He stopped to draw breath, while Janna looked at him in amazement. Not safe to have an opinion indeed! This man was almost spitting with rage, and Janna found herself liking him the more for it. Trust no-one? She looked searchingly at Walter, his sad eyes and open, honest face. “Your loyalty is to the empress?” she asked.
“Forever.” He clasped a hand to his heart, his expression solemn. He fumbled in his scrip then, and produced a sheet of parchment, folded small. “I have this from the empress as a guarantee of my safe passage through her realm,” he said. “She gave it to me after my mother arrived with news of Bernard’s death and the missing message. The empress sent me out to find you, and to locate it, for we believe it contains vital information and was the reason my brother died. I knew where Bernard would have hidden it, but we weren’t sure if his killer had found it or not. Now that I know the message is safe, I must take it to the empress without delay.” He handed the parchment to Janna. “Look at the seal. Perhaps that will convince you of my good intentions?”
Janna inspected it. There was a Latin inscription around its edge: MATHILDIS DEI GRATIA ROMANORUM REGINA, with the seated figure of a woman in the center. She wore a crown, and held some sort of staff in her right hand. Mathildis? Matilda? It seemed possible. She unfolded the parchment and tried to read what it said, but the Latin defeated her. She scanned the page, and her eyes fixed on some writing underneath the Latin script. This, she could understand. It was written in Norman French, and asked that the bearer be given safe passage. It was signed with Matilda’s name, just as Walter had said.
“You speak the truth.” Janna folded up the parchment and handed it back to him.
“You’ve read what it says?” Walter sounded surprised.
“Yes.” Janna had made up her mind. “What about you? Do you know how to read?”
“Of course.”
“Then you’d better look at this.” She turned her back on the jongleurs and cautiously unscrewed the handle of her staff. She took out the small packet and palmed it to Walter. “Read this as soon as you may, but don’t let anyone see you looking at it now,” she warned. But her warning was unnecessary, for the message had been quickly slipped out of sight.
“Even though you say it’s addressed to the king, I shall take it to the empress,” Bernard assured her.
“No!” Janna was in a panic that she’d done the wrong thing. “No, this is a matter of life and death! You must take it to Robert, Earl of Gloucestre, in Winchestre. Now, today, for I fear he has walked into a trap of the bishop’s making.”
“A trap? What are you talking about? The bishop is our ally!” Walter eyed Janna warily, perhaps thinking her wits had gone wandering.
She had trusted him so far, she must trust him now. Janna reasoned that soon enough he would read the message for himself, but she must convince him not to delay in delivering it.
“The letter is addressed to the king, and you are right. It is to urge him to be of good cheer, but not for the reason you think. Instead, the bishop takes credit for counseling the queen and her troops to lay siege against the empress on the eve of her coronation, so proving to the Londoners that the empress was powerless to protect them. The bishop says he intends to oppose and thwart her at every turn, and snare her if he can, with the intention of exchanging her life for that of the king. It is quite clear from the letter that he has never supported the empress; that he has been working against her from the start, in fact.”
“What?” Walter paled as Janna unfolded the full extent of the bishop’s treachery. “I must go to the empress at once, and warn her,” he said breathlessly.
“Surely it is more important to warn the earl?” Janna said, and proceeded to put forward the argument that she’d used to convince herself that this was the correct course of action.
“I must first read this letter for myself.” Walter looked worried and uncertain. Janna realized he didn’t believe her.
“You will see the truth of my words once you do, but you must take it to the earl without delay,” she urged him.
“I understand.” His glance raked the group of jongleurs, and settled briefly on Ulf. He turned to Janna. “My mother told me that Ulf and Ralph de Otreburne joined the pilgrim band along the journey. I see Ulf still travels in your company.” His glance hardened. “Where is Ralph?”
“Ralph? He travels with us to Winchestre. It is his horse that cast a shoe. He had to take it to the blacksmith back at that hamlet we just passed through.”
