Willows for Weeping

by Felicity Pulman

  Janna pushed aside the trailing fronds of willow. She forced herself to take a step forward, and then another, and another, until she came close enough to look down, to see, and finally, to understand.

  Ralph lay before her, a dagger still embedded in his chest. Blood stained the front of his tunic a darker hue. Blood had spilled from the wound and over the stone to soak into the earth below. For a moment Ralph's face blurred and Janna saw Bernard stabbed through the heart and stretched out on the stone altar. She blinked, and Ralph's features came clear into her vision once more. His eyes stared into hers, blinded by death. He wore an expression of faint surprise. Had he recognised his killer? Had he understood that justice was about to be done?

  She knelt beside him. Reaching out a shaking hand, she closed Ralph's eyes, needing to escape the gaze that had so transfixed her in life. After a moment's hesitation, she touched his cheek. 'Requiescat in pace,' she whispered. It was more than Ralph deserved, yet he had died unshriven. At the end, she cared enough about him to wish that he might find redemption for his soul.

  And then the full extent of her loss burst upon her, and she began to weep without restraint. Weep for the death of a man she'd once thought of as a husband and lover. Weep for the hope that had died with Ralph.

  She knelt beside him and bitterly reproached herself. Why, oh why, hadn't she insisted right from the start that he tell her all he knew about her father? Instead, she had let herself be gulled by him, flattered and charmed into believing that she was special in his eyes. Yet he seemed to have genuinely cared for her. Surely she hadn't imagined that?

  A sudden thought stifled Janna's weeping. Perhaps Ralph had courted her because he hoped to advantage his situation through her father? A momentary shame that she could think of such a thing was in the next instant swept away by the realisation that he had shown himself capable of everything base, including murder. She should not put too nice an interpretation on any of his actions now.

  Had he paid more attention to her after she'd shown him her father's ring? Janna thought back. Yes, it was possible. He'd found out that she was lowly born but had treated her with courtesy and affection, at least until his anger had got the better of him at the end. Or was it fear for his own safety that had caused him to forget himself? Either way, what did it tell her about Ralph? More important, what did it tell her about her father?

  Janna searched Ralph's face for answers, but he still wore the same expression of surprise. It told her nothing. Instinctively, she looked for his belt and scrip. He wore them still. His assassin had wanted revenge for a brother's death. He'd not had theft in mind when he killed Ralph.

  Janna sucked in a quick breath and then, before she had time to think about it, she quickly unfastened Ralph's scrip and groped inside. Her searching fingers touched a small leather pouch. She pulled it out and stared at it. It took a few moments to recognise what she held. Winifred's purse! At once she opened it, although she could already tell, from the feel of it, that it was empty. The hand had gone. Given to the bishop to compensate for the lost letter? Janna wondered if Bishop Henry considered such a prize a fair exchange for having his treachery known to all.

  But how had Ralph come by Winifred's purse?

  She remembered the scene in the alehouse, the drunken sot who had lurched into their table and almost fallen into her lap. Ralph must have seized on the diversion to cut the purse from Winifred's girdle. But why? He couldn't have known about the hand because she'd warned Winifred not to tell him, not to tell anyone. Besides, Winifred had felt such shame she was unlikely to have told Ralph anything, even without Janna's warning. She cast her mind back, trying to remember if anything had been said to alert Ralph to the fact that Winifred might own something precious.

  Winifred had mentioned their 'unfinished business', and had gestured towards her purse at the same time. A giveaway sign for anyone with a suspicious mind? Had Ralph offered to accompany Winifred in her search for Ulf in the hope that she might show him the letter he thought was concealed in her purse? Winifred had mentioned she'd had the devil's own task in shaking him off so that she could speak to Ulf in private. Janna nodded thoughtfully. Thwarted of his quarry, Ralph must then have cut off her purse to see for himself what it contained. What a surprise he must have had!

  It was one mystery solved, although Janna greatly regretted that the bishop would profit from Winifred's wrongdoing. On a sudden impulse, she thrust her hand into Ralph's scrip to see if there was anything else of interest in there.

