Pilgrim of Death: The Janna Chronicles 4

by Felicity Pulman

  When the potion was placed in her hands, she took a cautious sniff and then a small sip, 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. She’d watched him carefully since she’d told him to go his own way and leave her alone, noting that while his attitude toward her was more stiffly polite, his courtesy and care of her remained unchanged. It 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 flask 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. Janna grimaced in sympathy. No licorice and not enough honey.

  “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. “My mother trained me, but I also used to help the infirmarian at Wiltune Abbey,” she said. “And I find now that I miss not being able to use my knowledge.”

  “It is a gift indeed,” Ulf agreed, “and one that will stand you in good stead, whatever life and fortune may have in store for you.”

  *

  Having finally exhausted all opportunities at Sarisberie, the jongleurs set off on the old Roman road that led to Winchestre. Janna’s spirits rose – she was at last coming close 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 realized that the possibility was unlikely.

  She enjoyed the long days of walking, for they gave her time to talk to Ralph, time for them to forge an ever closer bond. Their time together was mostly spent under Ulf’s watchful eye or with Faldo, who was always a lively companion. But on one occasion Ralph had followed her out into the dark, and had put his arms around her and kissed her until she felt as if her bones had melted, so weak was she with wanting. He had pulled her down with him, so that they lay together. His hand had stroked her breast, while she shivered with delight. But then his hand had crept downward, and under her skirt, and had then commenced a cautious exploration upward. Coming to her senses with a jolt, Janna had jerked away and jumped to her feet, wrapping the folds of her skirt close around her. Ralph had stayed where he was, his expression too hard to read in the dark. But his voice was languid as he whispered: “Come to me, my pretty, for I am hard with wanting you. In truth, I cannot resist you a moment longer.”

  Torn between desire and the shrill alarum sounding in her mind, Janna had hesitated for a few long moments. It was only the memory of Cecily’s downfall, and her mother’s fate, that cooled her ardor and gave her the strength to walk away. She had immediately sought the company of the pilgrims, knowing that if she delayed any longer she would weaken, for she longed to explore further the delights that men and women shared within the marriage bed.

  Ralph had approached her the next day, shame-faced and full of apologies, and with the promise that he would not let his feelings run away with him again. And she had accepted his word, and they had continued as before. Janna was content to let love bloom slowly, determining that she would be wed before she allowed Ralph, or any other man, to take liberties with her body. But with that thought came the memory of Godric. And Cecily. And the pain was as acute as if she was witnessing their happiness together all over again.

  She reminded herself that it was the future that mattered now: a future that held the possibility of finding her father as well as making her life with Ralph. To that end, she set herself to find out more about him and his family. And while she kept her own counsel regarding her support of the empress, she couldn’t resist questioning him about the doings of the royal court and the wealthy noblemen who were part of it, for he seemed remarkably well informed, while his astute observations and pithy comments brought to life a world completely unknown to her.

  “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 invent! 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 liked hearing about the courtiers, whether the stories are true or not?” 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 ask 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 the henge?”

  “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 favorable 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 all this?”

  “He knows the Londoners, and can advise the earl.”

  “So Robert of Gloucestre comes to discuss with him how to ensure that the empress will secure 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 toward 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. “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.

  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 recalled what she’d learned about 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 an
d 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 he’d kissed her in the night, and the strength with which he’d held her, sent a ripple of wanting through her body, combined with a spiraling hope that indeed their relationship might grow into a love that would last through time.

  A prickle 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’d said very much about himself at all. Indeed he always 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. She hadn’t told him all the circumstances of her mother’s death, instead making 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 upset and trouble. There seemed no end to Ralph’s curiosity, and she reveled in it. They were becoming closer every day, with many stolen kisses to seal their relationship even though these were often interrupted by either Ulf or Faldo.

  She lay back on the grass, her mind full of Ralph and of the future. She’d never met anyone like him before. The twinkle in his eyes promised secrets, if only she could find the key to them. She longed to hear him speak of what was in his heart and make his pledge to her, yet she feared his wrath once he found out what she had concealed from him. It hung heavy on her conscience that she’d never told him about the bishop’s letter, even though it was now lost. But she couldn’t forget her promise to Bernard to keep it secret.

  If there was love, surely there should also be trust? Should she trust Ralph with the truth? But she was sure he did not share her sympathy with the empress’s cause, and didn’t 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 he was on. The fact that Bernard had recognized the bishop’s seal on the letter strengthened her resolve. There could be no possible connection between the dead man and Ralph’s cousin, whom he now never mentioned at all. It occurred to Janna that, in fact, she need never tell him about the message they’d found, for it no longer mattered what the bishop had written to the empress. The Earl of Gloucestre had come to Winchestre, and so the bishop could tell him in person whatever it was that he’d wanted the empress to know.

  Sunlight slanted through the trees, touching the treetops with gold and encompassing grass, flowers and the reclining bodies of the jongleurs in its warm glow. Bernard’s staff lay close beside her, illuminated in its own pool of light. Janna picked it up, feeling a pang of regret for the untimely death of the kind pilgrim. Was an unknown thief responsible for his death? The idea did not sit easy in Janna’s mind. A stranger would have knocked Bernard unconscious and made his escape with the spoils. There was no need to kill him – unless he was known, unless Bernard could identify him.

  All the evidence pointed to Adam, who was already paying penance for one murder. Why shouldn’t he kill again in order to escape? It also made sense that Adam would take the trouble to stage an elaborate sacrifice in order to disguise his motivation. Yet Ulf believed in Adam’s innocence, for this death at least. Was that because Ulf himself knew differently?

