Pilgrim of Death: The Janna Chronicles 4

by Felicity Pulman

  “You have a brother in Oxeneford?”

  “Indeed. Walter is his name, and he is in the service of the empress – in a very minor capacity, of course.” In spite of his disclaimer, his face shone with pride. It was easy to see where his loyalties lay, and indeed, after meeting the empress at Wiltune Abbey, Janna shared his sentiments. But she couldn’t agree with Bernard’s proposed course of action.

  “Should you not open the message and read it? This man – ” she gestured at the messenger, “ – seemed to be traveling light and perhaps in some secrecy. Could the message be urgent, think you?”

  “Read a message meant for the empress?” Bernard sounded horrified at the very idea. He shook his head in vigorous denial. “No. My brother will know what to do with it.”

  “Should you perhaps travel on ahead of us then, Master Bernard, so that the message reaches the empress as soon as possible?”

  Bernard stood still for a moment, lost in thought. Then he shook his head once more. “I cannot leave now, Johanna. I undertook to escort our group to Santiago and see them safely home again.” His mouth firmed into a grim line for a moment. “It is my responsibility to see that justice is done,” he said quietly.

  With the echo of his mother’s words in her mind, Janna was about to question him further, but he shook his head. “I’ll say no more about the matter other than that the empress will have her message just as soon as I come home.”

  Closing off the conversation, Bernard began to search the man’s pack and scrip, looking for anything that might tell who he was. He was busy repacking the man’s belongings when the sudden snapping of twigs startled them both. Janna sprang to her feet. A spike of fear set her heart jumping. She looked to Bernard, seeking guidance.

  “Stay here!” he commanded, and moved toward the sound, staff held in front of him like a weapon.

  Janna was only too glad to do as she was bid. A dead man was one thing, but the thought that they’d misread the signs and that there might be a killer on the loose chilled her blood. The crackles in the undergrowth grew louder. Surely, if the man had been murdered, his killer would be long gone by now? She could hear Bernard’s voice. He was talking to someone. She strained her ears to listen, and realized it was not conversation she could hear. It was singing!

  The pilgrim emerged from the cover of trees and thick rushes, leading a fine black stallion by its reins and crooning softly into its ear. Their progress was slow for the horse limped badly. “Here’s the cause of this poor man’s death,” he called out when he noticed Janna’s anxious expression. “I expect the steed threw its owner at the same time it was lamed.” He gave the horse an absent-minded pat on the nose. “Perhaps the creature was affrighted by something. A snake slithering across its path, or a sharp rock jabbed into its hoof? I should say that it stopped without warning and our traveler broke his neck when he fell.”

  Bernard’s words brought Janna a measure of ease. The state of the corpse indicated that Bernard had the truth of the matter. She chided herself for her wild imaginings, and looked with pity at the ravaged body at her feet.

  “Come.” Bernard still held the reins, and now he took Janna’s arm to lead her away. “We must not alarm the others. Let us move upstream a little; we’ll stop there instead for our dinner.”

  Janna resisted the pressure of his hand, and the force of his will. “We can’t just leave him here,” she protested.

  Bernard gave an impatient shrug. “You have seen for yourself that there is nothing anyone can do for him now. I will report our finding at the next hamlet we come to, and make sure that someone brings a horse to transport the corpse back to Sarisberie.”

  “We have a horse, the man’s own mount. Surely we can take him with us to the next hamlet?” Janna hated the idea of leaving the body to the continuing attention of wild creatures and the gathering insect life. She wondered how such a kindly man as Bernard could be so callous.

  Her question was answered when he said, “I know not if the message carried by the dead man was important, but we must continue our journey without unnecessary delay. However, your suggestion is good. It may well be quicker to bring the body with us rather than try to describe the site to others, or even have to return in order to show where he lies. Pray you, Johanna, go back to our party. Tell them what’s happened, and lead them further upstream. There’s no need for anyone else to witness this distressing scene, except for Ulf. Will you ask him to come and help me wrap the dead man in his cloak and lift him onto his mount?”

  No need for Bernard to spell out why the body must be concealed from view. “Yes, I will.”

