“Aye. The monk I bought it from swore that it had come from the Holy Rood.” Ulf put his bottle away, stretched out along his cloak and closed his eyes. Janna observed him, thinking he was a likeable rogue, but a rogue nevertheless. Her attention moved to Ulf’s dog.
“Ho, Brutus,” she said carefully, and clicked her fingers. The dog eyed her briefly, but growled as she extended her hand for an experimental pat. Janna hurriedly withdrew, just in case the dog decided it wanted another tasty morsel to chew. It seemed to have finished off whatever it had carried in its mouth, and now it rested its muzzle on its paws, keeping a wary eye on her. Fragments of bone and bits of gristle lay on the grass nearby, bearing witness to the dog’s dinner. Janna espied a fragment larger than the others, and frowned. She was almost sure it wasn’t a bone from any animal she knew. She picked it up to study it more carefully. It looked more like a human toe, or perhaps part of a finger. She recalled the hand of St James in its reliquary at the abbey. In its great age it had shrunk to skin and bone so that one could almost see the structure underneath. This bone seemed similar. Janna shuddered, and threw the bone away. Had the dog got in among Ulf’s relics? She glanced sideways at his pack. Was it full of spare body parts? Was that why it was so heavy?
She sat back with a grimace of distaste, and surveyed her blistered, bloodied feet. She should wash them and find some soothing herbs to heal the broken skin and dull the pain. Yet it seemed almost too much trouble to move. The heat of the day pressed down on her; her senses were dulled by the still, bright afternoon and the heavy silence, which was punctuated only by the splashing river and the languorous hum of bees. A faint sound of snoring came to her ears: Juliana, sprawled out on her cloak once more, resting her tired old bones. Janna felt her own eyes begin to close.
Chapter 3
She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when something jolted her awake. What had disturbed her? She looked about at the peaceful scene. The pilgrims were quiet, some resting, some with small books in their hands, some saying the rosary or murmuring quietly to one another.
The sound that had disturbed her was growing louder: the urgent thrum of hoof beats that told of a horseman coming their way, and in a great hurry too. Someone else had also heard the rider’s approach. Winifred had leaped to her feet, looking fearful. But Janna recognized the badge of the rider’s office even before he dismounted and announced himself to their party.
“I was charged by Abbess Hawise to come after you,” he said, scowling at each of them in turn. “Do not think you can hide from her wrath.”
“Hide?” Bernard echoed. He spread his hands in bewilderment. “We came this way to escape a band of horsemen on the road, and we stayed to drink from the river and rest. I can assure you, we are not hiding from the abbess.”
The guard’s stern demeanor told Janna that he did not believe Bernard, nor did he trust any of them. “The hand of our blessed St James the Apostle was discovered missing from its reliquary this morning,” he told them. “It seems you hold the key to the relic’s disappearance and you will now submit yourselves to my search. You will travel no further unless and until I give you permission to leave.”
“Are you accusing us, a group of devout pilgrims, of this vile and blasphemous deed?” There was an angry gleam in Bernard’s eyes as he faced the abbess’s messenger.
The guard held his ground. “Yes. But you’re not the only group under suspicion,” he admitted. “The abbey and those who reside there have all been searched, and the abbess has sent riders after every group that has departed this day. The abbess is wrathful, not least for fear of what the empress will say when she is told of this crime. The lady entrusted the sacred relic to the abbey for safe-keeping. Anyone caught with it in his possession will be severely punished, you may be sure of it.”
Janna recalled the fragments of bone on the grass, and felt her stomach lurch in horror. She glanced toward Ulf, who seemed unconcerned by their unexpected pursuer. Did he know what Brutus had done? Moving unobtrusively, Janna edged toward the patch of flattened grass where Brutus, so recently, had eaten his dinner. The scraps of flesh and bone were still visible. She did not dare bend down to examine them but, even scrutinizing them from a distance, she felt fairly sure that they had, indeed, once formed part of a whole hand. She looked from Ulf to the guard, then down at the ground once more, trying to hide her discomfort. Should she say something to the guard? She shook her head; nothing could make the hand whole again. All she would achieve was the imprisonment of Ulf, and she certainly didn’t want that on her conscience. And what of the real culprit, who was yet more innocent than his master? She certainly didn’t want to take responsibility for a huge, homeless hound! She quickly kicked some loose dirt over the incriminating evidence and joined the party of pilgrims now clustered around the guard.