“Red tunic, long fair hair, beard and mustache?” Janna nodded. “I saw him with the blacksmith.” Walter scowled at the memory. “I understand he told you that he was a pilgrim. Why, then, has he not traveled to Oxeneford with the other pilgrims? Did you think to ask him that?”
“He’s coming to Winchestre with me to help me find my father.” Janna had no intention of sharing her suspicions with Walter, but it was safe to admit that much. Yet it seemed that was not enough to convince him. The disbelief on his face was easily read. “He thinks he knows who my father is whereas I…I do not.” Shamed by the admission, she tilted her chin in defiance and looked him square in the eye.
“Is that all there is between you?”
Janna glared at him. “If Ralph knows aught of the bishop’s letter, he still does not know that it’s been found,” she said. “And if you leave us now, he will never know there was anything to find, or that I had anything to give you.”
“But he is not the only one from the pilgrim band who still accompanies you. What about the relic seller, Ulf. Why is he still in your company?”
Janna couldn’t help feeling relieved that Walter’s focus had shifted to Ulf. All her suspicions came flooding back. Ulf was a rogue, yes, she knew that much about him. But was he also a killer?
“Ulf knows about the letter,” Walter prompted her. “My mother tells me she confided in him in her grief. Why is he following you?”
Janna took a quick breath. “To protect me. That’s what he said, although I’m not sure I believe him. And I certainly don’t need looking after!” She tossed her head, flushing angrily as she noted the sudden glint of amusement in Walter’s eyes. “He really does sell relics,” she said. “He’s had a very profitable journey so far, and hopes to do even better in Winchestre.”
“I’m sure he does,” Walter said dryly. “I will speak to him before I go.” He turned away, then stepped back with a final warning, his words a strange echo of his brother’s last words to Janna. “Promise me you’ll say nothing of this letter to anyone. Trust no-one.” His expression hardened. “Both our lives will be in danger if word of this gets out.”
He waited for Janna to make the promise then, to her relief, he left her. After a brief exchange with Ulf, he mounted his horse and set off at a gallop for Winchestre, with a broad smile and a cheerful wave giving the appearance that he had not a care in the world.
Janna watched him go, feeling a great burden lift from her shoulders as his figure dwindled in the distance.
“What was that all about, Janna?” Master Thomas strode over to her, closely followed by Faldo and the rest of the troupe.
Janna hastily collected her scattered wits together. “Master Walter is an old friend of my family. They…they gave him a message for me, just…just in case our paths crossed along his journey.”
Master Thomas nodded, apparently satisfied, but his wife poked her nose in Janna’s direction. “He seemed in a great hurry to be gone.” It was clear from her tone that Walter had not observed the courtesies so far as Elanor was concerned, and that she took it as a personal affront.
“He…has urgent business in Winchestre.” It was the truth after all.
But Mistress Elanor was still not satisfied. “And what is his business that it’s so urgent?”
“He’s a – a merchant.”
“A merchant? Where then are his goods?”
Janna heaved an exasperated sigh. Really, the woman was cursed with even more curiosity than she was! “He
was robbed. There are no goods left to steal!” she said firmly.
Elanor raised a disbelieving eyebrow.
“So what were you arguing about?” Faldo asked.
“We weren’t arguing. He’s angry about the theft, that’s all. And he is in haste to report it.” Janna felt herself coloring under their combined gaze. She walked away and flung herself down in a patch of shade, eager to avoid any more questions. Ulf followed her, and sat down beside her.
“That was Bernard’s brother,” he said quietly. Janna nodded, and closed her eyes. She was afraid to talk about him lest she give something away. She was even more afraid of what might happen if she did.
“He questioned me about Ralph.” Janna pressed her lips together, refusing to take the bait. “He also asked why I had stayed in your company.”
“And what did you answer?”
“I said Dame Juliana had asked me to look after you.”
