To Janna’s relief, his words proved true. The first thing she saw, as they passed through the gate into the inner bailey, was the full extent of the castle keep. It rose before her, a huge tower with bright, whitewashed stone walls. Faldo explained to her that this was where everyone would take shelter if the castle came under siege and, by chance, the enemy managed to storm the outer defenses.
“But surely that’s impossible!” Janna exclaimed, thinking of all the ditches and ramparts and gates and walls that would have to be breached.
Beside her, Ralph chuckled. “There are other ways to bring about surrender than siege engines and armed combat,” he said. “Time. Thirst. Starvation,” he added as he noticed Janna’s puzzled expression.
Janna looked up at the windows of the keep. They were long, vertical slits, wide enough for archers to take aim at enemies outside but too narrow for enemy fire to penetrate. The keep was topped by flat ramparts, where a flag hung limp in the hot and airless afternoon. Soldiers might go up there, she thought, and fire arrows at their enemies, or cast stones or pour boiling oil down upon them, for she had heard the jongleurs discussing some of the battles they’d witnessed on their travels, as the king fought his cousin and the barons fought each other for possession of castles and land. This castle was well set up for warfare – but not, perhaps, for food. Nor water either, she thought, for there was no sign of a stream or any running water up here.
The royal palace abutted the keep. It wasn’t quite so high, but was built of the same stone, painted a dazzling white, and topped with red-tiled roofs. There was a covered well outside where women stood and chattered as they drew their buckets up and down. All conversation stopped at the jongleurs’ approach. They were subjected to scrutiny as they walked on past, threading their way through the clutter and clamor of the courtyard. It was crowded with merchants and traders, horses and carts, soldiers mounted and on foot, visitors and castle servants, all busy about their own purpose.
Janna gazed around, drinking in every detail as they were shown up to the great hall in the palace where the jongleurs had been instructed to perform. She had thought the manor house at Babestoche very grand, and the abbess’s quarters at Wiltune the very height of luxury, but she’d never seen anything like this before. Awestruck, she stood and stared. The walls were painted with various scenes. One depicted a hunt, with men on horseback in pursuit of a deer. The artist had captured perfectly the eager expression of the hunters as well as the terror of the deer as it fled for its life. Janna felt uncomfortable as memories stirred. She knew how it felt to run for your life. She hoped that, on this occasion at least, the deer had outpaced its pursuers.
She drew in a breath as she came to another painted wall. Flowers, trees, birds and butterflies formed a colorful backdrop to a courting couple. Although only their hands touched, their ardent yearning for each other was evident in their expressions and in every line of their bodies. Janna imagined herself and Ralph standing just so, and knew how they felt. She, too, longed for Ralph’s touch, the warmth of his regard, a word of love. Without meaning to, she looked around to find him. But he seemed to have disappeared on some errand of his own. She realized then that the jongleurs had also withdrawn to make preperations for the coming entertainment.
Servants rushed about, setting up trestle tables and benches for the meal to come. The hall was soon overflowing with people, from the castellan and his family and other notables who sat at the high table to the lowliest of the king’s subjects, who sat some distance away. There was a loud buzz of conversation, everyone shouting above his or her neighbor to be heard over the general din. After the quietness of their meals at the abbey, the noise seemed deafening to Janna.
She stood to one side, feeling awkward and useless as Master Thomas recited lais from The Song of Roland, after which the rest of the group played their musical instruments, juggled, sang and generally played the fool. She wondered if there’d be any dancing and, if there was, whether she would be allowed to take part. But the castle occupants ate their dinner, laughed and talked, and for the most part paid little heed to the entertainment provided by the jongleurs.
Later, in the kitchen where they were given something to eat, Faldo explained that they were used to being ignored. “But it matters little to us what they pay in attention so long as they pay us good silver.” He gave a sudden snigger. “Barons are always a’frighted we’ll spread stories of how stingy they are. It’s enough to open their purses wide. They feed us well too, and for the same reason.”