  Janna gazed thoughtfully at Bernard’s staff, wishing it could tell her what she wanted to know. She turned it around in her hands, and saw a fine line just under the handle. The crack ran right around the wooden shaft. She hadn’t noticed it before, it was only because the sunlight illuminated the length of the staff save for that small, telltale shadow.

  She examined it more closely, hoping that the crack wasn’t as bad as she feared, and that the staff would be strong enough to support her until she reached Winchestre. She gripped the handle with one hand and gave the shaft a twist, testing its strength. To her surprise, the handle turned slightly. She gave another tentative twist and it turned further. Suddenly apprehensive, she glanced around. The jongleurs were either dozing or chatting among themselves. No-one seemed to be paying her any attention. Nevertheless, she turned her back on the group and continued to unscrew the handle of Bernard’s staff.

  It was hollow inside. Janna’s heart bumped erratically as she noticed the small packet of parchment carefully concealed within the handle. Knowing already what she would find, she carefully drew it out and studied the bishop’s seal. So this was how Bernard had managed to secrete the parchment from the eyes of the abbey guard – and from anyone else who might have an interest in the letter. Was this why he was killed? Janna gave a shudder of unease, knowing that any supporter of Stephen’s might think it worth taking a life to intercept a message from the bishop to the queen-in-waiting.

  Ralph supported the king!

  She tried to banish the thought but it lay uneasy in her mind. Ralph was no killer, she told herself, but what about Ulf? Was his guise as a relic seller designed to cover a deeper and darker purpose? She turned the letter over in her hands, and studied the seal. The Earl of Gloucestre was now with the bishop. Ralph had said so. This letter, therefore, was no longer important.

  Succumbing to curiosity, she slit the seal to read its contents.

  To my lord liege and brother, greetings. I bid you be of good cheer, for a blow has been struck from which the empress cannot recover. While she was preparing for her coronation, and on my advice, your queen brought her army from Kent to the south bank of the Thames. Under the command of William of Ypres, they caused great havoc and destruction along the way. By that action, your queen has warned the Londoners of what will befall them should they lend their support to the empress, for they know now that the empress is powerless to stop the queen’s army.

  On the eve of Matilda’s coronation, the bells of London were rung as a call to arms. The Londoners rose in revolt and stormed the palace of Westminster. Matilda was forced to flee back to Oxeneford, along with those who still support her claim. Knowing our cousin, I doubt this setback will stop her misguided attempt to claim your crown. However, she continues to make herself extremely unpopular with everyone, the Londoners in particular. They resent her high-handed attitude and, even more, the large tax she has imposed on them which, I suspect, was punishment for their previous support of you.

  Have courage. Your queen’s troops remain armed and ready. We shall continue to oppose and thwart the empress’s ambition at every turn. God willing, she will soon fall into our hands and we shall then have the means to set you free.

  Your brother in name and in Christ,

  Henry, Bishop of Winchestre.

  Janna read the letter swiftly. She feared she’d misread it, for it didn’t make sense. She read it again. This time she read slowly and with care, for it was written in Norman French and she needed to think about some of the words. But the letter still didn’t say what she thought it should. She read it through once more, thinking beyond the words to their meaning. And, at last, she came to comprehend the full extent of the bishop’s treachery, and the grave importance of what she’d found.

  Her hands trembled as she swiftly folded the parchment and returned it to its hiding place. After a quick glance around to make sure that no-one was watching, she twisted the handle into the shaft of the walking stick to conceal the evidence. Her senses were reeling with the enormity of her discovery. She closed her eyes, the better to think through the implications.

  Had Bernard died for this? Or had Adam killed him to make his getaway, not knowing what the pilgrim had concealed in his staff? And what of Bishop Henry, now entertaining the empress’s envoy with lying smiles and flattery, and treachery in his heart? Did he know his letter had never reached his brother, the king? Ha
d he taken steps to retrieve it, knowing his treachery would be revealed if it fell into the wrong hands?

  Janna gave an involuntary shudder. No-one knew of this letter other than herself, Bernard and Ulf. Bernard was dead. That left Ulf. What did she really know about the relic seller? He’d been with the pilgrim band for a long time, even if not from the start. He’d won Juliana’s trust enough to accompany her to Ambresberie and to persuade her to confide in him. But had Ulf known about the message before that?

  Janna was fairly sure that Bernard supported the empress, and that he’d taken the letter in good faith that it was meant for her eyes. If he’d confided in Ulf his real reason for leaving the pilgrim band, then it could be that Ulf was responsible for his murder. She remembered that she’d once questioned him about where his loyalty lay: with the empress or the king, and that he wouldn’t answer her. Could he have killed Bernard to get the message and prevent him from taking it to the empress? And was he now traveling with the jongleurs because he believed Janna had it in her possession?

  What frightened Janna most was the thought that, if Ulf had killed once to get at the letter, he would not hesitate to kill again. She took a shuddering breath, and struggled for calm. The more urgent question was: What should she do now? The empress must see this letter without delay. Her half-brother, Robert of Gloucestre, might have walked into the bishop’s trap already. Who could she turn to for help with this? Ralph? He had his own steed. He could travel far more quickly than she could. Could she trust him with the truth, knowing that he almost certainly supported the king rather than the empress?

  Janna buried her face in her hands in an agony of indecision. With all her heart she wanted to confide in Ralph, and pass the responsibility for action on to him.

  Ralph! Janna froze as she recalled how he had come to the farmhouse on a stormy night, and had then stayed on and made the pilgrims’ journey his own. Why? She’d flattered herself that his interest was in her – but had his purpose been to locate the bishop’s message all along?