Pilgrim of Death: The Janna Chronicles 4

by Felicity Pulman

  Seeking distraction, she glanced back at Ulf and Winifred. If they were concocting a secret plan to defraud the abbess, 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. Clearly, 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 sympathized with it. She couldn’t understand why Juliana was so determined to mortify herself. Indeed she might have taken the donkey herself just to save her sore, torn feet if she wasn’t keen to hoard her coins.

  A small-holding close to the rough track that threaded along 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 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 traveler, good sire?” the stranger asked.

  “Yes indeed, my lord.” The farmer preened himself, obviously 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 that 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. “We are blessed 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.

  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.

  “Indeed, my lord. I’ll see to it straightaway.” 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 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 the pilgrims glanced away and began to talk among themselves. But Janna watched as Ralph assessed the remains of the meager 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 travelers, 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 silky gown. Here was someone else who might be gulled by her finery, but she wasn’t going to tell him the truth about herself. At least, not yet. She was busy conducting her own inspection, and she liked what she saw very much. Ralph wore his fair hair long, and sported a mustache and a short beard. His eyes were the blue of a summer sky. Something about his expression and demeanor told Janna that this was a man of courage, of daring. He would not be put off once he set his mind to something, even if it took him to the limits of his strength and endurance, even if it led him to the very gates of Hell itself.

  She shook her head and told herself not to be so fanciful. Yet the impression lingered as she watched the stranger return to his meal, breaking bread with long, strong fingers and stuffing it into his mouth.

  “So you are pilgrims?” he asked the company at large.

  “Indeed, sire.” Bernard answered for them all. “We have walked the pilgrim path to Santiago de Compostela, and are now on our way home to Oxeneford.”

  Ralph nodded thoughtfully. “You will have seen many signs and wonders on your travels, I am sure.”

  “Indeed we have, sire.” Bernard stared into the distance. His face took on a dreamy thoughtfulness as he continued, “The Camino is marked in places with a cross, and sometimes the scallop shell sign of the saint, but often it was hard to know which fork in the road to take. Yet always there was a sign, a light perhaps, or a tolling bell, or even a passing traveler to guide us.” He took the scallop shell badge from his hat and held it out for Ralph’s inspection. “We wear these in honor of St James, who is known as Santiago,” he said. “These lines, spread out like a hand, symbolize the work – both charitable and physical – that a pilgrim should undertake. But we were also told another story about the shells.”

  He paused to focus his thoughts, and to be sure his audience was fully attentive, before resuming. “It’s said that, a long time ago, a rich pilgrim coming to the shrine was pursued by bandits. There was a storm, the man’s horse was exhausted and could go no faster, and the bandits were closing in on him. He could see the glint of their knives and knew they would show no mercy if they caught him, for he was unarmed.

  “He urged on his poor, exhausted horse, knowing his only hope was to outpace the bandits, for there was no turning or possibility of escape. The path he traveled followed the coastline high above the sea, with a steep drop on one side and a high rocky wall on the other. Suddenly the ground gave way, and he and his horse plunged over the cliff into the sea.

  “The bandits were sure he could not survive such a fall, and so they turned and left him. Shortly afterward, and still mounted on his horse, the pilgrim emerged safely from the water onto a nearby beach. He was covered in scallop shells! Ever since then, the scallop shell has become a symbol of life and of the Camino and St James.

  “But that is only one of the many wondrous tales we heard as we walked the Camino. On another occasion…”

  As Bernard told the stories, Janna watched Ralph. She had the feeling that his mind was on other, more pressing matters, for he seemed distracted, only bobbing his head or making some noise in his throat when a comment was called for. She wondered why he was abroad this foul evening. But it was some time before Bernard’s travel stories came to an end and she could fit a word
in.

  “And what is the purpose of your journey, my lord?” she asked respectfully.

  He turned his amused gaze upon her. “Why, I am also going to Oxeneford.”

  “We have our own saint there too, of course,” Bernard interposed. “Many pilgrims come to visit St Frideswide’s holy well.”

  “And that is the purpose of my visit,” Ralph said. “I am a simple pilgrim, just as you are.” He looked to Janna as he answered her question.

