Willows for Weeping (18 page)

'I want to come with you.'

'Nay, lass!' Janna was about to argue, but Ulf spoke over her. 'I promise I will report everything that Adam says to me, if that's what's on your mind. But don't you come. Indeed, I doubt you'd be given permission to visit Adam. A prison is no place for a woman.'

* * *

'It's as you were told,' Ulf reported, some time later. 'Adam denies the charge most vehemently. He also denies all knowledge of any letter. His scrip and pack were taken from him, he says, so we have no way of telling whether or no he speaks the truth. But he claims he had no intention of breaking his pledge for the priest had given his word that he would receive absolution on his return from Compostela. Which in itself is an admis-sion of guilt, even if Adam doesn't realise the full import of what he said. He told me that he woke in the night and saw that Bernard was gone. No-one else was watching him. He says the temptation to break his pledge was too great, and so he made a run for it. He also says he regrets it, that it was a stupid thing to do, for he encountered nowt but trouble on the road. He was severely beaten and robbed by bandits on one occasion, and suffered great hunger and thirst and discomfort all the while. Not that his dungeon is an improvement!' Ulf shuddered at the memory. 'It stinks, but that's hardly surprising. The straw is filthy with human waste, and there are all manner of creatures down there, including rats and blood-sucking insects.'

Janna felt her skin crawl. 'Do you believe Adam?'

Ulf nodded slowly. 'In this, aye, I do. But I believe also that he was responsible for Golde's father's death, so he is guilty of one murder at least. After I'd spoken to him, I questioned the guard about his belongings and about the letter, but the guard said he knew nowt about any of it. Not that I believe him, but there's nowt we can do about it, I'm afraid.'

Was Ulf telling the truth? Janna resolved to keep close watch on the relic seller, just in case he'd managed to get hold of the letter. But Bernard's murder was something else again. She wished she knew the truth behind it. Had he been murdered for his belongings, as everyone supposed? Or was the letter at the heart of everything that had happened? She told herself that the truth would surely come out once Juliana arrived and the shire reeve questioned Adam in her presence. But she suspected that, guilty or not, Adam would be held until such time as someone else was apprehended. And that was unlikely to happen, not while a suspect was already under guard.

* * *

In her free time – when not keeping costumes and props in good repair, or helping with other chores – Janna went explor-ing. The jongleurs were housed in the outer bailey. They shared a shed with their horse and cart, along with the cage of white doves and other props used in their performances. Also in the outer bailey were the barns, sheds, workplaces and dwellings of the craftsmen, artisans and others who served both the castle and the cathedral. The huge stone cathedral stood on the far side of the outer bailey, its high tower dwarfing even the castle keep. The bishop's palace was set close by, along with the houses of the clergy. Janna soon became known to the gatekeeper and passed freely between the outer and inner baileys. She enjoyed her solitary rambles and her glimpses into lives entirely different from anything she'd ever known.

One afternoon, the jongleurs were invited to the steps of the cathedral to entertain the resident canons and other clerics after their dinner. Janna was amused to notice that there were some changes to the repertoire. Master Thomas recited some laisses from The Song of Roland, which were well received. The death of Roland was particularly poignant, to such a degree that several clerics were seen to surreptitiously wipe tears from their eyes afterwards. On this occasion, there were no songs of cuckoos and summer or of love lost and found. Instead, Faldo's high, clear voice rang out in a chant that Janna hadn't heard before. The tune was familiar but the last time she'd heard it, the song had told of a faithless mistress and a vengeful lover. She couldn't understand what Faldo sang now, but his quiet reverence and formal stance told her that the song had been adapted for its new audience.

'Stella maris, semper clara,

Rosa munde, res miranda,

Misterium mirabile
,' he warbled.

Another chant followed. Unlike the castle audience, a solemn silence prevailed during their performance, although one of the clerics kept humming under his breath, providing a somewhat tuneless accompaniment to the jongleurs.

The cathedral was almost as sumptuous as the castle, Janna thought, as she walked into the nave after the performance was over. Huge stone pillars were set at intervals down the aisles, soaring up to a shining marble ceiling high above her head. The walls were decorated with red porphyry and green marble while the floor was fashioned of alternate slabs of white and green stone. Gold and silver chalices, candlesticks and other precious objects adorned the altar, gleaming in the light that streamed through the delicate stone tracery of the numerous windows. She bowed her head and made a reverence, feeling nostalgia as she recalled the abbey at Wiltune and the sisters who had both befriended and shared their knowledge with her.

