Pilgrim of Death: The Janna Chronicles 4

by Felicity Pulman

  She felt ashamed of her doubts when she remembered his kindness, but found she could not dismiss them, for they were marching through her mind in battalions now, and trampling all over her dreams. Where had Ralph come from that he should find them in such an out-of-the-way place – unless he’d seen the dead messenger at Wiltune, and recognized the peril if the message was found? It seemed clear that he supported the king’s cause, as did the bishop. Could he even be the bishop’s spy, paid by Henry to track them down and retrieve the message?

  Janna remembered his questions about the contents of her purse – and the hand beneath her skirt that might have been probing for something other than her maidenhood! Sickened, she sprang to her feet and began to pace, but she could not outrun her thoughts. Ralph’s missing cousin. Did he really exist – or was this just an excuse to find out what the pilgrims knew of the contents of the dead man’s scrip?

  Janna’s mind was in turmoil as she tried to reason her way through to an answer. The thought that Ralph might have been lying to her all along was appalling – but she could not discount it, nor the fact that she might be mistaken, for there were others who may have been responsible for Bernard’s murder.

  One thing was clear so far as Ralph was concerned. She must not let him suspect what she knew: not if she wanted his help with finding her father. And so she would keep her suspicions to herself until she had proof either way – and at the same time pray that she was wrong.

  But a greater problem now was what to do with this knowledge that had come, so unexpectedly, into her keeping. Janna trembled as the question repeated itself endlessly in her mind. She knew she had to do something – and quickly. The empress was in danger, and so was her envoy. They must be warned of the bishop’s treachery and betrayal. The Earl of Gloucestre had come to negotiate with the bishop in good faith. He was already in Winchestre, where the jongleurs were bound. Should she continue to travel with them and give him the letter on their arrival, which might take days, or should she flee to Oxeneford to warn the empress? Surely the latter, for speed was of the essence. But she had only her two feet to walk upon – unless she could beg or steal a mount from somewhere?

  Impatient for action, but unsure how to act for the best outcome, Janna continued to pace as other considerations came into her mind. True, the empress was in Oxeneford, but she would be surrounded and protected by her supporters there. The earl was nearer at hand; he was also alone and unsuspecting in the enemy’s camp. As the empress’s chief supporter, the leader of her army, he was the one most at risk. So she should take the letter to him and she should leave at once, for further delay would put his life in ever greater danger.

  But first, she would have to make her farewells to Master Thomas and to Ulf. Before that, she needed to come up with a good reason for leaving their company so abruptly, both to explain her haste to get to Winchestre but, more important, to allay any suspicions they – and most particularly Ralph – might have about her going. But she couldn’t think of a single thing, nothing that sounded in the least convincing.

  She wondered what Ralph would do when he found her gone. Would he continue his journey to Winchestre with the pilgrims, would he fulfill his promise to help her find her father once the party arrived? Was she jeopardizing Ralph’s goodwill by going on without him? Janna went cold at the thought. If only she could forget her suspicions, and trust him.

  “Trust no-one.” Bernard’s words came back to her. It was good advice, Janna thought, remembering that her mother, too, had trusted no-one: not her daughter with the truth, nor even the man whom she’d loved for all her life. Janna had thought her wrong, and had blamed Eadgyth for the hard life they’d lived because of her pride and lack of trust. But perhaps her mother had taught her the most valuable lesson of all, a lesson to live by: Trust no-one.

  Chapter 11

  Janna picked up the staff, realizing that it was important to treat it as just that – a staff, something of no importance. She used it to support her weight as she approached Master Thomas. He was declaiming the description of the Battle of Roncevaux to Faldo. The boy listened intently, getting the sense of it even though he would never learn it all by heart, for the chanson was far too long. But he obviously relished the challenge as he wielded the props that were transported in the cart, mimicking his father’s gestures while Master Thomas declared at full voice:

  “Distraught was Roland with wrath and pain;

  Distraught were the twelve of Charlemagne,

  With deadly strokes the Franks have striven,

  And the Saracen horde to the slaughter given…”

  Faldo puffed and sweated as he swung his trusty sword Durendal against imaginary Saracen hordes, and finally blew a mighty blast on his horn, Olifant, to summon, too late, the Emperor Charlemagne to come to his aid.

