Willows for Weeping

by Felicity Pulman

  Ulf sighed. 'Don't take too much of the blame on yourself, Janna. Just think on this. Ralph must have heard about the death of the bishop's messenger, and would have taken care to view his body at Wiltune and also search it. He knew the letter had gone and that you and Bernard were first on the scene. That was why he followed us. Really, there's no mystery about it. He would have known that one or other of us had the message. You just made it a bit easier for him to find out who, that's all. He would have worked it out soon enough for himself.'

  Janna was silent as she thought about Ulf's words. They eased the ache in her heart, but only slightly. She was still silent as they came to the gatehouse that would take them directly into the town.

  'You can't pass here.' A guard stepped into their path, blocking their way.

  'I am a relic seller.' Ulf was about to unshoulder his pack, but the guard's upthrust arm made him pause.

  'A relic seller? Then you will pass through the West Gate like everyone else, and pay your dues just the same as any other trader.'

  'I could show you wonders . . .' Ulf began, eager not to have to retrace their steps, but even more eager to ingratiate himself with the guards of the castle.

  'Get on your way!' The man flicked his hand in a dismissive gesture, as if sweeping muck off the streets.

  Ulf looked at him. The guard stared back. Ulf was the first to look away. 'Come, Janna,' he said curtly. 'We're wasting our time here.' He turned and stomped off, muttering something under his breath that sounded as if he believed the guard's mother had slept with a pig.

  Smothering a grin, Janna followed him. Once at the gate through which they'd first entered, Ulf wasted no time in hefting his pack off his back and opening it.

  'No!' Janna swatted it closed with an impatient hand.

  'Hoy! You said you'd show me something special,' the guard said indignantly, as she dragged the reluctant Ulf through the gate.

  'I'll be back!' Ulf shouted the promise. Janna managed a watery grin. She had no doubt that he would.

  They followed the line of the ditch, the high walls and earthen ramparts that guarded the town until they came to the mighty gate that served as a portal for all roads from the west and north. Janna left the talking to Ulf, who had been to Winchestre before and who greeted the surly gatekeeper like a long-lost friend. It seemed the man resented being dragged from his bed upstairs to open the gate every morning. Even the presentation of a tin scallop shell 'from the tomb of St James of Compostela' failed to curb his grumbling, although it did serve to take the place of a toll.

  Janna was a little taken aback when the gatekeeper mistook them for father and daughter, but Ulf made no effort to correct his mistake. 'So,' she said, as they passed through the gate and looked down at the town spread before them. 'You know Winchestre, or so you say. Where should we start our search for Master Walter?'

  Ulf pointed down the street on which they were standing, which sloped towards the centre of the town. It was paved with flints, but narrow. A gutter ran along its centre, seemingly a repository for animal bones, scraps of rotten vegetables and other bits of detritus. A couple of mangy dogs scavenged about. They growled when they noticed Brutus, but quickly retreated when the huge dog began to chase them. Ulf whistled the alaunt back to his side.

  'We can cover more distance if we search separately,' he continued, and gestured down the length of the street. 'This is the High Street. It becomes Chepe Street further down where all the shops and traders are, and it runs right through the town to the East Gate on the other side. Why don't I take one side of the street and you the other?'

  'What if Walter's already dead? What if we're too late?' Janna gave voice to what she most dreaded.

  'I doubt anything's happened to him,' Ulf comforted her. 'Not yet, anyroad. He obviously came straight to the earl, and it sounds as if the earl expected him still to be within the castle.'

  'Why, then, do you think he left without asking the earl's permission?'

  Ulf shrugged. 'He may have wanted to get back to his family in Oxeneford. Or take a message back to the empress that the bishop's letter has been found. Or go to Sarisberie to be with his mother while Adam is interrogated.'

  'Adam!' Janna had forgotten all about him in her anxiety over Ralph and Walter. 'He's innocent of Bernard's death. We have to let them know at Sarisberie!'

  'Aye. Adam is innocent of this crime at least.' Ulf patted Janna's arm, seeking to allay her anxiety. 'Walter will know what to do. If we can't find him, then I'll go back to Sarisberie myself. I'll talk to the constable and to Dame Juliana. They can decide what's to be done with Adam.'

