Willows for Weeping (5 page)

'But I have no-one else to travel with. Besides, I need to get to Ambresberie.' Janna was determined that Juliana would not get rid of her just because she'd taken against her for some reason.

'Death stalks you.' Juliana looked ahead, her eyes glassy and unfocused once more. 'And my son,' she muttered. An expression of grief twisted her face. 'I fear you will bring us ill fortune!' she said fiercely.

'But I don't wish Master Bernard harm. I hardly even know him!' In spite of her protest, Janna felt frightened.

Juliana's lips folded down into a tight line. She made no reply, just hitched her pack a little higher and limped on.

Janna watched her go. The woman's words had sent a chill through her, yet they made no sense at all. And in the absence of a sound reason for abandoning the group, she was determined to push on. There was too much at stake for her to leave now. News of her mother awaited her at Ambresberie. And, with a bit of luck, what she found out there would lead her, in turn, to her father. She would not be deflected from her purpose by the ramblings of an annoying old woman. 'We'll be there in just a day or two,' she consoled herself. 'Juliana will get her wish soon enough.'

She began to walk behind the pilgrim group, wincing as sharp pebbles bruised her feet. When living with her mother Janna had usually walked barefoot, for boots were a luxury, hard come by and cherished because of it. Both Janna and Eadgyth had possessed a pair of boots, but had carefully preserved them for winter wear or for long journeys to the marketplace. Now, after a year in the abbey, Janna was unused to walking unshod, but she knew her feet would toughen up over time. If she could bear it for that long!

She looked about for Winifred, hoping that the young woman's chatter would distract her from the pain of walking. But there was no sign of her. Janna glanced over her shoulder, and was just in time to see Winifred emerge from behind a dense clump of holly bushes. She looked embarrassed as she noticed that she'd been observed. Her steps faltered for a moment before she raised her chin and hurried towards Janna.

'A call of nature,' she said. 'Just in time, too! I thought that guard would never leave us in peace.'

Janna grinned in sympathetic understanding. 'I should have gone too,' she said, and looked about for some bushy cover of her own. Life on the road was proving harder than she'd expected, but she would learn from the experience and do what she could to make her journey easier.

To Janna's relief, for walking was becoming more and more painful, Bernard finally called a halt when they reached a smallholding on the outskirts of a hamlet. This was not as grand as the manor farmed by Hugh for his aunt, Dame Alice, but it looked prosperous enough, surrounded as it was by long strips of vegetables and grain ripening in the fields. A sizeable number of sheep grazed peacefully on open downland nearby, some accompanied by half-grown lambs. The smell from a pigsty wafted towards them, along with the sound of frenzied grunts and squeals. As they came closer, Janna noticed that a lad had emptied a slop pail into the trough and was watching the swine shouldering one another aside to get their share of the vegetable peelings and other waste matter that made up their daily fare.

A flock of geese swooped towards them, hissing a warning, pursued by a young goosegirl, who flapped her hands at the flock and shouted 'Shoo!' in a vain effort to draw them away.

Bernard stood his ground. 'Could you please fetch your master to us?'

She nodded and wheeled about, clicking her fingers for the geese to follow her. As she set off, the geese trundled after her, hostilities apparently in abeyance for the time being.

'I hope we may stay here for the night,' Bernard told the group. He bent solicitously over Juliana. 'How are you bearing up, Mother?'

'Well enough.' She looked up at her tall son. Janna could see the love in her eyes, but could sense also her fear. It was easy to dismiss the old woman as a crank yet it was obvious that she imagined the worst. It was also obvious that she believed Janna had some part to play in Bernard's downfall.

A cold frisson ran down Janna's spine. With an impatient shrug, she shook off her dark thoughts with the reassurance that she would not be with the pilgrim party for much longer. And yet it was true that there had been a death, albeit of a stranger, and as the result of an accident if Bernard was to be believed.

Another question cast a deeper chill. Were Bernard's fortunes tied in with the message he had removed from the body? She'd been with him when it was found; perhaps that was what Juliana had sensed. She stood, lost in thought, as Bernard negotiated with the farmer for accommodation and the provision of a meal for them all.

A trestle table was set up in the main room of the farmhouse, and benches placed about for them to sit on. The meal, when it was brought, was plain but plentiful. Janna gladly accepted a bowl of vegetable pottage and a hunk of bread from the farmer's wife. A jug of ale was set before them, along with several leather mugs that had been sealed with pitch to make them watertight. The ale was rather sour, but Janna drank it gratefully for it was a warm evening and she was thirsty after their walk.