“Mmm,” Janna agreed through a mouthful of leftover goose. She smacked her lips and turned her attention to a dish of frumenty. Her mother had taught her how to make it, but this looked somewhat different, she thought, as she spooned some into her mouth. It tasted different too, for eggs and almond milk had been added to the wheat, as well as saffron to turn it a rich, yellow color. Janna drained her bowl, and took another helping, before finishing her meal with a portion of cream custard pie. Her stomach strained tight against her gown at the end of it, and she sat back with a sigh, well contented. Beside her, Faldo gave a loud burp, grinned, and heaped some more slices of beef onto his trencher. He shoveled it down hungrily, for he was of an age where he was growing rapidly. Meals like this seldom came his way and he was clearly making the most of it.
Keen to know more of how the nobility lived, Janna struck up a conversation with one of the serving wenches as she helped clear the tables in the Great Hall. Her name was Goda, she told Janna, and she proved to be a fount of information once Janna started asking questions.
“The king’s chamber is through there at the back,” she said, pointing to show Janna where she meant. “And his privy chambers are on the other side of the courtyard. It’s like three sides of a square, see. But of course there’s no king now, and no bishop either,” she added thoughtfully.
“Will the empress be welcome here, if she comes?” Janna asked, hoping that the empress would visit the castle while the jongleurs were still there.
Goda gave a fleeting grin. “Yes, I think she would be welcome after what’s happened.”
“What’s happened?” Janna asked, eager to hear more.
“This castle was once occupied by Bishop Roger. He was the old king’s justiciar and he rebuilt and refurbished the castle. After Stephen became king, he captured our bishop and imprisoned him in an old cowshed. It was a great scandal! The king also captured the bishop’s son, who was the chancellor, and two of his nephews, but one of them managed to get away. They were bishops too, and one of them was also the old king’s treasurer. In one ill-judged swoop, the king got rid of his wisest and most experienced advisers.”
“How do you know all this?” Janna asked, impressed and intrigued.
Goda shrugged. “People talk, and I listen. I’m just a serving wench, so no-one pays me any mind.” A smile crossed her face, with just a hint of calculation in it. Janna wondered if Goda sometimes profited from the information she was able to pass on, or perhaps was convinced to withhold. She looked at her with wary respect.
It seemed Goda was quite willing to share her knowledge now, for she continued to tell Janna all she knew. “Bishop Roger died soon after his arrest, and the king would not appoint anyone in his place. He took possession of this castle and all the property and wealth belonging to the bishop and his family, and glad he was to get his hands on it, so ’tis said, for he’d emptied his own coffers buying the loyalty of the barons. The king is much hated and feared because of what he did. Indeed, some say that what happened at the Battle of Lincoln was God’s punishment for this crime.”
Goda lowered her voice, and Janna leaned closer to hear her. “The lord William, brother of Patrick, Earl of Sarisberie, is both governor and castellan here and ’tis said he favors the empress’s cause. So yes, I think she would be very welcome here.” Goda took Janna’s arm and pointed across the courtyard. “That would be the lady’s chamber, if she came to visit us. There’s a private chapel there too, the ch
apel of St Nicholas. And there’s always a candle of wax burning there, day and night, whether the castellan is in residence or no!” It was clear from Goda’s tone that she considered this a huge extravagance.
“There’s a chapel below, too, for the soldiers and the castle servants. We sleep here in the hall and the soldiers sleep in the Great Tower next to the palace,” Goda continued. “Back there is a kitchen and garderobes.” She held her rough, chapped hands in front of Janna for inspection. “I work hard and long,” she said, “and see, my hands bear the marks of it.” She wrinkled her nose. “But at least I don’t have to clear out the cesspits below. We have gong-fermors for that.”
Janna had never heard of gong-fermors, but she understood well enough what Goda meant, and shared the servant’s pity for those unfortunates whose lot it was to clean the waste from the cesspits. She knew that the task wouldn’t end there, for the waste would then have to be carted out to the fields and spread about to enrich the soil for the crops to come. It had been Janna’s least favorite task when she lived with her mother, but she’d done it because their livelihood depended on what they could grow for food and medicaments. Imagining the size of the castle and the number of its occupants, Janna’s pity increased. A dreadful task indeed.