  Janna could take no comfort from Ulf's promise. She felt tense and anxious. A dreadful foreboding clouded her mind, a dark shadow that she could not banish. 'Death follows you,' Juliana had told her. And so it had. First the courier, although his death had been an accident. Bernard had also died. Was Juliana now going to lose another son because of her? She trembled at the thought that she was to blame, and that she might already be too late to stop it. As for Ralph: he was now a hunted man. Would he die too, because of her?

  'Janna.' Ulf took her arm, concern creasing his forehead. 'Watch out for Ralph. Be careful not to cross his path. If you see him you must hide, for he knows that you also have knowledge of the letter. That makes you dangerous to him.'

  Stricken, Janna stared at Ulf. He was right to warn her, she knew that. But it was hard, so hard to turn off the regard she'd once felt for Ralph. She was filled with anguish as she remembered the kisses they'd shared, and the love in his voice when he spoke of his family. Nor could she forget his promise to help her solve the mystery of her father. A worthless promise? Or truly meant, even if he was making use of the circumstances?

  Ulf padded off and was soon lost to view. Unsure what to do or where to start looking, Janna began to stroll slowly along, hoping for a clue.

  The street was beginning to fill with people now. Pedlars walked about with packs on their backs, singing out their wares, pursued by housewives and servants with noses a-sniff for an early bargain. Shutters opened one by one and goods were put out to tempt the passers-by. She averted her eyes from the bloody carcasses on display in the butchers' stalls, and strolled on, keeping careful watch about her for signs of either Walter or Ralph. Her mind was still in turmoil; she could not decide what to do. What if she saw Ralph? He had betrayed her, and now he was a hunted man. Should she take Ulf's advice and hide if she saw him? Should she raise the cry against him?

  No! She felt bereft just thinking about it. She'd done enough. It was up to the earl's men to find him – if they could. Uppermost in Janna's mind was the thought that Ralph might hold the key to her father's identity. If she saw him, surely she must take the chance to ask him to tell her what he knew.

  A plan began to take form. Something given for something in return? If Ralph told her what he knew of her father, she would warn him that he was a hunted man. Surely there was no danger in that. Not to Walter, for she would tell Ralph that the earl had received the message and the bishop's treachery was already known. She could persuade Ralph that it was up to him now to save himself. Perhaps he could flee Winchestre in disguise?

  Set against looking after her own interests was the fact that Ralph was the bishop's agent. He was also a killer. Ulf had warned her to be careful, and Ulf was probably right. An image of Bernard as she'd last seen him came into her mind, his bleeding body lying on the stone altar, stabbed through the heart. If she warned Ralph to escape, Walter and his mother would be denied justice for Bernard's death.

  Wracked with indecision, Janna walked on. Might as well hunt for a pip in a cornfield, she thought despairingly, as she searched the faces of the people milling around her in case one of them was Walter. Or Ralph. Suppose Walter had already left Winchestre? But what if he was indoors somewhere, perhaps even visiting someone in one of the houses she was passing? She could hardly knock on the door of every one and ask for him on the slight chance he might be inside.
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  She wondered what Ulf was doing, whether he'd had any luck. If he found Walter, he had no way of letting her know for they'd made no arrangement to meet later on. She clicked her tongue in exasperation, and looked about in case she could spy him.

  The stocky figure of a man hurrying ahead of her caught her attention. She squinted up her eyes to see him better. Walter? She began to run after him, but realised then that the man had disappeared. Telling herself that her eyes were playing tricks on her, conjuring up what she wished to see rather than what was really there, she slowed down to catch her breath.

  There was a high stone wall on her right. Janna recalled that Ulf had mentioned an old palace and thought this must be where it was situated. Small stalls abutted onto the wall along its length, with an array of wares set out under their sloping roofs.

  Set into the wall was an iron grille with a stout wooden door beyond. There was no-one about. Was the palace abandoned? Obviously the earl was staying in the castle rather than with the bishop, while Ulf had told her that the bishop had a palace close to the river at Wolvesey. Clearly, this was not it. Janna stopped for a moment to think, while her gaze automatically sifted the passers-by, searching for anyone who looked familiar.