  Janna was about to hurry off when Bernard stayed her with one final instruction.

  “Say nothing of what we have found to anyone,” he said. “We live in anxious and difficult times. A man may say one thing to your face and quite another behind your back. That this letter is intended for the empress I have no doubt, but if there are any among us who favor the king’s cause there might well be a conflict of interest if it becomes known what I carry in my scrip. I would not risk that for anything, for I have taken it upon myself to ensure that the message is safely delivered. Give me your word that you will say nothing of this, or even that we know this man to have been the bishop’s messenger, Johanna. ’Tis better so.”

  “You have my word,” Janna promised, and set out to intercept the pilgrims before they came any closer.

  They greeted her news with anxious cries, but Janna quickly reassured them with the story that the horse must have shied in fright and unseated its owner. “An unlucky fall,” she told them. She gave an involuntary shiver and turned to Ulf. “Bernard asked that you go down to the river to help with the body.” Bernard hadn’t mentioned Morcar or Adam, and she noticed that neither of them volunteered their services. Adam stood beside Golde, scowling at everyone. Janna wondered anew why he stayed with the pilgrim band. He appeared to shun all overtures of friendship, although she’d observed that all the pilgrims, at some time or another, had made an effort to walk with him and engage him in conversation.

  Morcar and Golde began to walk on. Adam glowered after them but made no move to follow. “Adam?” Morcar stopped, obviously waiting for him to join them. Golde stopped too, and beckoned impatiently. Janna was stunned by the hatred on her face, which quickly smoothed into a smile as she realized that she was being watched.

  “Adam,” she cooed, soft as a turtledove calling to its mate. The sullen pilgrim shouldered his pack and shambled reluctantly toward them.

  Shrugging aside her curiosity, Janna followed the band upriver. The pilgrims lost no time in slaking their thirst at the first suitable site they found. Janna noticed they used their tin badges to scoop up the water, the scallop shells making a more handy cup than bare hands. Having drunk their fill, they unwound their traveling cloaks and spread them onto the grass. Janna’s stomach growled in hunger as she watched the party delving into packs and bringing out hunks of bread and cheese. With a sigh of regret, she walked to the river and crouched beside it. She could still feel the touch of the dead man, still smell his decaying flesh on her fingers. She thrust her hands into the cool, rushing water and picked up a handful of river sand. This she rubbed between her palms and through her fingers, scrubbing away all trace of the corpse. She repeated the procedure several times before, finally satisfied, she cupped her hands together to drink her fill.

  Shadows flicked and darted in deeper pools; a large trout shot into the sheltering growth of green watercress as Janna reached out to grab it. She muttered a curse under her breath, and instead, plucked a handful of cress, which she chewed while she waited for the trout to show itself once more. But the wily trout stayed hidden. Finally, Janna gave up and rose to her feet. She looked about for somewhere to sit, somewhere clean enough not to soil her pretty blue gown. She was beginning to appreciate the advantages of rough homespun and a stout pair of sandals.

  She spotted a fallen tree trunk in the shade, and sat down. Wincing, she ea
sed off her slippers and flexed her toes, noticing that they were already bloodied and blistered. She knew she couldn’t bear to put the pretty shoes on again, and resigned herself to walking barefoot after all – like a penitent, a true pilgrim. She didn’t feel like a penitent, for she’d done little in her life that she truly regretted. And she’d been long enough in the abbey to hope that God was a merciful and forgiving father; long enough too, to understand that the rules and restrictions the nuns lived under stemmed mostly from the Rule of St Benedict and others like him, and had little to do with the will of God Himself. Or so she believed. So had her mother also believed, Janna thought, as she recalled Eadgyth’s words: “You don’t need to go to church when God’s great cathedral is all around you.”

