment from the eyes of the abbey guard – and from anyone else who might have an interest in the letter. Could this have been why he was killed? Janna gave a shudder of unease, knowing that any supporter of Stephen's might think it worth taking a life to intercept a message from the bishop to the queen-in-waiting.

Ralph supported the king! She banished the thought immediately from her mind. She had no real proof of where his sympathy lay. Besides, Ralph was no killer. She'd stake her own life on that. But what about Ulf? Was his guise as a relic seller designed to cover a deeper and darker purpose?

She turned the letter over in her hands, and studied the seal. The Earl of Gloucestre was now with the bishop. Ralph had said so. This letter, therefore, was no longer important. Succumbing to curiosity, she slit the seal to read its contents.

'To my lord liege and my brother, greetings.

I bid you be of good cheer, for a blow has been struck from which the empress cannot recover. While she was preparing for her coronation, and on my advice, your queen brought her army from Kent to the south bank of the Thames. Under the command of William of Ypres, they caused great havoc and destruction along the way. By that action, your queen has warned the Londoners of what will befall them should they lend their support to the empress, for they know now that the empress is powerless to stop the queen's army.

On the eve of Matilda's coronation, the bells of London were rung as a call to arms. The Londoners rose in revolt and stormed the palace of Westminster. Matilda was forced to flee back to Oxeneford, along with those who still support her claim.

Knowing our cousin, I doubt this setback will stop her misguided attempt to claim your crown. However, she continues to make herself extremely unpopular with everyone, the Londoners in particular. They resent her high-handed attitude and, even more, the large tax she has imposed on them which, I suspect, was imposed as punishment for their previous support of you.

Have courage. Your queen's troops remain armed and ready. We shall continue to oppose and thwart the empress's ambition at every turn. God willing, she will soon fall into our hands and we shall then have the means to set you free.

Your brother in name and in Christ,

Henry, Bishop of Winchestre.'

Janna read the letter swiftly. She feared she'd misread it for it didn't make sense. She read it again. This time she read slowly and with care, for it was written in Norman French and she needed to think about some of the words. But the letter still didn't say what she thought it should. She read it through once more, thinking beyond the words to their meaning. And, at last, she came to comprehend the full extent of the bishop's treachery and the grave importance of what she'd found.

Her hands were trembling as she swiftly folded the parchment and returned it to its hiding place. After a quick glance around to make sure that no-one was watching, she twisted the handle into the shaft of the walking stick to conceal the evidence. Her senses were reeling with the enormity of her discovery. She closed her eyes, the better to think about the implications.

Had Bernard died for this? Or had Adam killed him to make his getaway, not knowing what the pilgrim had concealed in his staff? And what of Bishop Henry, now entertaining the empress's envoy with lying smiles and flattery, and treachery in his heart? Did he know his letter had never reached his brother, the king? Had he taken steps to retrieve it, knowing his treachery would be revealed if it fell into the wrong hands?

Janna gave an involuntary shudder. No-one knew of this letter other than herself, Bernard and Ulf. Bernard was dead. That left Ulf. What did she really know about the relic seller? He'd been with the pilgrim band for a long time, even if not from the start. He'd won Juliana's trust enough to accompany her to Ambresberie and to persuade her to confide in him. But had Ulf already known about the message before that?

Janna was fairly sure that Bernard supported the empress, and that he'd taken the letter in good faith that it was meant for her eyes. If he'd confided in Ulf his real reason for leaving the pilgrim band, then it could be that Ulf was responsible for his murder. She remembered that she'd once questioned Ulf about whether his loyalty lay with the empress or the king, and that he wouldn't answer her. Could he have killed Bernard to get the message and prevent him from taking it to the empress? And was he now travelling with the jongleurs because he believed Janna had it in her possession?

What frightened Janna most was the thought that, if Ulf had killed once to get at the letter, he would not hesitate to kill again. She took a shuddering breath, and struggled for calm.

The more urgent question was: what should she do now? The empress must see this letter without delay. Already her half-brother might have walked into a trap. Who could she turn to for help with this? Ralph? He had his own steed. He could travel far more quickly than she could. Could she trust him with the truth when she was fairly sure he supported the king rather than the empress?

Janna buried her face in her hands in an agony of indecision. With all her heart she wanted to confide in Ralph, and pass the responsibility for action on to him. And yet, as clear as if he was sitting beside her, she could hear Bernard's voice: 'Trust no-one.' She tried to slow her whirling thoughts, to think her way through the problem and reach an informed decision, a decision that would benefit the empress at the expense of her lying, cheating cousin Henry, Bishop of Winchestre.