  What would Ralph do, once he realised he was too late to intercept Walter? If he had any sense he'd go to the bishop at Wolvesey, for only the bishop's protection could keep him safe now. But if Ralph had reached the bishop, the bishop would know that his treachery was uncovered and thus the earl and his men would lose the advantage of surprise. On the other hand, if Ralph wasn't at Wolvesey, it meant he was probably still hunting for Walter. Janna's steps quickened. She would never forgive herself if something happened to Walter, if she was too late to save his life.

  Filled with a new sense of urgency, she hurried on, passing churches, alehouses, a mint, a wool store. A high spire and towers loomed into view on her right, dwarfing the buildings that stood between them and the street where Janna stood. Perhaps the bishop was in his cathedral, and his agent with him? On reflection, Janna thought it more likely he'd be sitting in his palace like a spider in its web, weaving plots with his agents and his courtiers about him.

  Her footsteps took her on past a mill. She heard the rushing of the water wheel, the rattle of grain being fed down the chute, the grinding roar of the millstones. Beyond the mill was another length of stone wall. The bishop's palace at Wolvesey?

  'That's the Nunnaminster,' said a passer-by, in answer to Janna's question. 'The convent of St Mary.' Certainly no chance of finding Walter there, or Ralph either, Janna thought.

  Here, close to the East Gate, canals ran down the sides of the streets, the water scummy with refuse and tainted with the stink from the labours of tanners and dyers. Janna wrinkled up her nose, recognising the smell. A man was busy untethering his horse from a post at the far side of the gate. Janna watched as he mounted. She was almost sure, but took a moment to scrutinise him more carefully. Walter! He raised a hand in farewell to the guard. He seemed in a hurry to be gone.

  'Walter!' Janna shouted, and began to run.

  He checked and looked behind him. Janna was sure he'd seen her but, to her amazement, he didn't stop. Instead, he kicked his horse into a gallop, dodging carts and horsemen with an agility that spoke of long years in the saddle. Even though she knew it was futile, Janna ran after him through the gate, across the river and on down the road, shouting his name. But Walter's horse was fast and he was quickly lost to sight.

  She stopped, exhausted, and bent over to ease the pain in her side. Aelfshot, the Saxons called it, believing that bodily pain was caused by small darts or arrows shot by elves. Janna, however, knew that she only suffered pain like this when she'd run too far and too fast. She also knew that all the prayers and chants, the herbs, precious stones and other cures her mother had taught her counted for nothing. The pain would wear off all by itself once she had rested.

  She took comfort from the fact that Walter was alive and was probably out of danger now that he had left Winchestre, but she couldn't help feeling annoyed that he hadn't stopped to heed her warning or even hear her reminder about Adam's innocence in Bernard's death. Surely he owed her that courtesy at least.

  When the pain in her side had lessened, she turned back towards the town and walked slowly along the road until she came to the bridge across the river. The river was much broader than the narrow race that fed the mill, but it too bore traces of the tanners' and dyers' trade. It was deep in parts, and lined on either side with drooping willows that trailed green fronds into the swiftly flowing water.

  Now that there was no longer an urgent need to find Walter, Janna's thoughts returned to Ralph. Had he confessed to the bishop that the earl had received the letter intended for the king? Would he be punished for his failure to intercept it? Would he know, by now, that the cry had gone out for his arrest?

  Ulf had warned her to stay away from Ralph, but Janna was desperate to find out from him what he knew about her father. Yes, she had trusted him. She'd even fancied that she was in love with him. The thought of the lies he had told her, and his betrayal, cut her heart to shreds. And yes, Ralph was a coldblooded killer, she knew that too. But in all his dealings with her he had been kind, at least until the end. And even then, when so much was at stake, he had not raised his hand to her. Surely it wouldn't hurt just to look for him. If she found him, she could decide then what to say to him.

  But where was the bishop's palace, and how was she to gain entry?

