Day of Judgment: The Janna Chronicles 6

by Felicity Pulman

  Janna hardly heard him; her eyes were fixed on the high motte and stone tower of the castle that dominated the skyline. There were thin slits in the tower, for firing arrows at the enemy but also, perhaps, for looking out onto the town. She wondered if the empress had noticed their arrival. A sudden fear set her heart jumping in her breast: what if Osbern had been intercepted? What if the empress didn’t even know that help was at hand? What if all of this was for nothing?

  Gervase was waiting beside her, arms held out to catch her as she slid down from her mount. She shivered, conscious that she was committed now and that there was no turning back.

  “The castle is surrounded by a moat, which to the west gives on to the millstream and the River Thames itself.” Gervase passed on his new-found knowledge in a whisper. “The empress will wait until she hears the horn sounding the alarm, but failing such a signal, she will leave just before the moon rises. Osbern will accompany her to Abingdon, and from there they’ll be able to ride under guard to Wallingford. She’ll stay there under Brian fitz Count’s protection until it is safe for her to move on to the Earl of Gloucestre’s castle at Devizes.”

  Janna nodded her understanding, while she turned to survey the ruined town. The snow gave a look of innocence and purity to the shattered buildings, but the forlorn air of abandonment reminded her of Winchestre after the siege. How cruelly this fight for the crown affected innocent townsfolk. They were the ones who suffered the most when their homes and their livelihood were destroyed. For a few treacherous moments, Janna wondered if all this ambition was really worth the hardship it caused. The seasons would change and life would go on no matter who sat on the throne. But she brushed the thought aside, for she had already endured so much to aid the empress’s cause that she could not give up on it now.

  “You must stay close to me at all times, my lady, so that I can protect you.” Gervase was looking more troubled by the moment. “Until the moon rises, our own passage will be difficult.”

  “But the darkness will aid the empress’s escape,” Janna said cheerfully, hoping to lighten Gervase’s spirits as well as her own. Even as she spoke, she was busy tethering her horse to a gate post. “We must leave our mounts here, Gervase. The guards will expect the empress to escape on foot. I don’t want to alert them to the possibility of a trick. And if, by some mischance, I should lose you in the dark, this will be our meeting place for later.”

  “No, my lady!” Gervase sounded panic-stricken as he continued. “The king’s men may well be mounted. There’s a danger they’ll run you down if you’re on foot! It’s more than my life’s worth to risk your safety.”

  “I believe I’ll be able to evade the king’s troops more easily on foot than on a mount.” Janna examined the higgledy-piggledy remains of shops and houses, assessing her chances. She shuddered, not only with cold, but she wouldn’t let Gervase know that she shared his fears. “There’s no need for concern, Gervase. We’ll be back at Godstow Abbey late tonight, and no-one any the wiser as to the true purpose of our absence.”

  “But what if someone steals our mounts, my lady?”

  It was a good point. “We’ll have to take that chance.” She looked around, and after some thought she untethered her horse and led it over to a huge yew tree that cast a deeper shadow on the pale snow. Grudgingly, Gervase followed her. He took the reins from Janna and knotted them fast to a branch at the back of the yew, out of sight, then tethered his own mount beside hers. Shivering in the bitter cold, Janna shrugged off the rough blanket that had disguised her, and left it draped across the horse’s saddle.

  “Come, it is time.” She couldn’t bear to delay any longer. She was also aware that they must not stay still, for she would surely freeze to death if they did.

  Muttering dire warnings coupled with instructions for her safety, Gervase led her back to the main street connecting the North Gate through the town to the South Gate. Janna kept her shoulders slumped and her face shrouded as they zigzagged streets and laneways, until finally they approached the southern ramparts of the castle. Once there, she cast off her hood, intent now on starting a chase that she hoped would drag the guards away from the castle to hunt the empress out in the streets. Although her heart was hammering with fright, she tilted her chin and assumed a haughty expression worthy of the empress herself.