Goda was also a great source of gossip about the castle’s occupants, Janna discovered, as she spent more time with her and gradually won the girl’s confidence. It seemed there was a prison in the castle keep where several wretches were held captive, either awaiting punishment or serving time. It was only when Goda began to name them that Janna remembered, with a jolt of alarm, that this was where Mus had been sent after he’d attacked her. Dame Alice had insisted that he be kept imprisoned, although her husband might well have secured the wretch’s release by now.
“Do you know of a man called Mus? Or Alan? That’s his real name,” she interrupted anxiously.
“Mus?” A slight smile tugged the corner of the girl’s mouth. “He tried to sweet talk me once when I took a message to his jailer. Not that it did him any good, fettered as he was. But no, mistress. His lord purchased his freedom some moons ago, and took him back to his manor under warrant for his good behavior in the future.”
A shiver of fright ran through Janna. Mus was free! But after what had happened, surely the abbess would not tell either Robert or Mus where she had gone, nor would anyone from the abbey know anything of her present whereabouts. The thought was reassuring; nevertheless, she resolved to keep an eye open for the villain, for she knew well that he wished her dead and would pursue her if he could, as would the lord Robert.
The girl had named someone else, but it had passed her by in the horror of the news about Mus. “Did you say someone called Adam is imprisoned here?” she asked now.
“Indeed, mistress. The sergeant brought him in only yesterday. He is accused of murdering a pilgrim, and of theft, and of breaking his pledge to visit the shrine of Compostela and return to his home. The pilgrim’s mother has been sent for, from Oxeneford, to hear his answer to the charge. But he is already saying he’s guilty of nothing but breaking his pledge.”
Adam would say that, of course, Janna thought. Nevertheless, and in spite of the coolness between them, she wasted no time in passing on the news to Ulf.
The relic seller’s face became unusually serious as he listened. “I’ll ask if I may see him,” he said.
“Goda told me that Dame Juliana has been sent for, to hear Adam answer the charge against him.”
“Do you think Adam speaks the truth when he says that he is innocent of Bernard’s murder?”
“If not Adam, then who?” Janna was interested to hear Ulf’s thoughts on the matter.
“I suppose it could have been someone unknown to us? Someone who saw that Bernard was the leader of our band, and would expect him to be carrying a pile of coins to pay for our passage. Bernard’s scrip went missing, after all. Easy enough to disguise coins as your own; not so easy to disguise someone else’s pack and walking staff. Nor is it necessary to take ’em, if you already have your own. So it could be that Adam tells the truth. I have to see him, Janna. I want to hear what he has to say for himself.”
“I want to come with you.”
“Nay, lass!”
Janna was about to argue, but Ulf spoke over her. “I promise I will report everything that Adam says to me, if that’s what’s on your mind. But don’t you come. Indeed, I doubt you’d be given permission, for a prison is no place for a woman.”
*
“It’s as you were told,” Ulf reported, some time later. “Adam denies the charge most vehemently. He also denies all knowledge of any letter. His scrip and pack have been stolen, he says, so we have no way of telling whether or no he speaks the truth. He claims that at first he had no intention of breaking his pledge, for the priest had given his word that he would receive absolution on his return from Compostela. Which in itself is an admission of guilt, even if Adam doesn’t realize it. But he said that, when he woke in the night at Stonehenge and saw that Bernard was gone, the temptation to escape was too great to ignore, and so he made a run for it. He also says he regrets it now; that it was a stupid thing to do, for he encountered nowt but trouble on the road. He was severely beaten and robbed by bandits, and suffered great hunger and thirst and discomfort all the while. Not that his dungeon is an improvement!” Ulf shuddered at the memory. “It stinks, but that’s hardly surprising. The straw is filthy with human waste, and there are all manner of creatures down there, including rats and blood-sucking insects.”
