Willows for Weeping (24 page)

Set against looking after her own interests was the fact that Ralph was the bishop's agent. He was also a killer. Ulf had warned her to be careful, and Ulf was probably right. An image of Bernard as she'd last seen him came into her mind, his bleeding body lying on the stone altar, stabbed through the heart. If she warned Ralph to escape, Walter and his mother would be denied justice for Bernard's death.

Wracked with indecision, Janna walked on. Might as well hunt for a pip in a cornfield, she thought despairingly, as she searched the faces of the people milling around her in case one of them was Walter. Or Ralph. Suppose Walter had already left Winchestre? But what if he was indoors somewhere, perhaps even visiting someone in one of the houses she was passing? She could hardly knock on the door of every one and ask for him on the slight chance he might be inside.

She wondered what Ulf was doing, whether he'd had any luck. If he found Walter, he had no way of letting her know for they'd made no arrangement to meet later on. She clicked her tongue in exasperation, and looked about in case she could spy him.

The stocky figure of a man hurrying ahead of her caught her attention. She squinted up her eyes to see him better. Walter? She began to run after him, but realised then that the man had disappeared. Telling herself that her eyes were playing tricks on her, conjuring up what she wished to see rather than what was really there, she slowed down to catch her breath.

There was a high stone wall on her right. Janna recalled that Ulf had mentioned an old palace and thought this must be where it was situated. Small stalls abutted onto the wall along its length, with an array of wares set out under their sloping roofs.

Set into the wall was an iron grille with a stout wooden door beyond. There was no-one about. Was the palace abandoned? Obviously the earl was staying in the castle rather than with the bishop, while Ulf had told her that the bishop had a palace close to the river at Wolvesey. Clearly, this was not it. Janna stopped for a moment to think, while her gaze automatically sifted the passers-by, searching for anyone who looked familiar.

What would Ralph do, once he realised he was too late to intercept Walter? If he had any sense he'd go to the bishop at Wolvesey, for only the bishop's protection could keep him safe now. But if Ralph had reached the bishop, the bishop would know that his treachery was uncovered and thus the earl and his men would lose the advantage of surprise. On the other hand, if Ralph wasn't at Wolvesey, it meant he was probably still hunting for Walter. Janna's steps quickened. She would never forgive herself if something happened to Walter, if she was too late to save his life.

Filled with a new sense of urgency, she hurried on, passing churches, alehouses, a mint, a wool store. A high spire and towers loomed into view on her right, dwarfing the buildings that stood between them and the street where Janna stood. Perhaps the bishop was in his cathedral, and his agent with him? On reflection, Janna thought it more likely he'd be sitting in his palace like a spider in its web, weaving plots with his agents and his courtiers about him.

Her footsteps took her on past a mill. She heard the rushing of the water wheel, the rattle of grain being fed down the chute, the grinding roar of the millstones. Beyond the mill was another length of stone wall. The bishop's palace at Wolvesey?

'That's the Nunnaminster,' said a passer-by, in answer to Janna's question. 'The convent of St Mary.' Certainly no chance of finding Walter there, or Ralph either, Janna thought.

Here, close to the East Gate, canals ran down the sides of the streets, the water scummy with refuse and tainted with the stink from the labours of tanners and dyers. Janna wrinkled up her nose, recognising the smell. A man was busy untethering his horse from a post at the far side of the gate. Janna watched as he mounted. She was almost sure, but took a moment to scrutinise him more carefully. Walter! He raised a hand in farewell to the guard. He seemed in a hurry to be gone.

'Walter!' Janna shouted, and began to run.

He checked and looked behind him. Janna was sure he'd seen her but, to her amazement, he didn't stop. Instead, he kicked his horse into a gallop, dodging carts and horsemen with an agility that spoke of long years in the saddle. Even though she knew it was futile, Janna ran after him through the gate, across the river and on down the road, shouting his name. But Walter's horse was fast and he was quickly lost to sight.