What should she do? Janna trembled as the question repeated itself. She had to do something. The empress was in danger, and so was her envoy. They must be warned of the bishop's treachery and betrayal. Robert, Earl of Gloucestre, had come to negotiate with the bishop in good faith. He was already in Winchestre, where the jongleurs were bound. Should she continue on with them and give him the letter, or should she flee to Oxeneford to warn the empress? Wherever she went, she knew that speed was of the essence. But she had only her two feet to walk upon.

They would have to do, at least until she could beg or steal a mount from somewhere. Impatient for action, although still undecided as to which direction she should go in, Janna began to rise. She subsided again as other considerations came into her mind. True, the empress was in Oxeneford, but she would be surrounded by her supporters there. She would be protected. The earl was much nearer at hand. More, he was alone and unsuspecting in the enemy's camp. He was the empress's chief supporter, the leader of her army, and the one most at risk. She must take the letter to him and she must leave now, for any delay put his life in ever more danger.

First, she must make her farewells to Master Thomas and to Ulf. But she needed a good reason to leave their company, to explain her haste to get to Winchestre and, more important, to allay any suspicions they might have about her going. For the life of her she couldn't think of a single thing, nothing that sounded in the least convincing. She shook her head, trying desperately to come up with something sensible.

She couldn't tell anyone the truth, not even Ralph. What would he do when he found her gone? Would he continue his journey to Winchestre with the pilgrims, would he fulfil his promise to help her find her father once they arrived? Janna was heart-stricken that she might be throwing away Ralph's good will by going on without him.

If only she knew for sure whose side he was on. And whose side Ulf was on. Janna's thoughts skittered around like cockroaches in a rubbish dump. Who could she trust? Her mother had trusted no-one: not her daughter with the truth, or even the man whom she'd loved for all her life. Janna had thought her wrong, and had blamed Eadgyth for the hard life they'd lived because of her pride and lack of trust. But perhaps her mother had taught her the most valuable lesson of all, a lesson to live by: trust no-one. So had her mother taught her, and now Bernard had told her the same. She might do well, Janna thought, to take their advice.

FEELING PANICKY AND uncertain, Janna scrambled to her feet, using the staff to support her weight. She must treat it as just that, a staff, something of no importance, she reminded herself as she walked towards Master Thomas. He was engaged in telling Faldo about one of the scenes in The Song of Roland, and declaiming the description of the Battle of Roncevaux. Faldo listened intently, getting the sense of it even though he would never learn it all by heart, for the
chanson
was far too long. But he obviously relished the challenge as he wielded the props they carried in the cart, mimicking his father's gestures while Master Thomas declared at full voice:

'Distraught was Roland with wrath and pain;

Distraught were the twelve of Charlemagne,

With deadly strokes the Franks have striven,

And the Saracen horde to the slaughter given . . .'

Faldo puffed and sweated as he swung his trusty sword Durendal against imaginary Saracen hordes, and finally blew a mighty blast on his horn, Olifant, to summon, too late, the emperor Charlemagne to come to his aid. Unfortunately Brutus seemed intent on ruining the dramatic effect by barking and snarling and trying to snap at Master Thomas's feet which – every now and then – aimed a kick in the dog's direction.

'For the Lord Christ's sake, get your dog out of the way,' Master Thomas shouted at last, exasperated beyond bearing.

Muttering apologies, Ulf produced a length of twine and looped it around the animal's neck. It became an act of strength, Ulf against Brutus, as he tried to drag the huge dog away. Janna's attention was divided between their tug of war and Master Thomas, who began now to declaim the stanzas dealing with the death of Roland. Janna dawdled beside them, still trying to find an excuse for leaving the jongleurs in such haste.

'I'm not feeling well. I need to see a
wortwyf
? Or a doctor?' Any child, let alone an adult, would know that she was lying.

'I've had word that my father is about to leave Winchestre, and I must see him before he goes?' That sounded slightly more reasonable. She was about to put it to the test when a movement caught her eye. Janna started in surprise. A man was watching them from along the track. How long had he been there? Could he have seen her unscrewing the staff?

No! She tried to quieten her racing heart. She'd been sitting with her back to him and to the pilgrims – hadn't she? Her eyes moved to the spot, trying to gauge how much of what she was doing would have been on view to the spectator. Yet, if he knew nothing, whatever he saw would seem innocent enough. Wouldn't it?

He was riding towards them now. She waited to find out his intentions.

'God be with you,' he greeted them all as he came closer. 'I am Walter of Eglesham.' A chorus of replies came his way as the jongleurs realised they had company and began to rouse themselves. Janna stayed silent, watching him. She wondered if she'd seen him before. There was something familiar about him, although she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was. His face? Clothes and build? His hair was dark and worn quite long. A yellow cloak was tucked carelessly into the pack on his saddle; part of it was hanging out on view. As Master Thomas made the introductions, Walter looked around the company. It seemed to Janna that his gaze fixed on her and then moved to the staff she carried.