Janna felt her skin crawl. “Do you believe Adam?”
Ulf nodded slowly. “In this, aye, I do. But indirectly he’s admitted that he was responsible for Golde’s father’s death, so he is guilty of one murder at least. After I’d spoken to him, I questioned the guard about his belongings and about the letter, but the guard claims he knows nowt about any of it. There’s nothing more we can do, I’m afraid.”
Was Ulf telling her the truth about the letter? Janna resolved to keep close watch on the relic seller, just in case he’d managed to get hold of it. But if he believed in Adam’s innocence regarding Bernard’s murder, that surely indicated that he, too, must be innocent otherwise he wouldn’t have hesitated to implicate the villain.
So who was responsible for Bernard’s death? Had he been murdered for his belongings, as everyone supposed? Or was the letter at the heart of everything that had happened? Janna hoped that the truth would come out once the shire reeve questioned Adam in Juliana’s presence. But even if he wasn’t responsible for Bernard’s death, she knew Adam would be held until such time as someone else was apprehended. And that was unlikely to happen, not while a suspect was already under guard.
Chapter 10
In her free time – when not keeping costumes and props in good repair, or helping with other chores – Janna went exploring. The jongleurs were housed in the outer bailey. They shared a shed with their horse and cart, along with the cage of white doves and other props used in their performances. Also in the outer bailey were the barns, sheds, workrooms and dwellings of the craftsmen, artisans and others who served both the castle and the cathedral. The huge stone cathedral stood on the far side of the outer bailey, its high tower dwarfing even the castle keep. The bishop’s palace was set close by, along with the houses of the clergy. Janna soon became known to the gatekeeper and passed freely between the outer and inner baileys. She enjoyed her solitary rambles and her glimpses into lives entirely different from anything she’d ever known.
One afternoon, the jongleurs were invited to the steps of the cathedral to entertain the resident canons and other clerics after their dinner. Janna was amused to notice that there were some changes to the repertoire. Master Thomas recited some lais from The Song of Roland, which were well received. The death of Roland was particularly poignant, to such a degree that several clerics were seen to surreptitiously wipe tears from their eyes afterward. On this occasion, there were no songs of cuckoos and summer
or of love lost and found. Instead, Faldo’s high, clear voice rang out in a chant that Janna hadn’t heard before. The tune was familiar but the last time she’d heard it, the song had told of a faithless mistress and a vengeful lover. She couldn’t understand what Faldo sang now, but his quiet reverence and formal stance told her that the song had been adapted for its new audience.
“Stella maris, semper clara,
Rosa munde, res miranda,
Misterium mirabile.”
Unlike the castle audience, a solemn silence prevailed during their performance, although one of the clerics kept humming under his breath, providing a somewhat tuneless accompaniment to the jongleurs.
The cathedral was almost as sumptuous as the castle, Janna thought, as she walked into the nave after the performance was over. Huge stone pillars were set at intervals down the aisles, soaring up to a shining ceiling high above her head. The walls were decorated with red porphyry and green marble while the floor was fashioned of alternate slabs of white and green stone. Gold and silver chalices, candlesticks and other precious objects adorned the altar, gleaming in the light that streamed through the delicate stone tracery of the numerous windows. She bowed her head and made a reverence, feeling nostalgic as she recalled the abbey at Wiltune and the sisters who had both befriended her and shared their knowledge so freely.
A sudden barking cough broke the silence and she looked about for its source. It was Ulf, with streaming nose and bleary eyes that spoke of his discomfort. Horehound and licorice, Janna thought, automatically naming the herbs most useful for such a malady. But she had no herbs, nor the means to make up any remedy. It irked her to feel so useless. Nevertheless, she spoke to Goda when they returned to the castle precinct, and a farthing changed hands. If she couldn’t make up a nostrum herself, she could at least make use of the healer at the castle.
Pilgrim of Death: The Janna Chronicles 4 Page 17