  There were few people about in the intense cold, but she earned some startled glances as she hurried along. One man barred her way; Janna gave him a freezing stare down an imperially tilted nose before he turned aside and hastened away. She glanced after him, and saw him speeding off in the direction of the castle, shouting the alarm as he ran. She shivered and moved closer to Gervase, taking some comfort from his solid presence.

  As planned, they began to circle the castle, hoping to entice the guards from the western and southern ramparts and lead them north, thus leaving the way clear for the empress’s escape. All Janna’s senses were alert, for she knew that at any moment the king’s troops would come after them. Her back prickled as she anticipated the clutch of a heavy hand or the stinging point of a dagger. She resisted the urge to keep looking over her shoulder for signs of pursuit. “We should go a little slower,” she warned, as Gervase quickened his pace. “We want it to appear that we are in haste but trying not to attract attention. And I also need to be recognized.”

  “We should not be on foot,” Gervase fretted. “Please, my lady, let me sound the alarm myself so we can hurry on to the North Gate to reclaim our mounts.”

  “No, not yet. While we’re on foot we can twist and dodge through laneways and streets and lead the pursuit well away from the castle. We must draw the guards away and give the empress enough time to escape, Gervase.” Not giving him a chance to say more, she moved on with determined steps, pausing only to give a passerby the chance to look at her for a few moments before drawing her hood around her face in what she hoped seemed a furtive gesture.

  “You must not linger!” Gervase said, his voice too loud in the quiet night. In his panic he grasped her arm, trying to hurry her along. “Please, my lady, give them only one quick glance, just long enough to establish who they think you are so that they will sound the alarm. Then we must flee, just as they would expect.”

  Janna nodded. By now she felt sick with fright, but still she kept her head up and her chin tilted, determined to carry this through with the courage the empress herself would have shown under the circumstances. She walked beside Gervase, fighting the urge to run. This, she thought, was far worse even than her nightmares.

  A strident blast on a trumpet was followed by a cry that was taken up by a multitude of voices. The chase was on! Even as Janna thought it, she heard the thunder of a horse’s hooves coming up fast behind her. Acting on instinct, she ducked out of the way, separating from Gervase as she did so.

  “My lady!”

  The horseman had come between them now, and was bending from his saddle to catch her up into his arms. Not waiting to see if Gervase followed, Janna flung herself sideways and dodged down a narrow alleyway. One frantic glance behind her showed the horseman vaulting out of his saddle to follow her. She took to her heels, stumbling blindly in the dark, hampered by her long skirt. She snatched it up with both hands and, holding it high, continued to sprint down the narrow laneway, tripping over unseen objects in the dark and keeping her balance only with difficulty. The cries of pursuit followed her, men summoning their comrades to the chase. The footsteps following her were getting louder, coming closer.

  “Stop!” her pursuer shouted, but Janna kept on running. She had no way of knowing who was behind her, friend or foe, but as he hadn’t called out to the empress, or even to her, she thought it best to treat him as the enemy. Her guess paid off when she heard the blare of a trumpet from behind, telling others of their whereabouts.

  Terror-stricken, she put on a burst of speed, not stopping to reason that it was not her but the empress whom her pursuers were really after. Nor did she stop to think that they would be care
ful to take the empress alive for the huge ransom she would be worth to her captors. Janna’s mind was wholly occupied with imagining the sting of cold steel piercing her skin and slicing through her body. She dared not look around, but knew from the sound of pounding boots behind her that her pursuer had been joined by others and that they were gaining on her.

  The narrow lane came to an abrupt end. She shot out onto a wider street that was lined with an uneven cluster of small workshops. They were mantled in snow, but with collapsed roofs and gaping holes that gave them the appearance of a row of rotten teeth. A quick glance as she sped past told Janna that none of them held the promise of shelter. But a sharp pain in her side was almost crippling her; she knew she could not evade her pursuers for too much longer. She swerved closer to the buildings and ran into a burnt-out shop front, burrowing quickly through the ruins to the back where once had been a merchant’s home. Like everywhere else, what hadn’t been burned had been looted. There was nowhere to hide. After a brief moment to reconnoiter, Janna turned to run in the direction from which she’d come, keeping to the back lanes while hoping that the king’s soldiers would continue to ride on down the street in pursuit of her.