She stopped, exhausted, and bent over to ease the pain in her side.
Aelfshot
, the Saxons called it, believing that bodily pain was caused by small darts or arrows shot by elves. Janna, however, knew that she only suffered pain like this when she'd run too far and too fast. She also knew that all the prayers and chants, the herbs, precious stones and other cures her mother had taught her counted for nothing. The pain would wear off all by itself once she had rested.

She took comfort from the fact that Walter was alive and was probably out of danger now that he had left Winchestre, but she couldn't help feeling annoyed that he hadn't stopped to heed her warning or even hear her reminder about Adam's innocence in Bernard's death. Surely he owed her that courtesy at least.

When the pain in her side had lessened, she turned back towards the town and walked slowly along the road until she came to the bridge across the river. The river was much broader than the narrow race that fed the mill, but it too bore traces of the tanners' and dyers' trade. It was deep in parts, and lined on either side with drooping willows that trailed green fronds into the swiftly flowing water.

Now that there was no longer an urgent need to find Walter, Janna's thoughts returned to Ralph. Had he confessed to the bishop that the earl had received the letter intended for the king? Would he be punished for his failure to intercept it? Would he know, by now, that the cry had gone out for his arrest?

Ulf had warned her to stay away from Ralph, but Janna was desperate to find out from him what he knew about her father. Yes, she had trusted him. She'd even fancied that she was in love with him. The thought of the lies he had told her, and his betrayal, cut her heart to shreds. And yes, Ralph was a coldblooded killer, she knew that too. But in all his dealings with her he had been kind, at least until the end. And even then, when so much was at stake, he had not raised his hand to her. Surely it wouldn't hurt just to look for him. If she found him, she could decide then what to say to him.

But where was the bishop's palace, and how was she to gain entry?

Ulf had said that Wolvesey was beside the river. She glanced up and down the river's length to see if she could sight it. Tall stone towers rose high above the trees downriver. She thought that might be it, but it wasn't obvious whether the palace was situated within or outside the city walls. She debated going back through the East Gate. But she'd be trapped there if the entrance to the palace, like the castle, was outside the town walls. Besides, the small track winding down beside the river looked shady and inviting and she was thirsty. Making up her mind to it, and feeling somewhat happier now she had a plan of action, she crossed the bridge and hurried down the steps to the river path.

A pair of swans paddled into the shallows. They stopped, and one of the swans bent its long neck. It stuck out a webbed foot for balance and began to groom itself, rubbing its beak along its snowy feathers, nuzzling them into order. A family of ducks waddled down to the river's edge. They launched themselves into the rushing water, quacking their contentment. So had swans and ducks lived here for centuries past, raising their families and hunting for food, not knowing or caring about the affairs of men and the misery they caused. Janna sought consolation in the thought that in time, her misery, too, would pass. One day she would look back and wonder why Ralph's betrayal had hurt her so badly, and why the battle between king and cousin had seemed so vitally important. One day perhaps – but not now.

The sound of rippling water accompanied her passage, as did the small family of ducks, spinning downwards with the current and using their flippers to slow their headlong rush towards the mill that Janna could see in the distance. The river ran very shallow in parts. Coloured pebbles lay like jewels along its bed, visible even in the cloudy water but shrouded sometimes by long green strands of cress that waved and coiled with the river's rapid flow. Black moorhens flicked their white tails and poked red beaks into the vegetation along the river's edge.

A flash of blue caught Janna's eye. A kingfisher hovered over the water for a moment, then dived to capture a small fish. Laden, it hastened back to its perch where it beat the fingerling against a branch before swallowing it headfirst. Janna craned her neck upwards to watch it as she walked along, admiring the jewelled flashes of blue and green as its feathers caught the sunlight.