  “But the lady is not a pilgrim, sire. You mistake her,” Bernard observed.

  Ralph continued to watch Janna. “Why, then, do you travel with pilgrims, mistress?” he asked softly.

  She felt a momentary alarm, until commonsense told her that Robert of Babestoche had no way of knowing her whereabouts, or even that she’d left the abbey. She could feel herself coloring under Ralph’s steady regard. “I have my own reasons,” she told him, not prepared to divulge either her purpose or her true destination.

  Something flitted across Ralph’s face, an expression that Janna found hard to interpret. Curiosity? Suspicion? “And it is safer to walk with pilgrims than to take to the road on your own,” he said. “I trust you travel in peace and comfort?”

  Janna wondered if there was more to his enquiry than mere courtesy. “Not in comfort,” she admitted ruefully. She had pulled off her slippers at the earliest opportunity, and now she glanced down at her sore feet before returning her regard to the newcomer.

  “Nor in peace! We’ve encountered nothing but trouble since these two young women joined us,” said Bernard, with a wide sweep of his arm that also encompassed Winifred, who sat beside Janna.

  “I hope you’re not blaming Winifred or me for any of it, Master Bernard,” Janna said, not wanting the stranger to get the wrong idea.

  “No blame to you at all, mistress,” Bernard said hastily.

  “Trouble?” The stranger cocked his head and raised an eyebrow.

  “The first thing we encountered was a dead man lying close to the river. And his horse grazing nearby, lamed,” Bernard explained. “But that wasn’t the end of the alarums, not by any means! No sooner had we stumbled across the corpse than we were pursued by a guard from Wiltune Abbey. It seems that a relic was stolen – ”

  “A dead man?” the stranger interrupted. “But…how did he come to die?”

  “Broke his neck when his horse reared and threw him, I suspect,” said Bernard.

  “But why did his horse rear? Was he attacked? Were there bandits about?”

  “On the road, maybe, but none down by the river. I searched the area but all I found was the horse. It was limping. Startled by a snake perhaps, or a sharp stone under its hoof?” Bernard gestured toward Janna. “You were there as witness, mistress. You saw what I saw. Wouldn’t you agree that’s how it was?”

  Janna, thus pressed, had to say that yes, she did agree.

  “Could you identify the man? Did you know him?”

  “I have never seen him before. None of us knows who he was.”

  “Surely he carried papers? Something to identify him?”

  Bernard shook his head. “We searched his possessions but found nothing to tell us his name.” It was no more nor less than the truth, Janna thought. And if Bernard was keeping to his promise of secrecy about the message, then so would she. After all, he had invited her to join their group and had given her a warm welcome. She trusted him, and trusted his judgment.

  Ralph turned an enquiring glance on Janna. She shrugged. None of them knew who Ralph supported: the empress or the king. Nor did they know where he’d come from or why he seemed so interested in the dead man. Better, she thought, to keep silent.

  But it seemed no more than a casual enquiry after all, for Ralph turned back to Bernard. “I beg your pardon,” he said. “I allowed my interest in the fate of an unfortunate traveler to interrupt what you were saying about the theft of a relic?”

  Janna admired his courtesy, while acknowledging there was a great deal else to admire about Ralph. He met her gaze once more, and gave her a wicked grin. Janna risked a quick, shy smile before looking away. She felt sure that he suspected they hadn’t told him everything, for there was such knowing in his eyes. A man of courage and daring, yes, but perhaps also a man of secrets.

  She became aware that Juliana was watching them closely, her face closed tight as a trap. Janna stood up and walked across to the old woman and sat down beside her. Juliana was trembling. Janna reached out a comforting hand.

  “What ails you, my lady?” she asked. “Is there aught I can do to help you?”

  “There’s naught anyone can do, for it has begun.” Juliana turned to her and Janna read the fear in her eyes. She gripped Juliana’s hand tightly, trying to pour her young strength and courage into the feeble body.

  “All will be well,” she said. “Pray tell your son of your concern for him. Ask him to take care. Tell him that you watch over him. Tell him we shall all keep watch.”