  Her body was on fire; her breath came in great gasping sobs. She had to find somewhere to rest, if only for a few moments. Desperately, she looked about for cover as she ran. One small workshop and dwelling stood isolated at the end of the row. It seemed to have escaped the worst of the firestorm that had razed everything else, and she dived into its shadows. She crouched, trying to quieten her panting breaths so that she could listen for sounds of pursuit. A loud cry close by and another trumpet blast told her that her ruse had been discovered. She could not stay where she was. It would take only moments before the king’s soldiers tracked her down. She searched frantically for a possible hiding place, but the small work space was bare, stripped and looted. Nor was there any way out of the ruins that would not result in her capture. She was trapped. Had the empress escaped yet? Would it be safe, now, to show herself and tell them her true identity?

  No! Although it felt as if she’d been on the run for hours, Janna knew it was not so long since the cry had gone out. Somehow, she must evade the search for a while longer. The dim outline of an abandoned smock hanging from a hook caught her eye. A smile of relief spread over her face. Here was her means of escape. Here was her salvation, if only she had the nerve to carry it off! With shaking fingers, she threw off her fur mantle and veil, untied her girdle, and quickly eased herself out of her gown. What a surprise the trader would have if he ever came back! Of course, the garments would be no use to him, but a wife or a daughter would be thrilled to own such costly apparel. She gave a huge sigh of regret. These were the most beautiful things she had ever owned and it hurt her to discard them, but if she was to escape from this coil she had no choice.

  She pulled the smock over her head. It was burnt in places, and stank of mold and damp. It was also far too large and far too long, but at least it would go some way toward hiding her bare legs. After a moment’s thought, she snatched up her discarded gown and stuffed it inside the smock, both to keep it safe and to alter her appearance even further. Disappointed that she had no room to save the fur mantle as well, she bundled it up with her veil and cast them into the darkness. Shivering with fear, she hurriedly tied her own girdle firmly around her waist and hitched up the smock so that it bulged over the cord. Attached to her girdle was her purse; not for anything would she leave that behind, not when it contained everything she most valued, including coins that she might need to bribe her way to safety. Regretfully, she slipped out of her dainty shoes, wishing there was a pair of boots to complete her ensemble. As she realized that the alternative was to walk barefoot through the snow, she hastily slipped the shoes back on, praying that no-one would notice them.

  She glanced about for something to hide her hair, but could find nothing. Glad she’d changed the color of it to match the dark night, she rapidly braided it into a long plait and tucked it out of sight inside the tunic. As a last touch, she scooped up some sooty, damp earth and smeared it over her face and hands and, after some thought, her shoes.

  She was about to creep out when she discerned the dark outline of a man coming toward her. At once she dropped to the ground, hoping that he had not seen her in the dark. But he had noticed the movement, and he strode in and stood over her. “Get up!”

  Janna yawned and stretched and rubbed her eyes to spread the dirt further, then stood up and hung her head. “What?” she snarled, in as low a voice as she could muster, speaking in the language of the Saxons.

  The soldier held up a flaming torch, the better to examine her. Janna shielded her eyes against the sudden flare of light, hiding much of her face at the same time. Terror struck her heart at the thought that he might search the ruins and find her fur mantle. She took a few steps toward him, forcing him to retreat. “What do you want?” she growled.

  “The empress has escaped and is hiding nearby.” He was back at the door now, his torch lighting the street rather than the ruined interior of the shop.

  “I haven’t seen her.” Janna cleared her throat and spat on the ground. “Rousing honest Christian folk from their beds, keeping them from their sleep,” she grumbled. “Our life is already hard enough, thanks to you.” She wondered if she’d gone too far when the soldier held up a threatening fist. But, caught up in the urgency of the chase, he turned away then and hurried off to the next shop along the row. She watched him, praying he would not return.