The liquid gurgle of the river as it sped towards the mill reminded Janna that she was thirsty, and hungry too, for she'd had little to eat bar a scrap of dry bread. She knelt beside the river and, hoping that it was safe enough to drink, scooped handfuls of water into her mouth, relishing the liquid as it slipped down her dry throat. Catching sight of her gown as she knelt, she edged closer so that she was close enough to dip the worst of the muddy spots into the water. She would need to look respectable if she was to gain access to the bishop's palace, and so she rubbed the fabric between her fingers to loosen the dirt. The water might well stain her gown but at least it would be clean. Unlike her! Janna ducked her head, lifted her elbow, and surreptitiously sniffed her armpit. And blinked hard a few times. The sweat of the journey, particularly the fast march to Winchestre, had left its mark. She cast a quick glance up and down the river. No-one was in sight, nor had she encountered anyone in her walk along its length. Was it lonely and private enough to strip off her gown and join the ducks in the river for a quick splash?

She peered about more carefully, just in case anyone was about. She couldn't face the embarrassment if she was seen. The sight of a man reclining under a willow tree a little way downriver gave her a jolt. She hadn't noticed him before, he lay so still. Regretfully she stood up, recognising she would have to abandon her plans. She continued to walk, planning to tiptoe around him without disturbing him. He was so quiet she thought he must be asleep.

As she came closer, she saw that he lay sprawled over a lowlying rock. His face, so familiar, was turned up so that he gazed into the green fountain of weeping willow fronds. He wore a red tunic, dark red at its centre and fading to a lighter red elsewhere.

Janna jerked to a stop. Her body reacted to the sight even before her mind could accept the truth in front of her. She began to shake, her whole body quivering with reaction. But she could not move, could not run. Her limbs felt leaden, her brain too numb to command action. All she could do was feel what she could see, even while her mind refused to comprehend it.

She crossed her arms and clutched her fists to her chest, and fought to regain control. Hot tears blinded her. She dashed them away so that she could look again, even though she didn't want to see. Nor did she want to believe. But he lay there still, unmoving. He was no phantom of her imagination. He was real. And he was dead.

Janna pushed aside the trailing fronds of willow. She forced herself to take a step forward, and then another, and another, until she came close enough to look down, to see, and finally, to understand.

Ralph lay before her, a dagger still embedded in his chest. Blood stained the front of his tunic a darker hue. Blood had spilled from the wound and over the stone to soak into the earth below. For a moment Ralph's face blurred and Janna saw Bernard stabbed through the heart and stretched out on the stone altar. She blinked, and Ralph's features came clear into her vision once more. His eyes stared into hers, blinded by death. He wore an expression of faint surprise. Had he recognised his killer? Had he understood that justice was about to be done?

She knelt beside him. Reaching out a shaking hand, she closed Ralph's eyes, needing to escape the gaze that had so transfixed her in life. After a moment's hesitation, she touched his cheek.
'Requiescat in pace
,
'
she whispered. It was more than Ralph deserved, yet he had died unshriven. At the end, she cared enough about him to wish that he might find redemption for his soul.

And then the full extent of her loss burst upon her, and she began to weep without restraint. Weep for the death of a man she'd once thought of as a husband and lover. Weep for the hope that had died with Ralph.

She knelt beside him and bitterly reproached herself. Why, oh why, hadn't she insisted right from the start that he tell her all he knew about her father? Instead, she had let herself be gulled by him, flattered and charmed into believing that she was special in his eyes. Yet he seemed to have genuinely cared for her. Surely she hadn't imagined that?

A sudden thought stifled Janna's weeping. Perhaps Ralph had courted her because he hoped to advantage his situation through her father? A momentary shame that she could think of such a thing was in the next instant swept away by the realisation that he had shown himself capable of everything base, including murder. She should not put too nice an interpretation on any of his actions now.

Had he paid more attention to her after she'd shown him her father's ring? Janna thought back. Yes, it was possible. He'd found out that she was lowly born but had treated her with courtesy and affection, at least until his anger had got the better of him at the end. Or was it fear for his own safety that had caused him to forget himself? Either way, what did it tell her about Ralph? More important, what did it tell her about her father?

Janna searched Ralph's face for answers, but he still wore the same expression of surprise. It told her nothing. Instinctively, she looked for his belt and scrip. He wore them still. His assassin had wanted revenge for a brother's death. He'd not had theft in mind when he killed Ralph.