  Unfortunately Brutus seemed intent on ruining the dramatic effect by barking and snarling and trying to snap at Master Thomas’s feet, which – every now and then – aimed a kick in the dog’s direction.

  “For the Lord Christ’s sake, Ulf, get your dog out of the way,” Master Thomas shouted at last, exasperated beyond bearing.

  Muttering apologies, Ulf produced a length of twine and looped it around the animal’s neck. It became an act of strength, Ulf against Brutus, as he tried to drag the huge dog away. Janna’s attention was divided between their tug of war and Master Thomas, who began now to declaim the stanzas dealing with the death of Roland.

  Janna dawdled beside them, still trying to find an excuse for leaving the jongleurs in such haste. “I’m not feeling well. I need to see a wortwyf. Or a doctor.” Who would believe her? No-one.

  “I’ve had word that my father is about to leave Winchestre, and I must see him before he goes.” But who could have brought word to her without everyone seeing it?

  She looked about, praying for inspiration. A movement caught her eye and she started in surprise. A man was watching them from along the track. How long had he been there? Could he have seen her unscrewing the staff and extracting the parchment? No! She tried to quieten her racing heart. She’d been sitting with her back to the pilgrims, but how much would he have seen? Her gaze moved to the spot, trying to gauge angles and direction. If he was innocent, then she would also seem innocent, no matter what he’d observed.

  He was riding toward them now; fearful, she waited to find out his purpose in accosting them.

  “God be with you,” he greeted Master Thomas, and dismounted. “I am Walter of Eglesham.” A chorus of greetings came his way as the other jongleurs realized they had company and roused themselves. Janna stayed silent, watching him. She wondered if she’d seen him before. There was something familiar about him, although she couldn’t quite name what it was. His face? Clothes and build? His hair was dark and worn quite long. A yellow cloak was tucked carelessly into the pack on his saddle; part of it was hanging out on view. As Master Thomas made the introductions, Walter looked around the company. It seemed to Janna that his gaze fixed on her and on the staff she carried.

  “Ulf?” Walter’s eyes flickered as he registered the presence of the relic seller, who had stopped wrestling with his dog and was now watching him with cautious, calculating eyes.

  “And this is Johanna,” Master Thomas continued with his introductions. Janna gripped the staff, then made a conscious effort to relax her fingers.

  With the introductions over, Walter spoke. “This is a happy chance, meeting you here, Johanna.” His glance rested on Janna and lingered there. Coloring under his scrutiny, she turned her head and looked away.

  “Do you travel to Winchestre?” Walter asked. Janna wasn’t sure if the question was directed at her, but Master Thomas answered in her stead.

  “Aye, but our journey is interrupted. We’re waiting for one of our party whose horse cast a shoe. He has taken it back to the hamlet we’ve just passed.”

  “That gives me time to talk to the daughter of an old friend,” Walter said, and moved to Janna’s side. At once she
stepped away, but was stopped by a firm hand on her arm. “A word with you, mistress,” he said softly.

  Fighting panic, Janna stayed still. Despite her good intentions, she began to tremble. She took a couple of long breaths to calm herself.

  “You have no reason to fear me,” Walter said, and drew her away so that no-one could overhear their conversation. “Am I right in thinking you traveled with a group of pilgrims from Wiltune to Ambresberie?”

  Janna gave a reluctant nod. The man’s familiarity bothered her. Where had she met him before? She summoned up all her courage and looked into his eyes, trying to settle the mystery. She read there a deep and weary sadness. Instinctively she began to relax her guard.

  “You knew my mother, Juliana, and my brother, Bernard, I believe?”

  Janna stifled a gasp, understanding now why Walter seemed familiar. He was shorter, stouter than his brother, but he had something of the same visage as well as Bernard’s air of quiet competence.