'Ulf?' Walter's eyes flickered as he registered the presence of the relic seller, who had stopped wrestling with his dog and was now watching him with cautious, calculating eyes.

'And this is Janna,' Master Thomas continued with his introductions. Janna gripped the staff tight, then made a conscious effort to relax her fingers. No-one must know its secret. No-one.

With the introductions over, Walter spoke. 'This is a happy chance, meeting you here, Johanna.' His glance rested on Janna and lingered there. Colouring under his scrutiny, she turned her head and looked away.

'Do you travel to Winchestre?' Walter asked. Janna wasn't sure if the question was directed at her, but Master Thomas answered in her stead.

'Aye, but our journey is interrupted. We're waiting for one of our party whose horse cast a shoe. He has taken it back to the hamlet we've just passed.'

Walter nodded. 'That gives me time to talk to an old friend,' he said, and moved to Janna's side.

Instinctively, she stepped away, but was stopped by a firm hand on her arm. 'A word with you, mistress,' he said softly.

Fighting panic, Janna stayed still. Despite her good intentions, she began to tremble. She took a couple of long breaths to calm herself.

'You have no reason to fear me,' he said, and drew her further away so that no-one could overhear their conversation. 'Am I right in thinking you travelled with a group of pilgrims from Wiltune to Ambresberie?'

Janna gave a reluctant nod. The man's familiarity bothered her. Where had she met him before? She summoned up all her courage and looked into his eyes, trying to settle the mystery. She read there a deep and weary sadness. Instinctively she began to relax her guard.

'You knew my mother, Juliana, and my brother, Bernard, I believe?'

Janna stifled a gasp, understanding now why she thought Walter seemed familiar. He was shorter, stouter than his brother, but he had something of the same visage as well as Bernard's air of quiet competence.

'You carry my brother's staff,' Walter continued. 'My mother gave it to you, I know, thinking you had a good use for it. But I've come to ask you, mistress, if you'd mind returning it to me, for she's had a change of heart. She has nothing to remember my brother by, and she craves some memento.'

As Walter spoke, Janna's hand tightened on the staff. Frightened, she stared at him. If he'd only come just a little earlier, she would have given it to him, and willingly. But she knew now that he hadn't chased all these miles after her just to reclaim a memento. This was no casual request. Walter knew the importance of the message secreted there, even if Bernard had not.

Trust no-one. Not even Walter? Bernard had told her that he was in the employ of the empress. But so was the bishop, or so everyone had thought. No matter that Ralph had told her the empress had no right to rule, Janna still had no doubt in her mind as to whom she was supporting in this fight for the crown. But what about Walter? She had no way of telling whose side he was on now, not when allegiances shifted with the changing fortunes of the principal players and the promises of land, property and titles to sweeten a betrayal. What had Walter been promised? Whom did he now support?

'I cannot give you the staff,' she whispered, knowing that he was quite capable of taking it by force, if necessary. She glanced around, taking comfort from the close proximity of the jongleurs. They would surely help her to protect her property, if it came to it. Except it wasn't her property. The staff had belonged to Bernard, and Walter had every right to claim it. 'I need the staff to walk to Winchestre,' she said firmly.

'And you may keep it, if that is your wish, mistress,' he assured her. 'But I know there is a secret compartment inside the handle, for Bernard and I instructed the craftsman to make up identical staffs to our specification. I know that there is something secreted inside, a small memento which I may take to my mother. Surely you cannot begrudge us such a thing?'

Stricken, Janna stared at him. She could not give the letter into his keeping, for she knew not what he would do with it. Supporting the empress's cause with all her heart as she did, she was desperate to warn the earl of the bishop's treachery. But without the letter as proof, no-one would take her warning seriously. And if Walter was in the pay of the bishop, and destroyed the evidence, then the earl was doomed. And so was the empress. She couldn't give the staff to Walter, not if her life depended on it.

He was waiting for her answer. 'No!' she said desperately, hugging the staff close to her chest. 'Your mother gave this to me. I'm sorry, but I cannot let you have it.'

Their voices had begun to attract attention. Ulf looked towards them, as did Faldo. The boy winked at Janna. He balled his hands into fists and boxed the air a couple of times. She felt comforted by this small show of support. It gave her the courage to face Walter.

'I beg you, mistress, do not make a scene,' Walter said quietly, abandoning any pretence that his was merely an idle request. 'It is not safe for anyone to know what's hidden inside the staff.' He glanced over his shoulder to make sure they could not be overheard. 'You've found the secret hiding place, haven't you?'

After a moment's hesitation, Janna nodded. It seemed pointless to pretend any longer.

'Is there a letter inside?'

'No!' Janna eased a breath of relief that she might yet talk her way out of this trap.

Walter's gaze sharpened. Janna suspected that he knew she was lying.

'May I look for myself?'

Janna clutched the staff tight to her chest, inadvertently giving herself away.