A sudden barking cough broke the silence and she looked about for its source. It was Ulf, with streaming nose and bleary eyes that spoke of his discomfort. Horehound and liquorice, Janna thought, automatically naming the herbs most useful for such a malady. But she had no herbs, nor the means to make up any remedy. It irked her to feel so useless. Neverthe-less, she spoke to Goda when they returned to the castle precinct, and a farthing changed hands. If she couldn't make up a nostrum herself, she could at least make use of the healer at the castle. She took a cautious sniff and then a small sip of the potion when it was placed into her hands, for she was interested to find out what was in it. She pulled a face, surprised how bitter it tasted. It was not made up to a recipe she would have used, but she thought it would serve well enough.

She went off to find Ulf, pleased that she'd found something to give him by way of a peace offering. Although she'd watched him carefully since she'd told him to go his own way and leave her alone, his behaviour had in no way changed, while his courtesy and care made her feel uncomfortable about her continuing suspicion. She hoped that the gift might help to soothe her uneasy conscience.

'For you,' she said, and pressed the leather bottle into his hands.

'Me?' His eyebrows lifted in surprise.

'For the rheum that troubles you. And the cough. Take a sip now and another before you sleep tonight.'

'That's kind of you, lass. Very kind.' Ulf took a hearty swallow, and pulled a wry face. No liquorice and not enough honey. Janna grimaced in sympathy.

'It would have tasted better if I'd made it,' she told him.

'You know summat about such things?' Ulf looked at her with sharpened interest.

Janna nodded. 'I miss not being able to use my knowledge,' she said, and knew that it was true.

* * *

Having finally exhausted all opportunities at Sarisberie, the jongleurs eventually set off on the old Roman road that led to Winchestre. Janna's spirits rose high with the realisation that she was at last on the way to achieving her quest.

True to his word, Ulf's relics sometimes opened doors that otherwise would have remained closed to them. Several of their hosts made generous donations in return for the various precious objects he pulled out of his bag. Janna wondered what he'd do once his supplies ran out. Recalling his frequent absences at night, she realised that the possibility was unlikely.

Janna was glad for the long days of walking, for they gave her time to talk to Ralph, time to get to know him better – although most of their time together was spent under Ulf's watchful eye or with Faldo, who was always a lively companion. But Janna was content to take things slowly. She treasured the time spent with Ralph, and knew that he took whatever opportunity he could to keep her company. She found him remarkably well informed on the doings of the royal court and the wealthy noblemen who were part of it. While she kept her own counsel about her preference for the empress, she couldn't resist questioning him about court life. She found it fascinating, being so far removed as it was from her own experience.

'How do you know so much about all these people?' she asked him one day.

He laughed. 'In Winchestre, everyone knows everything – and what they don't know, they make up! I found things were no different at Sarisberie.'

'So what you're telling me isn't necessarily the truth?'

Ralph looked a little taken aback. 'I thought you'd like to hear all the gossip, whether it's true or no?' He grinned at her. 'For instance, I hear the empress has not given up her fight for the crown. It seems her chief supporter, the Earl of Gloucestre, has come from Oxeneford to Winchestre to see the bishop.'

'Does the Earl of Gloucestre hope to get the bishop back on side with the empress?'

'Why do you say that?' Ralph looked suddenly serious.

Janna cautioned herself to be careful lest she reveal where her loyalty lay. 'Don't you remember what that young boy told us at Stonehenge?'

'Of course. But he was talking of a mere difference of opinion, no more than that. The bishop has pledged his loyalty to the empress, remember.'

'So why should the earl need to visit him then?'

Ralph gave a small chuckle of amusement. 'The empress alienated many of her subjects when she came to London. She made promises which she has broken. Worse, she imposed a large tax on the Londoners, and would not hear their pleas when they told her they were unable to pay. And she has dealt harshly with some of her supporters, who might well have expected more preferential treatment from her. I suspect the Earl of Gloucestre is worried that she has lost some of her key supporters. Certes, she's in a less favourable position now than she was before ever she came to London.'