  “You carry my brother’s staff,” Walter continued. “My mother gave it to you, I know, thinking you had a good use for it. But I’ve come to ask you, mistress, if you’d mind returning it to me, for she’s had a change of heart. She has nothing to remember my brother by, and she craves some memento.”

  As Walter spoke, Janna’s hand tightened on the staff. Frightened, she stared at him. If he’d come just a little earlier, she would have given it to him, and willingly. But she knew now that he hadn’t chased all these miles after her just to reclaim a memento. This was no casual request. Walter knew the importance of the message secreted there, even if Bernard had not.

  Trust no-one. Not even Walter? Bernard had told her that he was in the employ of the empress. But so was the bishop, or so everyone had thought. No matter that Ralph had told her that the empress had no right to rule, Janna still had no doubt in her mind as to whom she was supporting in this fight for the crown. But what about Walter? She had no way of telling whose side he was on now, not when allegiances constantly shifted with the changing fortunes of the principal players and the promises of land, property and titles to sweeten a betrayal. What had Walter been promised? Whom did he now support?

  “I cannot give you the staff,” she whispered, knowing that he was quite capable of taking it by force, if necessary. She glanced around, taking comfort from the close proximity of the jongleurs. They would surely help her to protect her property, if it came to it. Except it wasn’t her property. Ulf knew that the staff had belonged to Bernard, and so Walter had every right to claim it. “I need the staff to walk to Winchestre,” she said firmly.

  “And you may keep it, if that is your wish, mistress,” he assured her. “But I know there is a secret compartment inside the handle, for Bernard and I instructed the craftsman to make up identical staffs to our specification. I know that there is something secreted inside, a small memento which I may take to my mother. Surely you cannot begrudge us such a thing?”

  Stricken, Janna stared at him. She could not give the letter into his keeping, for she knew not what he would do with it. Supporting the empress’s cause as she did, she was desperate to warn the earl of the bishop’s treachery. But without the letter as proof, no-one would take her warning seriously. If Walter was in the pay of the bishop, and destroyed the evidence, then the earl was doomed. And so was the empress. She couldn’t give the staff to Walter, not if her life depended on it.

  He was waiting for her answer. “No!” she said desperately, hugging the staff close to her chest. “Your mother gave this to me. I’m sorry, but I cannot let you have it.” Their voices had begun to attract attention. Ulf looked at them, as did Faldo. The boy winked at Janna. He balled his hands into fists and boxed the air a couple of times. She felt comforted by this small show of support. It gave her the courage to face Walter.

  “I beg you, mistress, do not make a scene,” Walter said quietly, abandoning any pretense that his was merely an idle request. “It is not safe for anyone to know what’s hidden inside the staff.” He glanced over his shoulder to make sure they could not be overheard. “You’ve found the secret hiding place, haven’t you?”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Janna nodded. It seemed pointless to pretend any longer.

  “Is there a letter inside?”

  “No!” Janna hoped she might yet talk her way out of this trap.

  Walter’s gaze sharpened. “May I look for myself?”

  Janna clutched the staff tighter to her chest in a futile gesture of defiance.

  Walter sighed. “I don’t want to arouse suspicion, nor do I want to take the staff from you by force,” he said, his voice a low mutter so that Janna had to lean closer to hear him. “It’s too dangerous, both for you and for me, to draw any more attention to ourselves than we already have. Let me, instead, tell you what I know of the letter my brother found on the dead body of the bishop’s messenger. The letter bore the seal of the Bishop of Winchestre. I know you saw it too, for Bernard told my mother all about it. Although my brother didn’t read the bishop’s letter, he told my mother that it was important it should go to the empress as soon as possible. My mother argued against it for several reasons, not least of which was that he must stay to guard Adam. But Bernard insisted on it. He told her of a conversation he’d had with a young lad at the henge: that the empress and the bishop had argued over several broken promises. My brother was fearful there might be forces plotting against the empress, and thought she should be warned as a matter of urgency.”