The talk around the table began with expressions of shock at the death of the stranger Bernard had found, but quickly gave way to a buzz of speculation as to the fate of the hand of St James. No-one said openly that one of their own party might be responsible for the theft of the relic, but Janna noticed that the pilgrims continued to watch each other carefully. As newcomers to the group, it seemed that she and Winifred were the favoured culprits for the deed. There had been much whispering that stopped whenever they came close enough to overhear what was being said.

Winifred put her thoughts into words. 'They suspect us,' she said quietly, sounding weary and dispirited. 'I can feel it in the way they look at us, and the way they talk about us behind our backs.' She took a bite of bread and chewed thoughtfully for a moment, then picked up the mug she shared with Janna and drank some ale.

'It's hardly surprising,' Janna said, wondering why Winifred looked so downhearted. 'After making such a long journey together, they must all know each other quite well by now.'

'And they don't know us at all.' Winifred set the mug back on the table with a sigh. 'We have to convince them we're innocent of this crime.'

'I don't know how we do that. Telling them so won't make them believe us.' Unlike Winifred, Janna refused to feel downhearted about a situation that was not of her making. She looked about for the basket of bread, and was about to sign for it when she remembered she was no longer at the abbey. 'Could you pass me some more bread, please, Master Bernard?' she called. It seemed odd to be allowed to talk during a meal, to ask for what you wanted instead of making a sign. She took a bite of the hard, dark bread, then spooned up a mouthful of pottage to soften it. The bread didn't taste particularly good, but it was filling. Janna thought it had probably been made of rye rather than wheat.

She knew from her own experience of 'the hungry month' that peasants could starve at this time of the year, when wheat supplies were low but newly growing grain was not yet ready for harvest. She and her mother, often enough, had augmented their meagre fare with seeds gathered from hedgerows, ground and baked into a griddle cake with whatever else they could scavenge to fill their hungry bellies. She was grateful, now, that the farmer's wife had found food enough to spare for them. But the pilgrims had paid for the food and also for lodging overnight in the farmer's hall, and that should please their hosts. After some thought, Janna had handed a silver penny to Bernard and asked that it be used as her contribution for any accommodation they might require during the journey, with the promise of another should he deem it necessary. It was a pleasure, for once, to be able to pay her way instead of depending on charity.

With the meal over, the table was folded away and the farmer and his wife bade them goodnight. Janna dubiously surveyed the rush-covered floor of the hall. A cresset light had been left for the pilgrims to use when seeking the latrine pit outside before bedding down. Even in its dim glow Janna could see that the rushes had been laid for some time, and were discoloured with dust and dried mud, and strewn with unidentifiable scraps. She looked about for a cleaner patch to lie on, but could not find one. She sighed as, still fully clothed, she settled herself down. Her fine gown would not stay fine for so very long, not if this was to be their standard of lodging.

By common consent, the men had huddled on one side of the room while the women kept together on the other, but indeed the space was so small there was barely enough room for the two groups to stretch out without mingling. Janna watched Winifred carefully undo her girdle and purse and put them close to one side before wrapping a threadbare cloak around herself. Her hands bore the marks of scratches, some so deep they had drawn blood. Janna wondered what on earth the girl had been doing, for the scratches looked new, the dried beads of blood quite fresh. Had she been mortifying her flesh? Janna had heard talk of mortification in the abbey, how monks, and sometimes even nuns, flagellated themselves as punishment for sins both real and imaginary. But Winifred was not yet a nun, nor could she possibly have so much on her conscience that she must resort to such a practice. Surely not!

Janna remembered then Winifred's 'call of nature' and grinned to herself. Winifred must have chosen a particularly prickly spot in an effort to ensure that no-one might observe what she was about. And she probably bore painful scratches elsewhere about her person as testimony to her modesty!

With a faint sigh, Winifred settled down beside Janna. The girl's proximity reminded her, suddenly and sharply, of Agnes, who had shared her straw pallet with Janna on the first night she'd spent at Wiltune Abbey. The lay sister was the first friend Janna had ever known, and she missed her greatly, missed her irreverence and her sense of humour. Winifred seemed altogether too serious to promise much fun along the journey. But Janna consoled herself, once again, with the thought that she would not be with the pilgrim group for much longer – not unless there were more dead bodies and missing relics to be encountered along the way!

