“Nay, not yet, but the cry has gone out for him.” Ulf was silent for a moment. “Juliana told me about the message Bernard found on the dead man. Do you know what became of it, Janna?”
Janna froze. All her doubts about Ulf came flooding back. “I know nothing about it,” she said tightly. Anxious to put him off, she continued: “Master Bernard’s scrip is still missing. If there was anything of value inside, then Adam will have it.”
“If Adam was the culprit.”
Why should Ulf doubt Adam unless he knew something she did not? Janna was about to ask him when Ulf continued: “I noticed that you searched Master Bernard’s body very carefully when you thought no-one was looking. I wondered if you’d located the bishop’s message.”
“If I’d found it, what would you expect me to do with it?” she challenged, hoping to force him to show his hand.
“I’d expect you to take it to the empress, as Bernard intended. But you’re going the wrong way.”
“Is that why you’re following me?”
“No. I’ve already explained my reasons for accompanying you and the jongleurs.”
Janna wished she could believe him. “Who do you support in this battle for the crown?” She waited anxiously for Ulf’s answer.
He hesitated. “Being always on the road as I am, I have found it safer not to have an opinion or take sides,” he said at last.
Which meant she couldn’t trust him. Nor could she trust his explanation for traveling with them. He might well want to keep watch over her but not because Dame Juliana had asked him to do so.
“I looked for the bishop’s message, but I didn’t find it,” she said curtly. “So you can go your own way, Ulf. There’s no need for you to follow me around.”
Ulf was about to answer when one of the party, a youth, fell into step beside them. “My name’s Faldo,” he introduced himself, even though Master Thomas had already made the round of introductions. Faldo had long hair, unusually long for a youth, and a merry smile. He was some eight years younger than her, perhaps ten or eleven summers.
“And I am Janna, and this is Ulf.” She smiled at the youth, glad of the interruption. Ulf’s words had left her feeling deeply uneasy. “Pray tell me, for I have never met a jongleur before. What is it that you do, exactly?” she asked.
She caught the flash of surprise in his eyes, and knew that she was once again in danger of betraying her humble origins. Then he smiled. “I sing for my supper at the castles and manors of lords, mistress,” he said. “So do we all.”
“Sing?”
“And tell stories of noble warriors and heroic deeds.” He grinned sideways at her. “What chanson de geste would you hear me recite? Something from The Song of Roland? Or we have heard a new story about an old king of Britain called Arthur, who has many fierce battles against giants and creatures from the Otherworld. But his greatest battle is against his ambitious nephew, who seizes the crown and wins the love of Guenevere, Arthur’s wife. When Arthur and Medraut meet in a battle for crown and queen, Arthur gives Medraut the death blow and is himself mortally wounded. Would you like to hear some of it?”
“That sounds…interesting,” Janna said cautiously, thinking quite the opposite. What a bloody tale of treachery and horror!
Faldo clasped his hand to his heart, struck a pose, and began to recite:
“Shoulder to shoulder
Heart to heart
Arthur and Medraut, united
In hatred.
Deadly enemies sworn
For love of crown
And Guenevere the Fair.
Each draws his sword.
Each suffers the death blow
In the mud and blood at Camlann.”
He looked at Janna and Ulf expectantly.
Not quite sure what was expected of her, Janna clapped her hands together. “Well done,” she cried.
Ulf patted Faldo on his shoulder. “It sounds like a fine tale, lad. I’ll look forward to hearing you recite more of it,” he said, immediately giving the lie to his words by whistling for Brutus and striding on ahead.
Janna knew that she had offended Ulf, and hoped that Faldo didn’t mind his seeming indifference to his recital. She wondered if there was more to come, hoping for something happy about love and lords and ladies this time, but Faldo began to walk on once more. She fell into step beside him.
“That’s not the end of the story,” he said modestly, clearly pleased by her applause. “Everyone believes that Arthur still lives, and that one day he will return again to save England. There are also marvelous tales about Merlin and his prophecies.”