  “But your brother’s death had naught to do with the letter!” Janna said, desperately hoping to deflect Walter’s purpose with the promise of vengeance. “Adam has been captured and is held at the castle at Sarisberie. He has killed once before and tried to disguise his deed by making it look like an accidental drowning. In the same fashion, your brother was also hit on the back of his head and, while still alive, dragged to the site where he was found. His death was disguised to look like a blood sacrifice.” Janna remembered her vision. “Such things have happened before at the henge. I know it! I’ve seen it!”

  In spite of her misgivings about Adam’s guilt or otherwise, she was determined to convince Walter; anything to take his attention off the staff and what it contained. “If it’s justice you seek, you’ll find Adam at Sarisberie,” she urged.

  “My mother has gone to Sarisberie to see Adam,” Walter said grimly. “But first she told me all she knew about the letter, for she knows I am in the empress’s employ. What she didn’t know was where the message was hidden, and whether or not my brother’s killer had found it. Now you have confirmed that he did not, and I thank God and all his saints for it, for this is my priority now. I will find my brother’s killer, but finding that letter comes first.”

  “What do you propose to do with it?”

  “Take it to the empress, of course.”

  Trust no-one, Janna reminded herself. Bernard had done his best to keep the message safe, might well have given his life for it. He’d taken it on trust that the message was meant for the empress. And so, it seemed, did his brother. She remembered the conversation she’d had with Bernard. Right from the start, he’d planned to hand the letter over to Walter who, he said, would arrange its delivery to the empress. Janna had been given no reason to doubt Walter’s sincerity, or his loyalty to the empress. And bringing the bishop’s message to the attention of the empress’s half-brother had become a matter of the greatest urgency. Walter had a fast horse, he could travel far more quickly than ever she could. He was the very man to take the message – if she could believe him. Could he be trusted? Did he really not know to whom the message was addressed?

  Janna was in an agony of doubt. Walter waited impatiently for her answer. She glanced around, and met the curious gaze of both Ulf and Faldo. They were still too far away to overhear her conversation with Walter and she wanted to keep it that way. Not for anything would she let Ulf know that the letter was found. She gave them a quick nod and a reassuring smile, and turned back to Walter.


  “What if I told you the letter was addressed to King Stephen, not the empress?” she asked warily.

  Walter stiffened. “Why would the bishop write to the king? Unless…” His expression softened. “He is the king’s brother, after all. He might bid him to be of good cheer. I suppose he might also have promised to intercede with the empress for leniency, for the empress has ordered his jailers to keep the king in chains.” His shrewd eyes bored into Janna’s. “How do you know the message is addressed to the king and not the empress?”

  Should she admit that she had read it? Janna was awash in a sea of doubts and confusion. “Do you support the empress’s bid for the crown?” she asked instead. “Or are you a servant of the king?”

  “No, nor ever have been!” Walter said sharply. “I have the honor of serving my lady, and I will do all in my power to help her gain the throne that is rightfully hers.”

  “Even if that was not, after all, her father’s wish?”

  “Who told you that?”

  “I heard some travelers discussing it,” Janna said, not wanting to have to explain Ralph to Walter. “I heard that one of the barons, who was at the king’s bedside when he died, reported that the king had changed his mind about the succession, and that Stephen’s claim was perfectly legitimate.”

  “That’s down to Hugh Bigod, the traitor!” Walter said angrily. “It was a lie, concocted in the belief that Stephen would reward him for it, not that it ever did him much good. But the barons wanted to believe him, because it relieved their own conscience for breaking their oath to the old king. They said then that they had been forced to make the oath, which was also a lie. It was Stephen who first put his hand to the oath – not once, but twice – when King Henry asked it. And they all followed willingly behind him. But the barons believed they’d serve their own interests far better under the rule of a weak and easygoing king like Stephen, who has ever tried to buy their loyalty. It is to their eternal shame that they broke their oath and supported Stephen, and brought down this calamity on us all.”