  Her fingers touched something, a scrap of parchment judging by its shape. Had the bishop written another letter, and was Ralph on his way to deliver it when he was killed? If so, it would certainly be worth reading!

  Janna folded her fingers around it and drew it out. There were only a few words penned on it and she read them without difficulty. 'John fitz Henry, Alwarene Street.'

  John. The name leapt to her eye. Ralph had known several men with the name of John, so he'd told her. Was this one of his friends? Or was this her father's name, and the name of the street where he lived?

  Janna stared down at the parchment in her hand. She'd begun to shake again, but this time with excitement and hope. Could it be? Had Ralph kept his promise to her, in this at least? Or was she chasing after shadows, wanting to believe the best of a man who had shown himself capable of deceit and betrayal, theft, and even murder?

  John fitz Henry? Her father? Or someone else? Her stomach was roiling, she was frightened she was going to be sick. She clutched the parchment tight and held it close.

  A sudden commotion sent her head spinning around. A huge pale dog had launched itself into the river in hot pursuit of the ducks. They scattered in alarm, quacking their terror. The dog surged through the water, barking and snapping after them. His barking stopped as he crunched down into feathers. Brutus. Several swans sailed regally past, favouring the dog and its prey with a sidelong sneer before lifting their heads and extending their long necks as proof of their superiority.

  Janna looked about for the dog's owner. Ulf was hurrying along the river bank, his pack bouncing on his shoulders as he rushed to call his dog to heel. He was carrying something in his hand. He hadn't seen her. Having learned her lesson well, Janna stood up and waited while he whistled Brutus to his side. She watched as the dog shook itself, showering its master in a waterfall of drops. That done, it lay down and began to devour the duck, feathers and all.

  Knowing she was safe for the moment, Janna called out to Ulf.

  His steps faltered as he caught sight of Ralph. His face paled as he suddenly realised what had happened and who it was that lay so still beside her. Then he hurried forward and put his arms around her. She leaned into him and cried all over again for the man who had wooed her, who had betrayed her trust, and who had died such a horrible death. And she cried also for what she had done that had brought about such a bloody conclusion. If she hadn't told Ralph about the letter they'd found on the dead man's body, Bernard might still be alive. And so would Ralph, for Walter would not have sought him out to take his revenge in so hideous a fashion.

  Janna peeked out to take another look at the blood-soaked body. She drew in a breath, swallowed hard, and pulled away from the shelter of Ulf's arms. She scrubbed her eyes on her sleeve and sniffed through a clogged nose. No matter how much she might try to deny it, she was responsible for the death of two men. Juliana had been right; death had followed Janna from the start. Perhaps death still stalked her now. She shuddered. If she could undo anything in the world, it would be her careless words to Ralph that had spelled Bernard's doom, and ultimately, Ralph's too. Truly, Juliana must curse the day Janna had come into their lives.

  'Walter's doing?' Ulf said quietly.

  Numb with despair, Janna nodded.

  'And he is . . .?'

  'Gone.' Janna jerked a thumb in the direction of the East Gate.

  Ulf lifted an eyebrow. 'I'll wager he intends to go back to Sarisberie. He'll want to tell his mother tha
t he has avenged Bernard's death.'

  'And Adam will be freed – of this murder, at least.' Janna gave a mournful sniff, and wiped her red eyes on her sleeve.

  'I'm sorry, lass.' Ulf patted her hand, trying to bring comfort. 'I know you cared for Ralph. And if it's any consolation, I think he cared for you. It was only time and circumstances that . . .' He lifted his shoulders in a shrug.

  Janna wanted to believe him. If Ralph had cared for her as much as Ulf thought, he might well have taken the time to ask questions about her father, and to write down what he'd found out. Wordlessly, she unclenched her hand and showed Ulf the scrap of parchment.

  'I can't read,' Ulf confessed. 'What does it say?'

  'John fitz Henry. Alwarene Street.' Janna's heart gave a sudden kick of excitement. Suddenly, her father seemed to have come very close.

  'Is it important?'