“Much better to tell me now if you know anything of it, for the abbess may be persuaded to clemency if the sacred relic is returned unharmed and without delay.” The guard waited some moments, looking expectantly from one face to the next. But no-one spoke. “Very well,” he snapped, his disappointment plain for all to see. “Lay your packs out on the ground. I shall inspect them all, after which I shall search each of you personally, along with the garments you wear.” His hard stare moved from pilgrim to pilgrim and came to rest on Janna.
“No!” she cried, outraged at the prospect of having to undress in front of everyone. She looked about for Winifred to join her protest, and her gaze fell on Juliana.
“No,” Juliana agreed. “’Tis not seemly for any man to search a woman. However, to serve the abbey’s interests, I am prepared to undergo your search. I am no longer of an age where such a thing matters to me. Once you are satisfied that I am innocent, I will undertake to search the women, and their belongings, in private.” She stressed the last two words, making sure that her meaning was plain.
Janna turned to the guard, hopeful that he would agree to the compromise. To her relief, he said curtly, “Very well then, old woman. I’ll make a start with you.” He took a step toward her, but was interrupted by Bernard, who belatedly introduced himself as the leader of the pilgrim group.
“This is my mother,” he went on, indicating Juliana. “On my honor, I will undertake to watch all the other members of our band while you conduct your search privately, behind that thicket of bushes over there. We shall all watch each other.” The guard thought it over for a few moments, before murmuring a reluctant agreement. He walked toward the bushy screen, keeping several paces behind Juliana, who stalked ahead of him.
Winifred materialized beside Janna, breathing hard. “Is he going to search us all?” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“But I have never undressed before a man! And I will not now.”
“You don’t have to. Juliana offered to prove her innocence first, and she’s going to search all the women afterwards.”
“Thanks be to God for that!”
“You should rather thank Juliana for her generosity.” Janna already knew the search would prove futile. Not only that, it was going to waste several hours of daylight they could use in walking on to their destination. Should she speak up after all? Another question stopped her: how had Brutus come by the saint’s hand in the first place?
She had no pack to dump, but the rest of the group had dutifully set their packs out in a line, and were now busy watching one another. The guard rejoined them and commenced his search, pulling everything out of each pack and exposing it to the view of the pilgrims.
“Careful! There are precious relics in there!” Ulf’s shout stopped the guard momentarily. He straightened and scrutinized Ulf. “A relic seller, are you?” He bent to Ulf’s unwieldy pack and eagerly began to extract bundles wrapped in linen along with a number of small, wooden boxes. The bundles were unrolled, the boxes opened, and the pilgrims crowded round to view the contents: scraps of fabric, teeth, fingers and other body parts, engraved stone runes, several precious gems. To the obvious di
sappointment of the guard, there was no hand among them. Ulf growled in protest at seeing his treasures thus exposed, and his dog growled louder, but there was little he could do to prevent the search. The guard, visibly annoyed, moved on, leaving Ulf to secure his precious relics and return them to his pack.
Juliana flounced out from the concealing bushes, red-faced and discomforted. She beckoned Janna to come to her. Once Janna had stripped, Juliana insisted on viewing the contents of the purse she kept hidden under her gown. The old woman’s eyes widened as she swiftly calculated the value of the silver coins Janna carried, and grew ever wider as she noticed the brooch, ring and letter also secreted there. She reached out a hand to pick them up for a more careful inspection, but Janna swept them back into her purse, determined that Juliana would not learn her mother’s secrets. Instead, she showed her the last treasure from her purse: a small statue of a mother tenderly clasping a child. “Look, I found this out in the forest near where I used to live,” she said.
Juliana drew back with a sudden hiss. “Why do you carry a pagan idol?”