  With the sound of her mother’s voice in her ears, Janna looked about. A beautiful blue demoiselle dragonfly hovered over a bright patch of yellow flag close to the glinting, rushing water. Lusty bulrushes grew in thick clumps at the water’s edge, but she could see also creamy meadowsweet and the pale blue flowers of water forget-me-not. Sunlight slanted through the deep green of the trees, casting pebbles of gold upon the grass. A lone cuckoo called. Janna remembered her mother telling her that if she began to run, and counted the cuckoo’s cries until she was out of earshot, she would add as many years to her life as she heard the cuckoo call. She smiled at the memory of how eagerly she had run about. If the story was true, she would live to a grand old age indeed! But for now she felt too lazy to move. Instead she leaned back and watched birds swooping about the treetops as they visited their nests and fed their young. On the ground, sparrows hopped ever closer to the pilgrims, keeping a careful watch for stray crumbs.

  Janna felt the tension ease from her shoulders, a tension she wasn’t aware she carried until it slipped away. She took a deep breath and then another, firming her resolve to leave behind all the cares of her childhood, and move forward with a steady purpose to whatever might await her at Ambresberie. The way to understanding her mother’s past had been shown to her. At last she was coming close to unraveling the secret of her father’s identity. With his help, she would fulfill her quest to bring him home to Berford to ensure that a killer was brought to justice for her mother’s death.

  She sat forward and watched Bernard leading the horse toward them, a long bundle tied up in a cloak across its back. Questions raced through Janna’s mind. Who was the dead man, and what was in the message he carried? Why was he wearing his cloak when the days were so warm? She sighed with impatience. Bernard was a good man, and a kindly one, but she wished he had a keener sense of curiosity! If she’d been alone and first on the scene, she would have slit the seal and read the message, on the grounds that she needed that information to know how best to proceed. As it was…Janna gave another sigh, acknowledging that she might never know, for she would be leaving the group at Ambresberie, long before Bernard could deliver it into the safe hands of his brother.

  “Would you like to share my bread and cheese, mistress?” Janna looked up at the relic seller, admiring his persistence. She was too hungry to refuse his offer, so she accepted a hunk of bread with heartfelt thanks.

  “This is Brutus,” Ulf said, noticing Janna’s involuntary shift backward as his hound flopped down near their feet and began to gnaw on the bone it had been carrying in its mouth.

  “Is he a large dog or a small horse?”

  “He’s an alaunt, a hunting dog. I’ve had him since he was a puppy. I, er, swapped him for a…”

  “An eyelash belonging to some saint? Or a toenail or tooth, perhaps?”

  Ulf gave a small huff of amusement. “Nowt so fine. He was the runt of the litter and sickly with it. No-one really wanted him. I must say, I had no idea he was going to grow so big.” He spread his cloak on the ground and sat down beside Janna. They ate in companionable silence for a while, although Janna suspected it was only a matter of time before Ulf kept his promise to show her the relics in his pack. He seemed in no hurry to do so, nor did the pilgrims seem in any hurry to move onward, for several had followed Juliana’s example and were stretched out upon their cloaks with their eyes closed. Morcar, a rather rotund personage with a bushy beard and moustache, had already begun to snore, fluttering the luxuriant growth on his upper lip with every breath he expelled.

  Janna had to admit that she was curious to see what Ulf carried. Coming from so far away as Galicia, there was bound to be something exotic among his treasures. She turned to meet his bright, expectant gaze. “All right, then, you’d better show me what you’ve got.”

  He laughed. “I thought curiosity would win over caution,” he said. “You’ll be amazed, I’m sure, when you see what I have.”

  “Go on, then. Amaze me.”

  Needing no second invitation, the pilgrim opened his pack. Juliana stirred into wakefulness, and she and Golde drifted over to see what he was about. Winifred came with them. Wide-eyed, she held a hand to her heart as she waited while Ulf unrolled a linen sheath. Janna longed to sound a warning, but knew she could not. For all she knew, the relics might indeed be genuine, although she doubted it. She reassured herself with the thought that it was unlikely Winifred would have coins enough to exchange for a relic, even if she had the will to do so.

  “And what is that?” Janna asked, as a scrap of dirty blue fabric was revealed.

  “This is one of my most holy relics.” Ulf crossed himself and bent to kiss the fragment of cloth. “This comes from the gown of our Lady Mary, Virgin Mother of our Lord, Jesus Christ.”