  'I came to Winchestre to find my father. I showed Ralph his ring. It has a crest on it and I think Ralph recognised what it meant. He promised to help me look for my father.' Janna's voice faltered. She had to swallow hard before she could continue. 'I found the parchment in his scrip, along with this.' She held out Winifred's purse.

  Ulf's eyes widened. Then, suddenly, he began to laugh. 'I suppose it's empty?' he questioned.

  Janna nodded.

  'Poor Winifred. Her loss is the bishop's gain, I suspect?'

  Janna kept on nodding.

  'But Ralph thought Winifred might have the letter. That's why he took her purse?'

  'Yes.'

  'Bastard,' Ulf said softly.

  Ulf, Janna reflected, was a man and so he wouldn't have been as susceptible to Ralph's charms as she had been. He would not have been taken in, as she was. And Ulf was right. There was nothing good to be said about Ralph's character, nothing at all.

  Perhaps regretting his judgment, or at least his means of expressing it, Ulf held out to her what he'd been carrying. It was a swan's feather, white and downy soft.

  'Thank you, Ulf.' Janna was touched by his kindness.

  'A feather from the wing of the archangel Gabriel,' he said solemnly.

  Janna didn't know whether to laugh or be reverent. She looked at the twinkle in his eyes, and took the risk of smiling.

  'It'll bring you comfort.'

  Janna raised a questioning eyebrow.

  'It will also bring you luck, if you believe in it,' Ulf assured her.

  'Then I'll believe in it,' Janna told him, reflecting that if he spent some time along the river bank, he'd probably find enough angel feathers for an entire fluffy wing.

  Her thoughts were echoed when Ulf said, with a glimmer of a smile, 'If the good bishop is a collector of relics, I should pay him a visit.'

  Janna held out the feather, but Ulf brushed it away. 'No,' he said. 'That's yours.' He rose to his feet, and extended his hand to Janna to pull her up. 'Alwarene Street,' he said, as he pulled her to her feet. 'I know where that is. Do you want to go there, Janna?'

  'What, now?' Janna's hands felt clammy. She suddenly found it hard to catch her breath. 'But what about . . .?' She gestured towards Ralph's body.

  'Leave it be. There's nowt you can do for him, and we don't want to be caught up in the hue and cry after his killer. So we'll just pretend we've seen nowt and know nowt, and we'll go looking for your father instead. Come on.' Ulf hooked his arm through hers and, not giving her any chance to find an excuse, he began to hurry back along the river bank in the direction of the East Gate, whistling to Brutus as they went.

  'No! Wait!' Janna wanted a moment's privacy before facing the crowds along Chepe Street. 'I have my father's ring here in my purse.' She touched the small bulge through the fabric of her gown. 'It might help us to find him.'

  Ulf nodded, and turned his back while she hurried between the sheltering fronds of a willow tree.

  'May I see it?' he asked when she came back to him, clutching the ring tight in one hand and the swan's feather in the other.

  His eyes widened as she handed it to him. 'Are you sure this belongs to your father?'

  'Yes! Well, no. I'm not sure. But I think so. I found it along with a letter to my mother.' Janna was puzzled by the glint in Ulf's eyes and the dawning excitement on his face. 'See, here?' She traced the J of the swan. 'My father's name is John, so it seems likely that this is his ring. Doesn't it?'

  'Christ's bones!' Ulf let out an incredulous whistle. 'Do you know what this is?' he asked, touching the crown at the side of the swan.

  'It means that my father was loyal to the king. Not King Stephen,' she added quickly, lest Ulf mistake her. 'He only came to the throne after my father gave this ring to my mother.'

  'No. It means that your father was probably a bastard.'

  'What?' Anger flared bright. Janna swung her hand back to strike Ulf. How dare he compare her father with . . . with Ralph!

  Ulf pushed her hand away. 'That's not a reflection on his character,' he said, with a wry smile. 'What I'm saying is that your father was illegitimate. His name says that he is John, son of Henry, and so does his ring. He's one of the old king's bastards.'

  'But . . . but . . .?' Janna was having trouble understanding what Ulf was trying to tell her. 'What does that mean?'

  Ulf smiled. 'It means,' he said gravely, 'that you are the granddaughter of a king!'