Janna gave an impatient exclamation, her annoyance clearly on show.
“Faldo was right, wasn’t he?” Ulf persevered. “You were arguing. What about? What’s happened?”
“Nothing that need concern you.” Janna turned away. She was tired of being questioned, tired of having her word doubted, tired of being involved in the treachery swirling around the empress and her bid for the throne. She’d handed over the bishop’s letter. She’d done what she could and all she wanted now was to be left in peace!
To be certain of it, she pretended she was falling asleep. But her brain continued to spin like a waterwheel. The letter was out of her hands now, but she knew that its safe delivery was only part of Walter’s quest. Sooner or later, he would look for his brother’s killer and extract vengeance. On Ulf? Or did he suspect Ralph? Stricken, her hand flew up to her heart. “It was Adam,” she whispered to herself. “Adam!” Or was it Ulf? Or Ralph? Her uneasiness grew as her thoughts became darker; a black fog swirled around her, thick as the mist at the henge, sucking her into the void.
She only realized that she’d fallen asleep when Master Thomas’s voice roused her. “We can go soon,” he called out to everyone. “Here comes Master Ralph. It looks as if his visit to the blacksmith has met with success.”
“I saw Walter hand you a letter to look at. Was that what you were arguing about?” Ulf came to her side as soon as he saw that she was awake.
“No! It was a message from my family, that’s all.” Janna picked up Bernard’s staff and rose to her feet, desperate to discourage any further questions. But Ulf would not be put off. He laid his hand on her arm to keep her attention.
“I promised Dame Juliana that I would keep you safe, and I will honor that promise,” he said seriously. “Dame Juliana foresaw the death of her son, and she told me that death stalks you too. Be careful, Janna. Please, be careful.”
Janna shrugged him off. “How do I know I can trust you, Ulf?” she said, fear making her brutal in her honesty. “How do I know I can trust anybody?”
Ulf’s eyes narrowed. “You can trust me,” he said, and walked away.
Janna watched him go. She was sure her face bore witness to her distress and confusion. She dreaded seeing Ralph, having to meet his bright and knowing gaze. She walked over to Faldo, thinking neither Ralph nor Ulf could provoke her into revealing secrets if she kept always in the company of others.
“If you’re training to be a jongleur like your father, can you recite something to me?” she asked, hoping Faldo wouldn’t be able to resist showing off his knowledge.
Faldo brightened at the chance to perform in front of an appreciative audience. “Something from The Song of Roland?” he asked. “It’s the most popular. The nobles like stories about Charlemagne the Great. So do the common folk.”
“Common folk like me?” Janna teased.
Faldo grinned at her. “Common folk in the marketplace and at the fairs. Wait till you see St Giles Fair at Winchestre, mistress. We come every year for it. It’s the biggest and the best! You wouldn’t believe there were so many people in the whole world as come up on the hill where the fair is held. It’s like a town up there, with every animal and bird you’ve ever seen for sale, and some you never have. And an array of goods to take your very breath away! We always do well there, for the people love to hear our songs and stories, and dance to our music.” His face split into a wide grin, and he clapped his hands together in remembered joy.
Janna watched Ralph dismount, and her heart quivered with fear. Keep Faldo talking, she thought. “The Song of Roland will do nicely.” Her nerves were strung taut. She was acutely aware of Ralph’s presence. “Or you could teach me another song?”
Faldo gazed at her in astonishment – he knew how reluctant a singer she was. “There’s a sweet song about love that was taught to me by a jongleur from across the water,” he said, adding doubtfully, “It’s a little…rude.” He began to walk on, following his father and mother and the rest of the pilgrim band. Janna kept pace beside him.
“That’ll do,” she said.
“And you’ll sing it with me?”
Janna sighed. But she was desperate. “Yes,” she promised.
“I still remember one morning when we put an end to our quarrel,
And when she gave me such a great gift: her love and her ring.
May God let me live until I may have my hands under her cloak!”