“Merlin?” The name seemed familiar, and now Janna remembered why. “It’s said that he magicked giant standing stones from Ireland and put them in a huge stone circle,” she told Faldo. “It’s near here. Have you seen it?”
“Indeed, I have,” the youth said enthusiastically. “It’s all part of the stories about him. The Giants’ Dance, it’s called. But that’s only one of many magical deeds that Merlin performed. There’s a tale of how he found dragons sleeping below Vortigern’s tower. By telling Vortigern why his tower kept falling down, he saved himself from being put to death. Another story tells how he transformed Arthur’s father into the likeness of Gorlois, the Duke of Cornwall, so that Uther Pendragon could lie with the duke’s wife. Uther was Arthur’s father, you see. That’s how Arthur came to be born, through trickery and deceit.”
Janna listened with interest, thinking that a journey with jongleurs was bound to be far more entertaining than traveling with pilgrims. “And what do you sing when you’re not reciting about battles and things?”
“Love songs mostly,” Faldo said with deep hatred. “And I’m learning tricks and juggling too,” he added. “My father, Master Thomas, is our leader. He recites the deeds of kings and nobles to entertain the houses that take us in. I’ve been learning these stories all my life and, soon enough, my turn will come.” He drew himself up and struck a noble pose. “When I am of age and too old to play the parts of ladies!”
“You’ll do it very well, I’m sure.” But Janna was more interested in hearing a love song. “Will you sing something for me?”
Faldo thought for a moment. “I know a good song in the language of the English,” he said. “Have you heard this one, mistress?
“Sumer is icumen in
Lhude sing cuccu,
Groweth seed and bloweth mead,
And springs the wood anew.
Sing cuccu.”
It was a cheerful and infectious song, and Janna’s head bobbed in time to the beat as they walked along.
“Now it’s your turn. You sing me something,” Faldo commanded.
“I…I don’t know any songs,” Janna admitted.
The youth stared at her with pity in his eyes. “No songs?” he repeated incredulously.
“I’ve spent the past year in an abbey,” she said by way of explanation.
“An abbey is full of singing, so I’ve heard. My father told me that sometimes the songs we sing began as a chant in the abbey, but sometimes it’s the other way around. Always with different words, of course!” he added hastily. “Will you sing a chant for me, mistress, and see if I know it as a song by another name?”
“I can’t.” Janna felt miserable as she made the admission. It was perfectly true. There had been no singing in her life with Eadgyth, although her mother had sometimes hummed a sacred chant when she’d thought she was alone. Janna had asked about it once. Eadgyth had been angry with her, and so she’d come to think there was something wrong, something sinful, about singing. It was only when she came to live in the abbey that she realized what it was that Eadgyth sang, and why she was so dismissive when Janna questioned her. But the lesson had already been learned. To Janna’s chagrin, when she’d opened her own mouth to take part in the services, she’d found that she’d been unable to join in.
“You can’t sing?” Faldo looked even more astonished.
“What’s all
this about ‘can’t sing?’” Ralph questioned. Janna hadn’t noticed his approach, and jumped at the sound of his voice. He put out a hand to steady her. “Is that can’t, or won’t?”
“Can’t.” It cost Janna a great deal to admit it.
“Everyone can sing,” Faldo asserted. “Everyone. Listen, mistress: Sumer is icumen in, lhude sing cuccu.”
“Summer is icumen in, lhude sing cuccu,” Ralph copied him.
“Now it’s your turn,” said Faldo. They both looked expectantly at Janna.
She felt her throat grow dry and tight. “I can’t,” she whispered.
“You can,” Ralph assured her. “Sing along with both of us.” He glanced at Faldo. “Come on.” And they both sang the first two lines in unison.
Janna stayed silent.
They sang the lines again.
Still Janna stayed silent.
“We’re going to keep on singing this until you either join in with us or die of boredom,” Ralph warned. There was a wicked gleam in his eye as he issued the challenge.
“Sumer is icumen in, lhude sing cuccu, Sumer is…”
“…icumen in, lhude sing cuccu.” Janna’s voice was thin, scratchy with terror, but she felt a certain sense of accomplishment as Faldo beamed at her, and Ralph gave her a congratulatory pat on the back. By now the other jongleurs had gathered around, looking from one to the other to see what was going on.