  FOURTEEN

  JANNA WAS HARDLY conscious of the crowds thronging Chepe Street as Ulf pushed his way through, dragging her along in his wake. She was still fighting to come to grips with what Ulf had told her and what it meant for her future. What was most on her mind was the realisation of Ralph's final betrayal: that he must have recognised the insignia on the ring right from the start and determined to use her to better his own position. No wonder he'd treated her with such respect! He didn't love her at all, it was her connection to the crown that he coveted.

  The knowledge was shattering. But Janna knew she could not dwell on it for they were on their way to meet her father and she must focus, now, on the ordeal that lay ahead. She was the granddaughter of a king! She was the illegitimate daughter of an illegitimate son of the king! There was a small warmth in thinking that, if her father's birth was also in question, he must surely look more kindly on her birth, on the fact of her existence.

  A myriad of questions ran through Janna's mind. Did Eadgyth know who she was bedding when she went off with John? Did she know she was consorting with royalty? If so, why didn't she go to the old king and demand his help once she realised she was with child? Was she too ashamed? Or was she afraid that if she found the king she might also find her lover, married and living happily with someone else? Not having read John's letter, she didn't know how much he'd loved her and that he planned to return.

  Yes, Janna thought, as she walked along with Ulf. Her mother's fear of encountering her lover no doubt kept her as far from the old king as possible. And now she, her daughter, was about to meet John for the very first time! Would her father be at home? What would he look like, how would he greet her? Would he be glad to see her, this reminder of his past, or would he send her on her way?

  What if he was wed? What if his wife was home and sent Janna away before she had the chance to meet her father? One moment Janna felt her spirits lift in excitement and hope, and the next she was cast down in despair. Ulf kept glancing sideways at her as they walked along, but he did not speak. Perhaps he sensed her turmoil and realised she needed time to get used to her new, strange circumstances. Janna was grateful for his silence.

  He turned to the right and then stopped so suddenly that Janna bumped into him. 'It's quite a long street,' he said. 'There'll be several estates along it, I'll be bound. How shall we know which is the right one?'

  Warehouses and shopfronts lined the street, and Janna looked around, suddenly doubtful. 'If my father was the king's son, would he own a shop?' she asked.

  'I don't know.' Ulf scratched his head. 'Why don't we ask someone?'

  Sighting two men in conversation outside one of the shops,
they crossed over to speak to them. 'Can you tell us where we might find John fitz Henry?' Janna asked, holding out the ring to them.

  'That's Sire John to you, mistress,' one of the men reproved her. The other studied the ring in silence, then gestured in the direction of the town walls. 'His manor's up near the North Gate.'

  Janna started forward, anxious to get there as fast as she could, to outpace her growing fear. All she wanted was for her father to love her and to welcome her. She wanted to become part of his family, if he had one. That was what she most desired. But first, she had to find the courage to see this through.

  She walked beside Ulf, her quick strides betraying her nervousness. Ulf tugged on her sleeve to slow her down. 'Have you thought what you're going to say to your father when we get there?'

  Janna shook her head. 'I'm too frightened to think,' she admitted breathlessly. 'Oh, Ulf, you don't know how I've longed for this moment. I was never sure I'd succeed in finding my father. And now . . .' She shook her head, full of wonder at the moment.

  'Whatever happens, I'm here and I'll help you,' he promised. Janna smiled shakily, grateful for his reassuring presence.

  They had to ask several times before they were finally directed to an imposing door set within a tall wall. A bell attached to a rope invited their attention, and Ulf gave it a hearty tug before Janna could stop him. Now that the time had come she was sweating with terror. She needed a few moments to compose herself. But their arrival was announced and she must deal with the situation as best she could.

  The door opened and a short, fat man peered out. Was this her father? Surely she should feel something, some stirring of recognition, some calling of the blood? But Janna felt nothing other than fear.

  'Yes?' His glance raked first Ulf and then Janna. It was clear from his expression that he was not impressed by what he saw. His mouth turned into a tight bud of disapproval when he looked down at Brutus, who now sported a ruff of bloodied feathers around his muzzle.