'God bless you this night, Janna.' Winifred's voice broke into her musing. Janna noticed that the young woman's girdle was now looped around her arm, and that she clutched the purse tight. It seemed that, just as the pilgrims didn't trust the newcomers to their party, neither did Winifred trust the pilgrims. What was so valuable that she needed to guard it so carefully? Or was the object fragile? Was she afraid she might squash it if she rolled over in her sleep?

'Good night, Winifred.' Janna closed her eyes, hoping that she would be able to fall asleep on the smelly, prickling straw. She told herself that the young girl's secrets were of no concern to her, yet her mind kept throwing up questions. What was in Winifred's purse that she guarded so carefully and kept so private? What was in the message carried by the dead man? And why did the pilgrims seem so out of sorts with one another?

THEY MADE UP some of the time they had lost on their second day of travel, although Janna found herself dropping further and further behind, walking slower than all of them as she tried to find a smooth way between the pebbles and rocks that strewed their path. But no matter how carefully she trod, or how heavily she leaned on her new hawthorn staff, still she winced with every step. Finally, when she could stand it no longer, she bent and eased on the tight shoes once more, then limped forward to catch up with the others.

It was not as hot as the previous day; gathering clouds spoke of the promise of rain later. Janna sighed at the thought and wished she had a cloak to protect her new gown from the ravages of the journey. As there was little she could do about it, other than to hope they found shelter before the rain came, she decided to ignore the problem, as well as her sore feet, and instead gave herself up to enjoyment of the journey. A riot of twining honeysuckle and wild roses scented the hedgerows. Lacy, white elderflowers, privet and creamy meadowsweet added their own fragrance to the air. Tall purple-pink spikes of foxglove and rosebay willow herb and the yellow stars of St John's wort added splashes of colour to grassy banks and green weeds. Fat bumblebees nuzzled among pale pink blackberry blossom, while gaudy butterflies and jewelled dragonflies flittered everywhere, busy about their purpose and content just to be.

Janna looked about her, automatically noting which plants were useful for healing and which for food, for only a few of them were merely decorative. She noticed clusters of red valerian, smelled the spicy scents of wood-sage and fennel. She itched to stop, to pick, to preserve them for future use, and smiled to herself, surprised to find how much she missed using her healing skills.

The farmer's wife had given them food for the journey, and they stopped to eat it on the path beside the cool, rushing river. Once more Janna found herself in the company of Ulf and Winifred. Her curiosity was fired as she noticed Winifred glance covetously at Ulf's pack. She decided to press the girl a little further.

'So what do you own, Winifred, that you seem so sure of your welcome when you come to Oxeneford?' she asked, thinking a direct question to the heart of the matter might catch her off-guard and prompt her to a more honest answer.

Winifred stiffened. 'Why . . . n-nothing,' she stammered, but Janna noticed her hand curve secretively around the purse dangling from her girdle as if to protect whatever was inside. 'It's but a . . . a small thing from my home, something to remind me of my family.'

Janna was sure Winifred was lying, yet she seemed also a little afraid. A devil of mischief stirred, and she determined to press it further. 'You said yourself that they would welcome you when they saw what you carried,' she reminded Winifred.

'I . . . I meant nought but that they would welcome me, mistress, for I am young and healthy, with strong, willing arms and the love of God in my heart.' The girl's cry rang out, passionate with conviction, and immediately Janna felt ashamed of her teasing.

'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I must have misunderstood what you said.'

'If you carried a holy relic, lass, you'd be welcome at any abbey.' Ulf gestured towards his pack with a sly expression.

Winifred dredged up a shaky smile. 'I know you have many fine treasures, Master Ulf, but I have no coin to give you in exchange for even the least of them.'

'Perhaps you should search for the hand of St James?' Ulf suggested. 'A pound of silver would also serve to open a door.'

Janna shot him a sharp look. Did he not know what his dog had done? Or didn't he care that he was deliberately leading Winifred astray, giving her false hope when there was none? Her rising opinion of the relic seller dropped several notches. It dropped even further as she noticed colour flood Winifred's cheeks, heard the note of hope in her voice as she breathed, 'Oh! Do you think, if I found the hand, I might claim a reward for it?'

'We've all been searched and it hasn't been found,' Janna said sharply, not wanting to encourage Winifred to hope for such a miracle.