  “It’s too late for warning. He won’t listen to me.” Juliana moistened her lips with her tongue. “When I first spoke of my fear for his safety, Bernard told me that our lives are as candles to the breath of God. We may burn bright and steady, sure in our purpose, or we may flicker feebly in the darkness of self-doubt. But our end is always at God’s will. And he said that whenever God called him, he would be ready.” Her voice sharpened in anguish. “But I will never be ready! I will never be ready to lose my son!”

  At a loss for words, Janna sat beside Juliana for the remainder of the meal, and lay down beside her when it was time to take their rest. The small room was stuffy and airless, and reeked of the smell of unwashed bodies and wet clothes, farts and old food, and smoke from the half-doused fire. She itched and scratched, knowing that fleas and lice and probably bedbugs too had found a home in the dirty straw that covered the floor. She turned restlessly, finding it impossible to settle to sleep. Finally, she rose and cautiously threaded her way through the recumbent bodies to the closed door of the farmstead.

  She pushed it open and stepped outside, taking a deep and grateful gulp of fresh, cool air. It had stopped raining. The clouds were shifting, showing scatters of stars through their ragged hems. In the faint moonlight she could make out the dark shape of a barn and the humped shadows of animals. She decided to go in search of somewhere quiet and solitary to sleep: a dry patch of grass under a tree, or better still, a bed of hay in the barn.

  She was about to close the door behind her when she felt a pressure against her hand. The door opened wider, and the stranger stepped quickly over the threshold. He grinned and put his finger to his lips as he quietly closed the door behind him. Still with his finger to his lips, he took Janna’s hand and led her a little way from the hall and the sleepers inside.

  “Did you follow me?” Janna demanded, when Ralph came to a stop and released her. He made no answer, but instead leaned a shoulder against the side of the barn, seeming quite at ease in spite of her accusation. She could hardly see his face in the dim light, but thought he might be smiling.

  “What do you want? Did you follow me?” she asked again, her tone sharp with underlying fear.

  “I could lie and say no, but why should I hide the truth?” he answered quietly. “Yes, mistress, I followed you. Many men would, if given half the chance.”

  Janna drew a breath, trying to gather her courage. “Then I shall go back inside where there is company and protection, should I need it.” She had been ambushed once before, and by a man with murder on his mind. She had avoided harm on that occasion; she might not be so fortunate next time. Were Ralph’s words meant as mere flattery or did he, like the assassin before him, desire her death as well as her body? He had taken up a position between her and the farmhouse. She would have to get past him to reach her fellow travelers. Or she could scream.

  “I mean you no harm, Johanna,” he said quickly, to reassure her. “My words were meant as a compliment.”

  “You don’t know me well enough t
o follow me out into the night, or pay me compliments!” Janna retorted, unsure whether or not to believe him.

  “All right then, I wanted a chance to talk to you,” Ralph admitted. “It’s about the dead man. I cannot help wondering if he might be a kinsman of mine. My cousin set out on a journey some time ago, but he seems to have gone missing. I do fear for his safety in these troubled times. Can you tell me what the dead man looked like?”

  “His hair was dark, and worn shorter than yours. He was clean-shaven. And his clothes were costly.” Janna’s sympathy was aroused now, and she was keen to give as accurate an account as she could. As she gave details of his clothing, she was struck by a thought. “If this is your kinsman, he has been dead for several days,” she concluded.

  “How do you know?”

  Janna hesitated, wondering how to phrase her words so as not to cause Ralph undue distress. “His body was…marked. There were…signs that it had lain there for some time.” She hoped she’d said enough to satisfy him.

  “Signs?”

  “Insects. And…and bite marks.” She really couldn’t tell him that animals had started to eat his cousin.

  Fortunately, Ralph had heard enough. “He sounds something like my cousin,” he said urgently. “But if so, he would have carried documents with him.”

  “What sort of documents?” Janna wondered if Ralph’s cousin was indeed carrying a message from the bishop to the empress, and if it would be safe to tell what she had seen.

  “A letter, or a bill maybe; the sorts of documents any merchant might carry.” Ralph was silent for a moment. “One thing I do know is that he carried a letter from his wife to her family, for my cousin intended to visit them along the way. There would have been a red seal on the parchment. Did you see anything like that?”