Walter sighed. 'I don't want to arouse suspicion, nor do I want to take the staff from you by force,' he said, his voice a low mutter so that Janna had to lean closer to hear him. 'It's too dangerous, both for you and for me, to draw any more attention to ourselves than we already have. Let me, instead, tell you what I know of the letter my brother found on the dead body of the bishop's messenger. The letter bore the seal of the Bishop of Winchestre. I know you saw it too, for Bernard told my mother all about it. Although my brother didn't read the bishop's letter, he told my mother that it was important that he take it to the empress as soon as possible. My mother argued against it for several reasons, not least of which was that he should stay to guard Adam. But Bernard insisted on it. He told her of a conversation he'd had with a young lad at the henge: that the empress and the bishop had argued over several broken promises. My brother was fearful there might be forces plotting against the empress, and thought she should be warned as a matter of urgency.'

'But your brother's death had naught to do with the letter!' Janna said, desperately hoping to deflect Walter's purpose with the promise of vengeance. 'Adam has been captured and is held at the castle at Sarisberie. He has killed once before and tried to disguise his deed by making it look like an accidental drowning. In the same fashion, your brother was also hit on the back of his head and, while still alive, dragged to the site where he was found. There, he was stabbed to make his death look like a blood sacrifice.' Janna remembered her vision. 'Such things have happened before. I know it!' In spite of her misgivings about Adam's guilt or otherwise, she was determined to convince Walter, anything to take his attention off the staff and what it contained. 'If it's justice you seek, you'll find Adam at Sarisberie,' she urged.

'My mother has gone to Sarisberie to see Adam,' Walter said grimly. 'But first she told me all she knew about the letter, for she knows I am in the empress's employ. What she didn't know was where the message was hidden, and whether or not my brother's killer had found it. Now you have confirmed that he did not, and I thank God and all his saints for it. I will find my brother's killer, but finding that letter comes first.'

'What do you propose to do with the letter?'

'Take it to the empress, of course.'

Trust no-one, Janna reminded herself. Bernard had done his best to keep the message safe, might well have given his life for it, in fact. He'd taken it on trust that the message was meant for the empress. And so, it seemed, did his brother.

She remembered the conversation she'd had with Bernard. Right from the start, he'd planned to hand the letter over to Walter who, he said, would arrange its delivery to the empress. Janna had been given no reason to doubt Walter's sincerity, or his loyalty to the empress. And bringing the bishop's message to the attention of the empress's supporters was a priority right now. Walter had a fast horse, he could travel far more quickly than ever she could. He was the very man to take the message – if she could believe him. Could he be trusted? Did he really not know to whom the message was addressed?

Janna was in an agony of doubt. Walter waited impatiently for her answer. She glanced around, and met the curious gaze of Ulf and Faldo. They were still too far away to overhear her conversation with Walter and she wanted to keep it that way. Not for anything would she have Ulf know that the letter was found. She gave them a quick nod and a reassuring smile, and turned back to Walter.

'What if I told you the letter was addressed to King Stephen, not the empress?' she asked warily.

Walter stiffened. 'Why would the bishop write to the king? Unless . . .?' His expression softened. 'He is the king's brother, after all. He might bid him to be of good cheer. He might even promise to intercede with the empress for leniency, for the empress has now ordered his jailors to keep the king in chains.' His shrewd eyes bored into Janna's. 'How do you know the message is addressed to the king and not the empress?'

Should she admit that she had read it? Janna felt as if she was being torn apart by doubts and confusion. She decided to ignore Walter's question. 'Do you support the empress's bid for the crown?' she asked instead. 'Or are you a servant of the king?'

'No, nor ever have been!' Walter said sharply. 'I have the honour of serving my lady, and I will do all in my power to help her gain the throne that is rightfully hers.'

'Even if that was not, after all, her father's wish?'

'Who told you that?'

'I heard some travellers discussing it,' Janna said, not wanting to have to explain Ralph to Walter. 'I heard that one of the barons, who was at the king's bedside when he died, reported that the king had changed his mind about the succession, and that Stephen's claim was perfectly legitimate.'

'That's down to Hugh Bigod, the traitor!' Walter said angrily. 'It was a lie, concocted in the belief that Stephen would reward him for it, not that it ever did him much good. But the barons wanted to believe him, because it relieved their own conscience for breaking their oath to the old king. They said then that they had been forced to make the oath, which was also a lie. It was Stephen who first put his hand to it – not once, but twice – when King Henry asked it. And they all followed willingly behind him. But the barons thought they'd serve their own interests far better under the rule of a weak and easygoing king like Stephen, who has ever tried to buy their loyalty. It is to their eternal shame that they broke their oath and supported Stephen, and brought down this calamity on us all.' He stopped to draw breath, while Janna looked at him in amazement.