'No reason why it shouldn't be found,' Ulf cut in. 'Someone must have it, after all. It wouldn't have been too hard to hide such a thing from the guard's view while the search was on. It could have been secreted inside a thick bush, perhaps, or even buried for a time.'

'Whoever claimed the reward would first have to find the hand – and how do you do that when the hand wasn't found by the guard when he searched us all? You'd have an awful lot of explaining to do,' Janna pointed out.

'Yes. Yes, you're right.' Winifred now looked thoroughly downcast and miserable.

'I wonder why the hand was taken,' Janna said thoughtfully, with a pointed glance at Ulf. 'For gain, do you think, to be sold on as a holy relic? Or did someone covet it for their own private worship? Could it have been an accident, perhaps?'

'Not an accident, no ways,' Ulf said cheerfully, seemingly blind to Janna's unspoken accusation. 'I saw the hand at the abbey. That is, I saw the reliquary in which it was kept. Whoever took the hand took it by design. And unless the thief intends to keep it forever, for her – or his – private worship, sooner or later it must be returned to Wiltune so that the reward may be claimed.'

Unless the hand had already served as a tasty feed for Brutus! Janna wondered how Ulf could maintain such an innocent expression. Surely he must know of it, for the dog had carried the thing in his mouth all the way from Wiltune.

'But you are right, mistress.' Ulf gave Janna a knowing wink before turning back to Winifred. 'Whoever returns the hand will have to answer how it came to be in her possession. She will have need of a very convincing story to escape punishment.'

'She?' It wasn't fair of Ulf to bolster Winifred's hopes in this way, to encourage her to keep looking for the relic in the hope of claiming the reward. Janna shot him a disapproving frown as she puzzled out how to force him to admit the truth.

'I saw Brutus eating something yesterday,' she said carefully.

'A dog that size, he eats all the time! Pity me having to find the means to feed him,' Ulf acknowledged cheerfully.

'Only I saw what it was that he'd been eating. It looked like a hand.' Janna paused, noticing that both Ulf's and Winifred's mouths had fallen open in shock. 'So I wondered, Ulf, if Brutus was dining on the missing hand of St James?'

Ulf froze into stillness. But Janna read the guilt on his face as his gaze slid sideways to Brutus then to Winifred and, finally, back to her. 'Why didn't you say summat before now? Why didn't you tell the guard what you'd seen?' he asked at last.

Janna shrugged. 'If it was the hand of St James, it was far too late to save it. There didn't seem any point in causing trouble for you.'

'That's kind of you, Janna.' Ulf hesitated. 'And the guard has gone now, so there's no point in stirring things up again. Don't you agree?' It seemed to Janna that he addressed this last remark to Winifred, who nodded eagerly.

Janna wondered if Ulf had a plan to get himself out of trouble, and perhaps help Winifred at the same time? Was he planning to find a 'hand' somewhere else? Could he and Winifred be conspiring in this together, working out how to share the reward?

Not liking where her thoughts were taking her, Janna rose, brushed the crumbs from her gown, and strode away from the pair. She was ready to scream with frustration. She hated secrets. They had blighted her life from the very beginning. If her mother had only told her the truth, hadn't kept so many things hidden from her, she wouldn't be here now, walking with the pilgrims and hoping for what might prove to be impossible. Instead, she'd be doing . . . what? The thought stopped Janna's angry questioning. Her life had changed forever because of her mother's pride, her stubbornness, her secrecy. It was because of her mother that she was on this quest to find her father; because of her mother that she was meeting new people, going to new places and learning so many new things instead of staying at home and marrying Godric as her mother had wanted her to do.

Godric! He'd stood by her after her mother had died, and after everyone else had turned against her. He'd told her that he loved her. They might well have wed if she hadn't insisted on setting out in search of her father. And she might well have regretted it if she had, Janna reminded herself fiercely. To marry the first man who had shown any interest in her without first finding out the secrets of her family, and without gaining any experience outside the narrow confines of the world she knew . . .

She shook her head. Far better to be here than there, she reassured herself. If she'd married Godric, she might always have wondered about her father and about the world outside her home. Yet she couldn't help thinking how sweet life with Godric might have been. They might even have had a child by now. Janna screwed up her face, trying to protect her heart against the painful recollection of Godric and Cecily together in the market square. Cecily was in Godric's life now, and Godric was lost to Janna for ever. Both Godric and Hugh were part of her past. It was time for her to forget about both of them.