  Soldiers roamed everywhere, flaming torches held high as they prowled around the small shops and the ruined dwellings behind them, poking and prying, and no doubt pocketing anything of value they might chance upon along the way. After quickly bundling some burnt and broken remains of the shop’s fittings on top of her abandoned garments, Janna walked outside. She peered about for Gervase but couldn’t see him in the crowd. With shoulders hunched, and already missing the warmth of her fur cloak, she began to move along the street, eager to put as much distance between her and her hiding place as possible.

  To her relief, the soldiers paid her no heed, being more intent on interrogating any women they could find. Although numerous townsfolk had come out into the streets to see what the fuss was about, most of the single women were there for one purpose only: to ply their trade. They flirted with the soldiers and some of the men lingered, although most stayed focused on the task in hand. Janna eyed them cautiously as she strolled along, keeping a keen lookout for Gervase, or even her father or one of his men. But all were strangers to her.

  She had no idea, now, where she was, and wished she’d thought to disguise herself and go out earlier with Osbern and Gervase to learn the layout of the town. She dared not ask the way lest she arouse suspicion, yet she did not want to linger on the streets either, in case her disguise was penetrated. She grew colder and wetter, for it was still snowing, and her tunic was thin and ragged, and she had no leggings for protection. Finally, driven to desperation, she approached a couple of monks who were gazing at the scene about them with lively curiosity.

  “I ask your pardon for troubling you,” she said breathlessly, once more lapsing into the speech of her childhood, as befitted her apparel. “Can you tell me where to find the North Gate?”

  The two brothers looked at her. One of them shrugged. “I’ve no idea what he is saying,” he commented to his companion in Norman French. The other brother smiled at Janna. “Go here,” he said, his words so halting that Janna had difficulty understanding him. But his pointing finger was direction enough, and she caught the gist of what he was trying to say when he added, “There is cross of roads.” He crossed his hands to show what he meant, then raised his left hand to point as he said, “Turn that way to church. St Michael. There is town wall and North Gate.”

  Janna was shaking with cold by the time she came to the churchyard where they’d tethered their horses. She hammered on the door of the church, planning to throw herself on the me
rcy of the priest or anyone else who might hear her, but no-one came in answer to her summons. At last, shivering violently, she crept under the thick branches of the yew tree to find the old blanket she’d left lying on the horse’s saddle, hoping it, and the horses, would provide some measure of warmth, for her tunic was wet from melting snowflakes and her blood was colder than ice. There was no sign of Gervase; she assumed he was still out searching for her, probably half out of his mind with worry. There was little she could do about it, though, other than cower close to the horses and wait for him.

  Minutes passed as slowly as hours. Janna wiggled and jigged to try to keep warm, but was chilled through by the time she heard a slithering footstep followed by a dull thump and a loud curse. She peered through the prickly yew and saw Gervase struggling to right himself in the slippery snow.

  “I’m here,” she said, and crawled out from her hiding place.

  “Thank God you’re safe! Jesu! What has happened to you?” He gaped at her blackened face and bare legs in horror.

  “Shh. I’m safe and everything is all right.” Janna smiled at him.

  “But my lady – your clothes! Your face!” His voice quavered with alarm.

  “Later, Gervase. We must make haste to reach the abbey before daylight. There’s no time to lose.” Janna fumbled with the tethered reins, her hands numb and clumsy with cold.

  “Allow me, my lady.” As he spoke, Gervase removed his cloak and handed it over.

  “No,” Janna protested, holding up her hands to fend him off. “You need it yourself, Gervase.”

  “I am more warmly dressed than you, my lady.” He cast an eye over the old blanket and Janna’s exposed limbs, and glanced quickly away.

  Conscious of propriety, she took his cloak with heartfelt thanks and wrapped it around her, grateful for its warmth. But they still had a further hurdle to pass before they could gallop to safety.

  “The North Gate, my lady? It will be barred against us by now.”