“Sumer is icumen in, lhude sing cuccu…” This time Faldo kept on singing while, one by one, the others joined in, so that each sang a line behind the one before, and their voices contributed to a harmonious whole. Janna felt her face burst into a smile with the joy of the sound they made.
“I shall teach you all of it, and you shall sing the song with us wherever we stop for the night,” Faldo promised.
“You expect me to sing for my supper too?” Janna didn’t know whether to be amused or alarmed by the prospect. “We’ll be out with the pigs if you leave me to do it!”
“Not you, mistress,” Faldo said cheerfully, “but we’re expected to pay for our board and lodging by entertaining the owners of the manors where we stop. With luck we’ll find plenty of work and shelter in Winchestre, enough to tide us through the bitter months of winter. If not, we’ll have to journey on to London.”
Janna gazed at him in wonder. She had no idea that some people earned their living in this way. She looked around the small band. All were men save for Master Thomas’s wife, whom Janna thought of as her chaperone. She wondered where the other jongleurs’ womenfolk were, or even if they were married and had families. Not Faldo, of course; he was too young. But what of Nicholas and Jocelin? It must be a hard life, and a lonely one.
“Now, sing along with me,” said Faldo, getting back to business. “Sumer is icumen in, lhude sing cuccu.”
Ralph was still walking with them, and he repeated the line, smiling sideways at Janna as he did so, daring her to try again.
Heaving a resigned sigh, she joined in with them both as, once more, they began to sing about summer and the cuckoo. “Do I sing it in tune? Do I sound all right?” she asked anxiously at the end of it.
“You sound very well,” Faldo assured her.
“Like a nightingale!” Ralph added. But the glint in his eye warned Janna that he was teasing her once more.
*
Days passed as they slowly made their way to Winchestre. Faldo hadn’t exaggerated when he told Janna that they sang for their supper. What Janna hadn’t realized was that they would stop at every likely-looking manor or farm house to ask for a night’s lodging in return for giving entertainment. They didn’t always find shelter for the night; sometimes they had to take their rest in barn or hedgerow, or even under the cart if it was raining, but they always stayed as long as they could wherever shelter and employment was offered to them.
Although Janna sometimes became impatient with their slow journey, she enjoyed the company of the jongleurs and the fun they had as they walked. Nicholas taught Faldo magic tricks and tried out new ones of his own. Janna always watched carefully, but she could never tell how the white dove got into a hat, or a ribbon up a sleeve, or a silver coin behind an ear, even though they always invited her to inspect everything before they started, just as Nicholas invited members of each audience to do the same thing.
When not engaged in practicing magic, Nicholas accompanied the players on his fluting pipe, or kept everyone in time to the beat of his small drum. Master Thomas’s wife, Elanor, played both the harp and the rebec, and occasionally Jocelin took a turn on the hurdy gurdy, but he was also a skilled juggler and fiery sword swallower. Janna couldn’t work out how he was able to do such things, but marveled every time she saw them. She could tell, as she watched Faldo practicing under Jocelin’s keen eye, that it took confidence and skill. And patience, she thought, as Faldo dropped a ball and vented his annoyance by swearing at it.
As Faldo had said, Master Thomas was their leader, and the noble deeds of kings were his to tell. But between them, Nicholas and Jocelin had devised some funny routines: a block-headed husband and a pushy wife; a deceitful merchant and a dissatisfied customer; a peasant triumphing over an evil baron, or vice versa depending on their audience. These re-enactments were accompanied by jokes, quips and insulting repartee and provided some light entertainment between the more uplifting tales of heroes and battles.
Janna enjoyed the company of the irreverent pair, their tricks and jokes and great enjoyment of life. They, in turn, had danced attention on her until Ralph’s proprietary air cautioned them to discretion. Janna didn’t know whether to be pleased that Ralph was so attentive, or annoyed that he was taking it upon himself to sanction her friendships. Yet every day saw her falling deeper under his spell.