Seeking distraction, Janna glanced back at Ulf and Winifred. If they were concocting a secret plan she wanted no part of it. She bent to pick up her staff and joined the other pilgrims who were now being roused by Bernard to continue their journey.

* * *

They made slow time in the afternoon. It was clear that Juliana was in pain, but she brushed away all offers of help. Even Bernard's offer to purchase a donkey for his mother as they passed through a small hamlet was met with a stern refusal. Janna knew what was behind Bernard's offer, and sympathised with it. Indeed she would have taken the donkey herself if she'd been able to afford it, anything to save her sore feet. She couldn't understand why Juliana was so determined to mortify herself.

A small-holding close to the rough track that threaded along the path of the river was their lodging for the night, and the pilgrims were glad to find it for a steady rain had begun to fall and they were keen to find shelter. But Bernard had to talk hard and fast, for the farmer and his wife were grudging with their hospitality. Perhaps, and more likely, they had little to share. A coin produced some dry, sour bread and a large bowl of thin gruel. Janna noticed that the pilgrims tucked in with good will. Obviously they were used to taking the rough with the smooth.

They were still at their repast when a loud bang on the door arrested their speech. In the silence that fell, they heard the sound of a horse's neigh. There was another loud bang. The farmer hastened to the door and opened it.

A young man stepped over the threshold, sweeping a dark green cloak from his shoulders as he came. He flapped it about, sending a shower of raindrops in all directions. He shook his head, reminding Janna of a wet dog trying to dry itself, and swiped his forearm across his face to blot the moisture with his sleeve. That done, he looked about him, registering the presence of the pilgrim group before turning his attention to the farmer, who had closed the door and now stood respectfully beside him.

'Do you have room for one more traveller, good sire?' the stranger asked.

'Yes indeed, my lord.' The farmer preened himself, obvi-ously flattered to be so addressed. Janna could understand why, for the farmer and his wife were barefoot and clothed in homespun whereas the stranger wore a red linen tunic which reached to his knees, with embroidery at its hem, neck and sleeves. His breeches were fitted, and were tucked into fine leather boots with pointed toes. He was tall, handsome and obviously a man of some substance.

His bearing and words confirmed it. 'My name is Ralph de Otreburne,' he said, and swept the party a low bow.

Bernard bowed in return before introducing himself and the pilgrim band to the stranger. ''Tis good to have shelter on a night like this,' he continued, as a sudden gust of wind swept through the hole in the roof, sending smoke billowing around the room in a choking cloud.

The man nodded in agreement and turned to the farmer. 'I need something to eat and so does my horse. Will you see to it?' He pulled a silver ha'penny from his purse and tipped it into the farmer's hand.

'Oh, indeed, sire. I'll see to it straight away.' The farmer's hand closed over the coin. 'My wife will find you something to eat,' he added, and gave her a meaningful glance.

After a moment's hesitation, Ralph de Otreburne seated himself by the fire to dry, while the farmer stashed the coin into the rough leather pouch at his waist and made a hasty exit. Bernard picked up a dish and ladled into it some of the gruel from the pot still sitting on the table. He handed it to Ralph, who inspected it dubiously before spooning some into his mouth. He pulled a face. Clearly, this was not what he was used to, nor was it to his liking. As he put down the spoon, the farmer's wife placed before him a trencher of bread and a dish of stew thick with chunks of white meat.

''Tis hare, sire, freshly caught only yesterday,' she said, with a shy bob of her head.

Ralph took an appreciative sniff. All eyes were on him as he spooned up a huge bite.

He noticed their stares. 'What is it?' he asked through a mouthful of bread and meat. At once everyone glanced away and began to talk among themselves. But Janna watched Ralph, and saw his gaze narrow as he assessed the remains of the meagre meal the pilgrims had shared.

'Mistress!' He summoned the farmer's wife with an imperious crook of the finger. 'Some more of this fine stew for my fellow travellers, if you please.' And he pulled another ha'penny from his purse and handed it over.

The farmer's wife bobbed a curtsy and hurried to do his bidding. Janna felt saliva seep into her mouth at the thought of the treat to come, and smiled appreciatively at their benefactor.

'Mistress Johanna, I believe?' He returned her smile. Janna was flattered that he had remembered her name. She felt a little shy as his eyes roamed from her face down to her silk gown. Here was someone else who might be gulled by her finery, but she wasn't going to tell him the truth about herself. Not yet, anyway! For she was busy conducting her own inspection, and she liked what she saw very much.