  Janna’s eyes widened. There was a startled gasp from Winifred. The other pilgrims pressed closer. “And here.” Ulf picked up a lock of dark hair. “This comes from the very head of St James himself. It was given me by one of the guardians of the saint’s shrine.” Janna leaned closer to see it better. She was willing to wager her life that this, at least, wasn’t real, for any hair over a thousand years old would long since have crumbled into dust. Unless it really was…?

  No! Janna chided herself for being so gullible. Ulf’s glance slanted sideways to Janna’s face and read there her mistrust. He rolled up the linen sheath and swiftly produced another to take its place. “A tooth from the head of St John the Baptist,” he announced defiantly, scowling at Janna as she gave a gurgle of amusement.

  Golde picked up the tooth and inspected it. “How much?” she demanded.

  “It’s not for sale!” Ulf sounded so shocked that Brutus gave a sharp bark. With a swift word of apology, Golde dropped it on the linen pad and hastily retreated. “But as it’s you, and for an offering…?” Ulf amended hurriedly, and held out the sacred object.

  Golde shook her husband awake, and muttered in his ear. Looking surly, he heaved himself upright and fumbled in his scrip for a penny. He ventured forward, keeping a cautious eye on Brutus as he did so, and placed the coin in Ulf’s hand. Ulf continued to watch him expectantly. With a sigh, the pilgrim extracted a ha’penny. Ulf drew the linen sheath closer to his chest, a slight movement which Golde correctly interpreted. She gave her husband a sharp dig in the ribs. Reluctantly, he pulled out another ha’penny, slapped the coins into Ulf’s palm and, in one swift movement, scooped up the linen sheath and rolled the tooth safely into it.

  Golde took the small bundle from Morcar and placed it into her own purse. She smiled at Ulf, well pleased with the deal. And Ulf returned her smile, obviously delighted by a transaction that must have exceeded his greatest expectations.

  “I’ve saved the best until last,” he said. All the pilgrims were gathered around now, even Adam, although a faint sneer curled his lip as he watched the proceedings. This time Ulf pulled a small, ornately carved box from his scrip. The polished wood shone in the shafts of sunlight, as did the gold clasps that secured the lid.

  Curious in spite of her skepticism, Janna leaned forward to peer inside as Ulf opened the lid. The box contained a small and weathered splinter of wood. Janna shot an enquiring glance at Ulf. “Am I amazed yet?” she asked.

  He grinn
ed. “You should be. This comes from the Holy Rood, the True Cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, our Savior.”

  A voice cut in swiftly, before Janna had a chance to express her opinion.

  “What pri – offering would you accept in exchange for that?”

  Ulf turned to face the bidder. It was Juliana, her wrinkled old face eager as she reached out a hand for the box. Ulf hesitated, then held it out to her. Janna liked him a little more for his reluctance to hoodwink the old lady as he said, “You may give me what you will, my lady, and may God bless you and give strength to your limbs.”

  “You don’t want to believe everything Ulf tells you, Mother.” Bernard had come to her side. He tried to take the box from Juliana’s grasp, but she hung on fiercely.

  “Look to your own affairs,” she hissed at him. She tucked the box securely under her armpit, and opened her purse. Bernard’s scowled, but he kept silent as his mother extracted several silver coins, which she poured into Ulf’s palm. Janna watched the transaction with interest, impressed by the casual way in which Juliana had handed over what amounted to a small fortune. Even Ulf seemed taken aback, although he accepted the coins willingly enough.

  So Juliana was not impoverished; she could well have afforded the luxury of a mount to carry her to Compostela and back again. Given how painful walking was for her, this must indeed be a journey of true repentance. Janna wondered what this respectable old lady could have done to warrant such penitence. Could she have been caught dealing in stolen goods? Or running a bawdy house, perhaps? Did she own slaves, which was now against the law? Increasingly bizarre scenarios kept Janna entertained as Ulf secured his pack and put it away. He seemed a little subdued. Janna wondered if he was genuinely fond of the old lady and if there were limits to whom he would cheat.

  With the entertainment over, the pilgrims drifted away. Wordlessly, Ulf handed Janna a leather bottle filled with ale, which she declined with thanks, having drunk her fill at the river. “Was that real, that sliver of wood?” she asked.