Janna tried to conceal her alarm at his words. 'And where does the bishop stand in this?'

'He knows the Londoners, and can advise the earl.'

'So Robert of Gloucestre comes to discuss with him how to make sure the empress secures the throne?' Janna asked carefully.

'Yes.' Ralph gave a wolfish grin. 'I expect that's exactly why he has come.' There was a dangerous glint in his eyes that Janna found exciting. Yet Ralph's words had disturbed her too, for she sensed in them some unnamed threat towards the empress.

'So,' Ralph continued, 'what do you think the outcome of their talks will be?'

'It's not safe to have an opinion, remember? You taught me that!'

'In truth, it's good advice.' He nodded gently. 'So, if you won't give me your opinion on affairs of state, tell me some more about yourself instead.' He tucked Janna's arm through his and they walked on while he questioned her about her early life and, in turn, told Janna something about his own family.

They stopped for a rest several miles beyond a small hamlet. Ralph's palfrey had thrown a shoe and, after some conversation with Master Thomas, he decided to walk it back to the hamlet where there was known to be a blacksmith, rather than taking his chances further on. The jongleur assured Ralph that they would await his return before moving on. Faldo unhitched the cart horse to roam free in search of fodder, while the jongleurs untied the sack of food they'd cadged from their hosts of the night before, and sat down to make a hearty dinner.

As they all drowsed in the heat of the day, Janna dreamily thought back on her conversation with Ralph. He'd told her that his father was dead, but that his mother lived in a hamlet north of Winchestre, along with his two sisters. Both of them were wed, and he was uncle to a little boy and two little girls. There had been great love in his voice as he spoke of his family, as he described to her the games he played with his nieces and nephew. It thrilled Janna to think that he could show so much care for his own. And he'd shown his care for her too, she thought, remembering how he'd tried to shield her from the sight of Bernard's body. How close he had held her, how protective he'd been. The memory of how gently he'd kissed her, and the strength with which he'd gripped her hand, brought warmth and a spiralling hope that indeed their relationship had grown into a love that would last through time.

A prick of unease touched Janna momentarily as she recalled that Ralph had not said exactly what it was that he did for a living, if living he needed to find. Nor had he said anything more of his reason for visiting Oxeneford, the property he thought might be at risk and that perhaps was the basis of his livelihood.

Not that he ever said all that much about himself. Indeed he seemed far more interested in finding out everything about her. Janna had described their cottage close to the forest and how she'd learned from her mother about herbs and healing. While she hadn't told him all the circumstances of her mother's death, she'd made him laugh with her tales of life at Wiltune Abbey: the irreverence of her friend, Agnes, and the pet-keeping habits of the nuns that had led to so much trouble.

There seemed no end to Ralph's curiosity, and she revelled in it. They were becoming closer every day, had even stolen another kiss. Only a slight brushing of lips before they were interrupted by Ulf, yet what promise that kiss had held! Janna knew that Ralph would kiss her again, and properly next time. He was only waiting until they were free of the company of Ulf and the jongleurs. In the meantime, the anticipation of his kisses was part of the thrill of being with him.

She lay back on the grass, her mind full of Ralph and of the future. She'd never met anyone like him before. There was a wicked twinkle in his eyes that intimated there were secrets he could tell her, if only she could find the key to them. She longed to hear him speak directly of what was in his heart, yet she feared that he might never forgive her once he found out what she'd concealed from him. It hung heavy on Janna's conscience that she'd never told Ralph about the bishop's letter, yet she couldn't forget her promise to Bernard to keep it secret. If there was love, then surely there should also be trust? She should trust Ralph with the truth. But she was fairly sure that Ralph did not share her sympathy with the empress's cause, and she did not want to risk causing a rift between them, at least not until the empress was safely on the throne and it no longer mattered whose side Ralph was on. The knowledge that Bernard had recognised the bishop's seal on the letter strengthened her resolve. There could be no possible connection between the dead man and Ralph's cousin who seemed to have disappeared without trace. Besides, the bishop's letter was gone. She had nothing to show Ralph, nor any responsibility to do anything more. In fact, and the thought cheered Janna greatly, she might not need to mention the message at all. It mattered not, now, what the bishop had written to the empress. The Earl of Gloucestre had come to Winchestre, and the bishop would tell him in person whatever it was that he'd wanted the empress to know.