'You've lied to me! You've been lying ever since I met you. Why didn't you trust me with the truth?'
'I couldn't.' Her heart was beating so hard she thought it might explode in her chest, might shatter into a million tiny shards of pain. His cold, blue eyes held her transfixed. It was like looking into the face of a stranger.
'I thought we were friends,' he said softly. 'In fact, I was hoping we were a lot more than friends.'
It was what Janna had most longed to hear him say. But not now. Not here, not like this. 'I do trust you,' she stammered, 'but . . . but the truth wasn't mine to tell.' The excuse rang hollow in her ears. She had never felt so miserable.
He grasped her wrist so hard that he hurt her, but she didn't pull away. She couldn't. Everything she had hoped for was standing here in front of her. Her dreams for the future, finding her father, finding love . . .
She was on the brink of losing it all and she didn't know how to save herself. 'Please,' she whispered. 'Please try to understand. Bernard swore me to silence. And so did Master Walter when I told him of the contents of the letter. He said . . .' Her voice dwindled into silence as she realised the enormity of her error.
'You've read the letter?' He let her go. But his icy gaze kept her trapped and helpless. 'So you know,' he said tonelessly. 'God help you for a fool. You cannot know what harm you've caused.' He turned on his heel and tugged on the leading rein to bring his palfrey to his side.
'No!' Janna cried. 'Wait!' For she knew, with terrible certainty, what was about to happen. But his foot was in the stirrup, and even as she cried out he vaulted up into the saddle and dug his heels into the horse's side. It took off at a gallop. Stricken and despairing, Janna watched her dreams disappear into a cloud of dust as Ralph rode out of her life.
ELEVEN
DON'T CRY, LASS. He's no loss. I never trusted him anyway.' Ulf's voice jerked Janna back to her surroundings.
'Neither did I,' Faldo said loyally.
Janna shook her head in abject misery. The ache in her heart had spread through her whole body. She felt shattered by what had just happened. Silently, she cursed again the unfortunate chance that had brought her and Bernard to the dead man's side. Bernard had died for it, and now her dreams had died along with him.
A sudden realisation sank into her consciousness. She felt incredulous as she understood the meaning behind Ralph's words. 'So you know,' he'd said. 'You cannot know what harm you've caused.' Which meant he also knew what was in the letter. Which meant he must have been sent out by the Bishop of Winchestre to find it!
Janna closed her eyes, unable to bear the truth of what she had uncovered. Ralph was the bishop's agent! There was no other way to look at the matter. Perhaps he'd been out looking for the courier even before the body had been brought back to Wiltune, for news must have filtered through to the bishop that his message had never been delivered to the king. No wonder the bishop had been desperate to retrieve it, for his treachery was plain to read in every line for those who might have intercepted his letter.
Numbly, miserably, Janna recalled how she'd revealed the presence of a message to Ralph, and how he had questioned her, using lies about his cousin to hide his true interest. Indignation stiffened her and helped in some small part to dry her tears. He'd accused her of lying, but what about him! Her rage and horror intensified as she recalled Bernard's slain body lying across the fallen stone at the entrance to the ancient stone henge. It wasn't Adam who'd tried to disguise Bernard's death as a sacrificial killing. It was Ralph! And it was her fault, for it was she who had inadvertently revealed to him what they'd found on the dead man's body.
'Stupid!' Janna berated herself. 'Stupid, stupid, stupid!' Bernard had warned her to say nothing, but she'd gone and blabbed the news to the first handsome man who'd crossed her path. How childish, how gullible she was to be taken in by Ralph's charm and his lies. Janna's anger with herself, and with Ralph, ran like a thread of bright fire through her misery. She'd been stupid, yes. She'd told lies, but her lies were the sins of omission. She'd concealed from Ralph what she'd believed was none of his concern. But he had lied and lied again to her. He'd led her on with kisses and flattery, and with promises that he would help her find her father, when all the time he sought either the letter or a delay that would eventually render it harmless. Who was the faithless one now? Ralph had played her as Elanor played her harp, plucking her trust and devotion with his lying words and promises. She'd thought he cared about her, thought he cared enough to break his journey to help her find her father in Winchestre. Now, at last, she knew the truth behind his real interest in her. And it was devastating.