Faldo’s voice quavered on the last few words. He glanced quickly at Janna, who gave him an encouraging smile. She’d expected something far worse.
“I know some others, but they’re all much longer,” Faldo said anxiously.
“No, I like that one. Sing it for me again.” She closed her eyes as he sang, trying to memorize the simple tune.
“Tell me the words again,” she said, after Faldo had gone through it a third time.
“And now it’s your turn, Janna,” he told her, when it became obvious that by now she must know both the words and the tune.
“Sing it with me?” she asked anxiously, and Faldo nodded.
Ralph clapped them roundly as the song came to an end. “Bravo!”
“Again,” Janna demanded. “Let’s sing it again.”
“I thought you didn’t like singing, Janna? Or are you trying to send me a message?”
“No message, my lord,” Janna retorted. “I’m finding my voice.” It was the first excuse that came into her head. That it was true brought a jolt of surprise. And a gleeful smile of triumph.
“I still remember one morning,” she began, this time singing on her own. Her voice was not nearly so sweet and true as Faldo’s voice, but it was her voice and hers alone. To be able to sing with joy gave her a great deal of pleasure, and some measure of pride. “When we put an end to our quarrel,” she continued, turning aside from Ralph so she wouldn’t see his expression as the song became more bawdy.
“Is everything all right, Janna?” he asked at the song’s end. “You seem nervous. On edge.”
“All’s well.” But Janna didn’t dare meet his keen gaze. She kept her eyes on the track as they walked along in silence. She could find nothing to say, for everything that came into her mind led to what she was so desperate to keep a secret. Eventually Ralph gave up trying to engage her in conversation, and walked on ahead in search of better company.
The words of the song stayed with Janna. She sang softly to herself as she followed the jongleurs along the track. It was all very well for women to think of romance and love, she thought, but it was quite clear from the song that the man had something quite different in mind. Was that the way of all men when an opportunity to bed a woman presented itself? She recalled how Ralph had almost seduced her. Was it for the age-old reason, or was he planning to investigate her purse instead? Ralph was now deep in conversation with Master Thomas. She wondered if they were discussing her, for he kept flicking glances her way.
Janna was ashamed of her suspicions. Ralph had given up his pilgrimage to Oxeneford to come with her to Winchestre to find her father, and yet she had lied and
lied again to him. Could she not trust him with the truth? No, for the truth was not hers to tell. There was too much at stake now to risk even one word that might spread and spread like ripples in a pond, and come to the wrong ears as a result. She sighed. As soon as this is over, she thought, as soon as I know that the message is safely delivered to Earl Robert, I will admit what I have done, and find out just where Ralph’s interests really lie.
She gave him a self-conscious grin as he dropped back to keep pace with her. “I believe you had some company while I was gone,” he observed lightly. “Why didn’t you tell me about Master Walter? I hear he paid you a great deal of attention.”
“He’s an old friend of my family.” Janna launched automatically into the lie, but stopped abruptly. Ralph, more than anyone, knew that she had no family. “I knew him when I was a child, but he went away and I never saw him again until this day.”
“And yet he brought a message to you from your family?” Ralph’s mild tone belied the frosty blue of his eyes.
“No, not really. I knew him from Berford. My mother made up a…a potion for his cough.” Janna did her best to retrieve the situation. “By happy chance he recognized me as he rode past.”
“He spent a long time talking to you,” Ralph probed.
“Perhaps he was enjoying my company?” Janna looked at him, sure that he could read the deceit in her eyes. This is intolerable, she thought, tempted after all to break her promise to Walter. She was conscious that she was doing nothing to help her own cause. If Ralph suspected that she was lying to him, he might well regret his decision to help her. Yet Bernard had probably died for the message he carried. And Walter had warned that her own life, as well as his, would be in danger if anyone knew what she’d found.
Pilgrim of Death: The Janna Chronicles 4 Page 20