“It’s the Virgin Mary and baby Jesus,” Janna contradicted sharply. She had no way of knowing it was any such thing, but Juliana’s ready condemnation annoyed her. She closed her fingers around the small statue and thrust it back into her purse. “And what did you mean when you said that death was following me?” she demanded. “Am I going to die?” She hastily donned her under-tunic, then pulled the silky blue gown over her head.
“We are all going to die. That’s the fate that we cannot escape.” Juliana turned away. “Send Winifred to me, followed by Golde,” she instructed.
Janna thought that Juliana must be lapsing into the senility of old age, yet she couldn’t help feeling uneasy. But it was clear the old woman was not going to answer her question, and so she hurried off to fetch Winifred, securing the gauzy veil over her hair as she went.
The search of the packs was over. At Bernard’s suggestion, the guard turned his attention to the dead man. Not that Bernard would have left anything incriminating for the guard to find, Janna thought, remembering how thoroughly the pilgrim had searched the body. But she had to admit she couldn’t see Bernard covering up something so serious as the theft of the hand of St James. The guard quickly examined the dead man’s pack and scrip, wearing an expression of extreme distaste as he did so. Clearly relieved to be done, he shoved everything back where he’d found it and hastily moved away.
Janna wondered what had happened to the piece of parchment. Had Bernard secreted it somewhere about his person? Would he show it to the guard? There was no way of finding out for, taking his cue from Juliana and perhaps mindful of the sensibilities of the other women of the party, the guard now banished them all behind the bushy screen once more, to wait while the men of the party were stripped and searched.
Janna decided to pass the time by fashioning a staff for herself. She began to explore the area, looking for anything that might prove suitable.
“What are you doing?” Winifred bounded up. “What are you looking for?” Her aggrieved expression relaxed somewhat as Janna explained her mission. “The guard’s wasting his time – and ours. He’s not going to find the hand among a group of pilgrims, is he?” she commented, as she swooped down on a long, straight stick for her own use.
Janna thought of Brutus. “No, I don’t think he’ll have any success here.” She pressed her foot down on a fallen tree and hauled back on a slender branch until it cracked under the pressure.
“I think it was the dead man who stole the hand, and that’s why he died.” Winifred watched as Janna pulled out her knife and began to trim her new staff.
“No, it wasn’t.”
“Even if the guard didn’t find it on his body, it could be that the man had an accomplice. Maybe he gave it to someone else for safekeeping before he died?”
“He didn’t take it. He’s been dead far longer than the relic’s been missing.”
“Then the hand will never be found!” Winifred looked sideways at Janna. She seemed to be plucking up courage to say something. “All those relics in Master Ulf’s pack. Do you think they’re really what he says they are?”
Janna laughed. “I suspect not. But I couldn’t say for sure,” she added, wanting to give the rogue the benefit of the doubt.
“But the hand of St James the apostle? That’s real, isn’t it?”
Janna shrugged. “I was at the abbey when the Empress Matilda visited us and handed it over. There was a special mass said for it. The abbess certainly believes it is a true relic. There wouldn’t be all this fuss otherwise.”
“That’s good. I’m glad about that.” Winifred began to pace restlessly among the trees. Janna wondered if she was hoping to catch a glimpse of the pilgrims in a state of undress.
The sun was slanting across the downs from a reddening sky, their figures casting long shadows by the time the guard had finished. As Janna suspected, no unattached hand had come to light. Nothing had been achieved in a wasted afternoon, save that the guard had undertaken to lead the horse and its dead rider back to Wiltune and instigate a search as to the man’s identity, so that his family might be notified and the body decently buried.
Master Bernard thanked him heartily for the offer, obviously relieved to be rid of the corpse. But the guard had not quite finished with them. It seemed that what he couldn’t achieve with threats he would now try to achieve with bribery. “I am bound by the abbess to tell you that there is a reward for the safe return of this sacred relic,” he called out, attracting the attention of the pilgrims, who were now scattered about, repacking their belongings and talking among themselves. The word “reward” galvanized them all. They immediately quietened and came closer to hear what the abbess had in mind. Janna, too, listened with curiosity. Abbess Hawise was notoriously mean and penny-pinching – the guard’s offer, probably deliberately withheld until now, spoke tellingly of the measure of her desperation.