All too clearly she remembered the henge, the disfigured boy's careless words that had prompted Bernard to take action, and Ralph to retaliate. Ralph must have searched for the message from the start, while knowing there was no urgency to find it while the pilgrims were still on the road. But he was with Bernard when the boy had mentioned the difference of opinion between the bishop and the empress. He'd understood Bernard's resolve to delay no longer, and must have determined at that moment to prevent him. Janna could only imagine how angry and frustrated Ralph must have felt when, with Bernard dead and all the time in the world to search through his belongings, he had still been unable to find the bishop's letter.
She closed her eyes against the pain of understanding what came next. Ralph had turned his attention to her. He'd ques-tioned her about the contents of her purse, and tried to win her trust by pretending to know how to find her father. He must have believed she knew where Bernard had hidden the message and that she'd found it during her search. And so he had followed her, and kept her on side with his promises.
Ralph's promises were bitter gall. She could hardly believe how she'd misread him. The evidence seemed so obvious now that she was looking at it from a different angle. His interest in her and her opinion of the empress. His interest in the contents of her purse – not the letter to her father but to another letter she might have hidden there. Janna shook her head in disbelief. Her failure rang like a litany through her brain. Stupid, stupid, stupid!
She remembered Juliana, and the old woman's prophecy. 'Death follows you,' she'd said. Had she known all along that her son would die because of what Janna would reveal to Ralph? No wonder she'd begged her to leave the pilgrim group. But it was already too late by then, Janna thought, and wondered if Juliana had known that too. She scrunched up her face and squeezed her eyes tight, desperate to blot out the guilt she felt, and the remorse. If only she'd kept her mouth shut. If only . . .
But it was too late now for 'if only'.
Too late for her, but not for the empress. A thin sinew of pride helped to strengthen her. Ralph had known from the start what he was about and, yes, she had been gulled by him. But, in the end, and by the greatest good fortune, she had managed to outwit him. The letter was safe and on its way to the earl, just as Bernard had intended. Unless . . .? Her eyes flashed open, reflecting her alarm. Unless Ralph caught up with Walter along the way, and slaughtered him as he had slaughtered Walter's brother? Stricken, Janna put a hand to her heart. She could feel it beating hard beneath her fingers, urgent as the beat of a horse's hooves galloping on to Winchestre.
'Janna?' Ulf touched her elbow. She swung to face him, hardly able to talk or even breathe, so great was her misery.
'Janna,' he said again, and grasped her arms. He gave her a little shake, trying to bring her back to the present, to reality. 'It's all right,' he said gently. 'I'm here, lass. You can trust me. Just tell me what to do, and I'll help you.'
Trust? Janna clasped her arms around her body and rocked to and fro. Tears, scalding as liquid fire, ran down her cheeks. She didn't know what to do. She didn't know which way to turn. She didn't know who she could trust.
Trust no-one. That was the edict her mother lived by, but it had led to disaster. Trust no-one, Walter had said, and so had Bernard. Janna wiped her eyes on her sleeve, no longer caring if the moisture stained the del
icate fabric of her gown. She peered at Ulf, wanting to believe in him but afraid to trust anyone now.
'Why should you help me?' she asked grudgingly. She couldn't forget that only moments ago she'd suspected him of exactly the deeds for which she now knew Ralph was responsible.
'Because you've helped me in the past,' Ulf answered readily enough. 'You kept quiet when the guard might have arrested me for stealing the hand of St James. And you patched me up when those drunken idiots broke my nose.' He raised his hand to his face, wincing at the memory. 'You also found the means to cure my rheum. You have a kind heart, Janna. I haven't forgotten that.'
Janna looked at him. She wanted to believe him. But Ralph's betrayal had shattered her confidence in her own judgment. Trust nobody, she thought again. It was safer, after all. She folded her arms against him, and kept silent.
Ulf sighed. 'Perhaps there's something I should tell you. Faldo, could you leave us alone, please?' Ulf's words were an order rather than a request. The boy looked from Ulf to Janna, clearly reluctant to miss a moment of a story that promised to be even more dramatic than the doom of King Arthur. But Ulf jerked his head, his intention unmistakeable. Reluctantly, Faldo walked away.