  Ulf had said that Wolvesey was beside the river. She glanced up and down the river's length to see if she could sight it. Tall stone towers rose high above the trees downriver. She thought that might be it, but it wasn't obvious whether the palace was situated within or outside the city walls. She debated going back through the East Gate. But she'd be trapped there if the entrance to the palace, like the castle, was outside the town walls. Besides, the small track winding down beside the river looked shady and inviting and she was thirsty. Making up her mind to it, and feeling somewhat happier now she had a plan of action, she crossed the bridge and hurried down the steps to the river path.

  A pair of swans paddled into the shallows. They stopped, and one of the swans bent its long neck. It stuck out a webbed foot for balance and began to groom itself, rubbing its beak along its snowy feathers, nuzzling them into order. A family of ducks waddled down to the river's edge. They launched themselves into the rushing water, quacking their contentment. So had swans and ducks lived here for centuries past, raising their families and hunting for food, not knowing or caring about the affairs of men and the misery they caused. Janna sought consolation in the thought that in time, her misery, too, would pass. One day she would look back and wonder why Ralph's betrayal had hurt her so badly, and why the battle between king and cousin had seemed so vitally important. One day perhaps – but not now.

  The sound of rippling water accompanied her passage, as did the small family of ducks, spinning downwards with the current and using their flippers to slow their headlong rush towards the mill that Janna could see in the distance. The river ran very shallow in parts. Coloured pebbles lay like jewels along its bed, visible even in the cloudy water but shrouded sometimes by long green strands of cress that waved and coiled with the river's rapid flow. Black moorhens flicked their white tails and poked red beaks into the vegetation along the river's edge.

  A flash of blue caught Janna's eye. A kingfisher hovered over the water for a moment, then dived to capture a small fish. Laden, it hastened back to its perch where it beat the fingerling against a branch before swallowing it headfirst. Janna craned her neck upwards to watch it as she walked along, admiring the jewelled flashes of blue and green as its feathers caught the sunlight.

  The liquid gurgle of the river as it sped towards the mill reminded Janna that she was thirsty, and hungry too, for she'd had little to eat bar a scrap of dry bread. She knelt beside the river and, hoping that it was safe enough to drink, scooped handfuls of wate
r into her mouth, relishing the liquid as it slipped down her dry throat. Catching sight of her gown as she knelt, she edged closer so that she was close enough to dip the worst of the muddy spots into the water. She would need to look respectable if she was to gain access to the bishop's palace, and so she rubbed the fabric between her fingers to loosen the dirt. The water might well stain her gown but at least it would be clean. Unlike her! Janna ducked her head, lifted her elbow, and surreptitiously sniffed her armpit. And blinked hard a few times. The sweat of the journey, particularly the fast march to Winchestre, had left its mark. She cast a quick glance up and down the river. No-one was in sight, nor had she encountered anyone in her walk along its length. Was it lonely and private enough to strip off her gown and join the ducks in the river for a quick splash?

  She peered about more carefully, just in case anyone was about. She couldn't face the embarrassment if she was seen. The sight of a man reclining under a willow tree a little way downriver gave her a jolt. She hadn't noticed him before, he lay so still. Regretfully she stood up, recognising she would have to abandon her plans. She continued to walk, planning to tiptoe around him without disturbing him. He was so quiet she thought he must be asleep.

  As she came closer, she saw that he lay sprawled over a lowlying rock. His face, so familiar, was turned up so that he gazed into the green fountain of weeping willow fronds. He wore a red tunic, dark red at its centre and fading to a lighter red elsewhere.

  Janna jerked to a stop. Her body reacted to the sight even before her mind could accept the truth in front of her. She began to shake, her whole body quivering with reaction. But she could not move, could not run. Her limbs felt leaden, her brain too numb to command action. All she could do was feel what she could see, even while her mind refused to comprehend it.

  She crossed her arms and clutched her fists to her chest, and fought to regain control. Hot tears blinded her. She dashed them away so that she could look again, even though she didn't want to see. Nor did she want to believe. But he lay there still, unmoving. He was no phantom of her imagination. He was real. And he was dead.