Sometimes, when they stopped in a market square, one or other of the jongleurs would bring out an instrument and play a carol. The rest of the band would link hands and dance in a ring, while encouraging the crowds to join them. After watching a few times, Janna ventured to take part, delighted to be learning a new skill. The touch of Ralph’s hand set her senses on fire with delight. In her imagination, they became a great lord and lady, dancing in courtship, dancing in love.
While Ralph had no qualms about paying his way along their journey and being independent, Janna preferred to save her coins in case of hard times ahead and, instead, contributed time and labor to the jongleurs’ cause whenever she could. Her chores kept her busy, but Ralph claimed her time when she was at leisure. His attentions aroused curiosity on the part of the jongleurs, and even some ribald speculation, which she did her best to ignore. But the question was always in her mind: what were Ralph’s intentions toward her? On one occasion, when she overheard Elanor asking Ralph why he traveled with the jongleurs, she crept closer to listen in the hope that his reply might settle some of her own doubts.
“It is for my own pleasure, lady,” he replied. “I have taken it upon myself to help Janna search for her missing father. But I confess, my interest goes deeper than that.” He swung around, so suddenly that Janna was afraid that he would notice her. She shrank further behind the cart, and was relieved when he started speaking again.
“I would have her for my wife, but she is innocent of the ways of the world,” Ralph continued. “I plan to give her a chance to know me better, and to trust me, for at present she is alone in the world, with no-one to guide her or speak for her.”
Janna missed Elanor’s low-voiced reply, but by then she’d stopped listening, so overwhelmed was she by Ralph’s words. She clasped her hands to her breast, suffused with delight and savoring the moment. This was all and more than she had hoped to hear.
Caution kept her hidden until the pair had moved away. Not for anything would she reveal to Ralph that she’d overheard his declaration of love. At last, when she was quite sure they had gone, she crept out of her hiding place and continued with her task, which, today, was to cut fodder in a nearby field for the jongleur’s carthorse. But her heart was singing
with joy and the task passed as lightly as her thoughts.
On Janna’s conscience was the continuing coolness between her and Ulf. Sometimes he joined the company for their evening meal but often he went missing. Janna wondered if he was scouring streets and rubbish dumps looking for new “relics” or whether he had some other purpose altogether. She didn’t question him. She didn’t quite know how to heal the breach between them. Worse, she still wasn’t sure whether or not she could trust him.
They retraced their steps for some time until, finally, they came through a sprawling settlement and up to an old walled hill fort that Master Thomas told her was called Sorviodunum in ancient times, although the Normans referred to it as Sarisberie or Sarum.
They crossed the drawbridge over a deep moat and there had to wait while Master Thomas spoke to the gatekeeper. After some persuasion and what looked like a coin exchanging hands, they were at last given access to the outer bailey.
Janna’s gaze was immediately drawn to the gleaming chalk ramparts that dominated the inner bailey at the center of the large hill fort. They were topped by a timber palisade, and surrounded by a deep and seemingly impregnable ditch. The white chalk was so dazzlingly bright in the sunlight that she had to squint her eyes against the glare. A wooden drawbridge over the ditch gave access to the gatehouse, a strong and imposing building that towered above their heads. The jongleurs wasted no time looking around the small settlement that spread out to one side of the outer bailey, instead forging ahead to the gatehouse.
“We’ll try our luck on the way out,” Faldo explained as they walked past the houses and the shops of craftsmen and traders, all those who were useful to the castle and who might have been expected to welcome the prospect of entertainment from the jongleurs.
Janna was wide-eyed with excitement, for she’d never been near a royal castle before. She waited impatiently while Master Thomas crossed the drawbridge to seek permission to enter from the constable of the castle. She was fearful they’d be denied entry, but Faldo laughed at her misgivings. “We have been here before, mistress, and have always been welcome in the past,” he explained. “It’s not often the castle’s inhabitants get the chance to watch such marvelous entertainment as we provide!”
Pilgrim of Death: The Janna Chronicles 4 Page 16