'I expect you're wondering why I've been following you around?' Ulf said quietly. 'You may even have cast me as the villain in all this, for I know you thought the world of Ralph.'
Janna felt a wave of desolation wash over her at the mention of Ralph's name. It was mixed with a feeling of shame that Ulf had read her mind so clearly.
'Let me tell you something,' he said now. 'It's true that Dame Juliana asked me to watch over you. She knew it would make no difference to me whether I travelled on to Oxeneford or went somewhere else instead. But I had my own reasons for wanting to protect you. You see . . .' He rubbed a hand across his mouth as he searched for the words he wanted. All trace of his customary gaiety was gone now. Janna found she was looking into the face of a man who was familiar with sorrow and despair.
'I had a daughter once,' he continued. Janna pricked up her ears. Ulf had told her that he had no home and no family. So what then, was this?
'My wife died shortly after she was born, but my daughter thrived. Mildryth, her name was. She grew up bright and bonny as a butterfly. She would have been about your age now, if she had lived.' He stopped to draw in a shaky breath.
'What happened to her?' Janna prompted gently.
'She drowned when she was but five summers old. She was my responsibility, the love of my life. And I let her drown. I should have been watching out for her, but instead I was drinking at an alehouse with friends. By the time I realised she was missing, it was too late. She was gone.'
There was a glint of tears in Ulf's eyes as he struggled to collect himself. 'I couldn't save her, and I have lived with that regret every day of my life since. When Juliana asked me to watch over you, I said that I would. In some measure it goes towards making up for my neglect of my daughter.'
Janna bowed her head, feeling mortified that she could ever have doubted Ulf's good faith. She tried to find the words to frame an apology.
'I haven't always lived on the road,' Ulf continued, perhaps misunderstanding her silence. 'I left my home up north after Mildryth drowned. I turned my back on everything and took to the road and to the drink. My life was down in the gutter until, one day, I met a relic seller. We talked, and for the first time I found myself unburdening my guilt over my daughter's death. Of the goodness of his heart, he gave me what he said was the toe of St Peter. And he advised me to forgive myself. Here, let me show you.' He fumbled in the purse slung around his neck. He pulled out a small cloth-wrapped bundle and unrolled it for Janna's inspection. 'I'll never part with this, for it turned my life around, I can tell you.'
Janna peered dubiously at the small bone. Ulf swiftly rolled it up and put it away again. 'I decided then that I would also become a relic seller, because we all need hope, we cannot live without it,' he said. 'I went on a pilgrimage to the tomb of St James to pray for my daughter and to give thanks that I had found a new purpose in life. And I believe now that my way was made clear when I decided to continue my journey with the pilgrims and came to meet you, lass. I couldn't save my own daughter, but perhaps I can atone for it by helping you now. If there's owt I can do for you, you have only to ask. I have no other motive than wanting to make things right for you. But I can swear my good faith on a sliver of the true cross of Christ if it'll make you feel any better.'
'I thought you'd sold – given – that particular relic to Juliana?' Janna was somewhat reassured that at least her thoughts were ordered enough to remember the occasion.
'I have another. But I'll swear on something else, if you prefer?' In spite of the sadness of his memories and the gravity of the situation, a challenging twinkle glinted in Ulf's eyes. Janna found herself responding to it with some relief.
'The eyelash of St Peter? The quill with which St Paul wrote his letters?'
'That would be worth having,' Ulf said wistfully.
Janna gave an impatient exclamation. Ulf smiled at her, and put his hand on his heart. 'I swear I will do all in my power to help you. I swear it on the toe of St Peter.' There was no doubting the sincerity in his voice.
'First tell me one thing.' Janna needed to know for, up until now, Ulf had always refused to be drawn on the subject. 'Who do you support in this battle for the crown. The king or the empress?'
'I have always found it better, safer, not to take sides. I told you that before.'
'But you must tell me the truth now. I need to know.'