“Six silver pennies to anyone with information about the identity of the thief. And a purse of silver to whoever returns the hand of St James to the abbey.”
A purse of silver! Janna’s next thought was: How big a purse? But no matter how small, it would be a fortune worth thinking about. Janna glanced at Brutus and then at Ulf, who seemed as unconcerned as ever. But he could hardly claim a reward if his dog had already eaten the sacred relic!
The guard stared hard at them all, hoping that someone would break, and tell him what he needed to know. The pilgrims stayed silent. If any of them knew aught of the missing relic, no-one was going to say so. Instead, they looked at each other with calculating eyes, but glanced quickly away rather than meet anyone’s gaze. The theft of the hand and the promise of a reward for its return had brought suspicion and greed into hearts that, after a pilgrimage to the tomb of St James, should have been full of love and free from care.
The guard watched them with a hopeful expression, waiting for someone to speak, but nobody did. Finally, with a shrug of resignation, he remounted. Leading the straying horse and its burden beside him, he slowly clip-clopped away in the direction of Wiltune.
Bernard clapped his hands to attract everyone’s attention. “We’ve had the chance to rest for most of this afternoon, so I suggest we make the most of the long twilight. There’s maybe time to walk a mile or two before finding somewhere to spend the night.” He looked around to see if there were any dissenters. Janna sensed his impatience to push on, and understood what drove him. He must still be in possession of the bishop’s message. She wondered how he’d managed to keep it hidden from the guard. Or had he merely told the guard it was his own possession?
“Are you in agreement?” Bernard asked. There were a few murmurs of assent and one or two grumbles before they all bent to pick up their packs once more. Janna noticed Juliana shoulder her burden and limp off behind Bernard. She hesitated a moment, then picked up her shoes and hurried after her.
“Look,” she said, hoping to flatter the old woman
into explaining her odd prediction. “I have a staff of my own now, just like yours. It’s such a help with walking, isn’t it?”
Juliana looked from her own fine walking stick to Janna’s roughly hewn branch. She gave a grunt, but made no comment.
Janna sighed, and tried again. “Let me carry your pack for you,” she offered. “I am younger than you, and I have no pack of my own to carry.”
“I carry my own pack.” Juliana stumped onward.
Annoyed that her gesture of goodwill had not merited even a word of thanks, Janna was about to give up and walk away when the old woman muttered, “You must go. Leave us. I don’t want you here.”
“But I have no-one else to travel with. Besides, I need to get to Ambresberie.” Janna was determined that Juliana would not get rid of her just because she’d taken against her for some reason.
“Death stalks you.” Juliana looked ahead, her eyes glassy and unfocused once more. “And my son.” An expression of grief twisted her face. “I fear you will bring us ill-fortune!”
“But I don’t wish Master Bernard harm, you have my oath on it.” In spite of her protest, Janna was frightened.
Juliana’s lips pinched. She made no reply, just hitched her pack a little higher and limped on. Janna watched her go. The woman’s words had sent a chill through her, yet they made no sense at all. And in the absence of a sound reason for abandoning the group, she was determined to push on. There was too much at stake for her to leave the pilgrims now. News of her mother awaited her at Ambresberie and, with a bit of luck, what she found out there would lead her, in turn, to her father. She would not be deflected from her purpose by the ramblings of an annoying old woman.
“We’ll be there in just a day or two,” she muttered to herself. “Juliana will get her wish soon enough.” She began to walk behind the pilgrim group, wincing as sharp flints bruised her feet. When living with her mother at the edge of the forest, Janna had often walked barefoot, for boots were a luxury, hard come by and cherished because of it. Both Janna and Eadgyth had owned a pair of boots, but had carefully preserved them for winter wear or for long journeys to the marketplace. Now, after a year in the abbey, Janna was not used to walking unshod, but she knew her feet would toughen up over time. Until then, she would just have to bear it.
Pilgrim of Death: The Janna Chronicles 4 Page 4