Ulf pulled a face. 'The empress. I suppose it's safe to admit as much to you, for Dame Juliana made her feelings plain to me after Bernard's death. As you didn't speak out at the time, I'm assuming you shared their regard for the empress.'
'Yes, I do.'
'Very well, then. We are in agreement, it seems. Besides . . .' Ulf weighed up his words with a sideways glance at Janna. 'Stephen has proved not fit to govern, while the Empress Matilda may yet bring peace to our land. So I would help her, if I could.'
Janna nodded. His support might not be quite as wholehearted as she would have liked, but it would have to do. 'I have to get to Winchestre. Fast.'
Ulf nodded. 'I thought so.' He was silent for a moment as he weighed up possibilities.
'If only your dog was a little bigger, I could ride him,' Janna said, making a great effort to lighten the situation.
Ulf gave a quick snort of amusement. 'Winchestre isn't all that far from here,' he said. 'When I talked to our hosts last night they mentioned it is but ten miles away and we've covered part of that already. If we set off now, if we walk without stopping, we should reach the gates of Winchestre some time this evening.'
'But we won't get there in time to warn . . .' Janna gulped, and looked hard at Ulf. He stared back at her, grave and unsmiling once again. Beside him, Brutus quivered, and thumped his tail. Ulf dropped his hand to scratch the dog's head and Brutus's tail wagged harder. There was no mistaking the bond between the two, the trust and love between them. It helped Janna to make up her mind.
'I have to warn Master Walter.' Janna drew a deep, shudder-ing sigh. 'I've found the letter that Bernard was killed for. It was hidden in his staff. It's a letter from the bishop to his brother, the king. It reveals that the bishop has always supported his brother, and that he plans to trap the empress if he can. Walter has taken it to Earl Robert, to warn him that the bishop is a traitor. But Ralph knows what's in the letter and that Walter has it. He's gone after Walter and I know that he will stop him if he can, even kill him if he must. Ralph . . .' Tears burned Janna's eyes, blurring her vision. 'Ralph is the bishop's agent.'
'Christ's bones!' Ulf pursed his lips in a long, silent whistle.
'I'm sorry I didn't trust you,' Janna said wretchedly. 'If I'd confided in you sooner, we might have found some way to avoid all of this.'
'I doubt it would have made any difference in the end.' Ulf put his head on one side, c
onsidering the matter. 'We cannot catch up with either Ralph or Walter, not without mounts of our own. But take heart, Janna.' He took his hand from the dog's head and rubbed Janna's arm as if to warm her. She found the gesture strangely reassuring. 'Master Walter knows his brother was killed for the letter he carried. He knows its importance while Master Bernard did not. And so he'll guard himself as well as the letter. He won't make the same mistake his brother made.'
'He knows what Ralph looks like,' Janna said, slightly cheered as she recalled that Walter had seen him at the smithy. 'But he doesn't know that Ralph is after him!'
'Then we'll follow them, Janna. We must warn Walter if we can.' He looked over her shoulder and gave a sudden loud whistle. 'Hoy!' he shouted.
Janna swung around to see what he was about. Several riders were approaching, merchants judging by the packs that hung from either side of their saddles. At Ralph's whistle, they slowed down and surveyed the jongleurs with cautious expressions, ready to gallop away at the slightest hint of trouble. 'Can you offer us a ride to Winchestre, my friend?' Ulf called out to the leader.
The man surveyed them with a stony expression. Janna held her breath as she waited for his reply.
'For the young lass here.' Ulf gestured towards Janna, perhaps hoping to disarm the man's suspicion.
The man's expression changed to a greedy awareness. His tongue flickered across his lips and he smiled. Janna felt suddenly afraid.
It seemed that Ulf, too, was now having second thoughts. 'And a ride for me too,' he said, glancing at the other two merchants who had stopped alongside their partner.
The leader's eyes moved from Janna to Ulf, and back again. 'No,' he said curtly. 'You'll hold us back. Only the girl.'
Janna shrank back against Ulf. 'I don't go anywhere unless . . . unless my uncle comes with me.'
'Suit yourself.' The merchant jerked on the reins, and the horse moved on. One of the merchant's companions gave a rueful shrug, and they both trotted after him.
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