Willows for Weeping

by Felicity Pulman

  Janna nodded, unimpressed.

  'Of course, the saint's hand now rests at Wiltune Abbey.' Ulf jerked a thumb over his shoulder towards the town they'd just left. 'Having been to Compostela to view the saint's shrine, the pilgrims decided we couldn't return home without visiting his hand as well. 'Tis fortunate we heard of the empress's gen-erous gift to the abbey or we'd have gone on to Radinges in the hope of seeing it there. That's where it was held originally.'

  'The hand of St James is not a gift, it's a loan, and only until the abbey church at Radinges is completed,' Janna told Ulf, repeating what Sister Anne had once told her. 'With all the unrest in the country, the empress feared for the relic's safety – that's why she brought the hand to Wiltune.'

  'And I was awestruck at the sight of it,' said Ulf, patting his pack again. 'But I warrant I have other relics that will astound and amaze you.'

  'Yet you're prepared to part with them – at a price?'

  Ulf had the grace to look slightly abashed. 'An offering! They're not for sale,' he protested, adding, 'and I will suffer sorely to see 'em go.'

  'I have no coin to make an offering, but I would love to see them,' Winifred said eagerly. 'Where did you come by such wonders?'

  'Oh, here and there, from pilgrims and from . . . er . . . merchants.' Ulf reddened as he noticed the twinkle in Janna's eye. 'They're all real, absolutely genuine!' he blustered.

  'We'll look at them later, when we stop for a rest.' Janna meant to keep her promise. Even though she didn't believe one word of it, Ulf seemed a likeable rogue and she was interested to see what outlandish objects he might produce.

  She surveyed the group that walked ahead, strangers now but in time she would come to know them. As well as those to whom she'd already spoken, there were Morcar and his wife, Golde. Janna wasn't sure if that was her real name or just a description of her reddish-gold hair. She was somewhat younger than her portly husband, closer in age to Janna and Winifred than the rest of the group, although she'd adopted the staid, rather matronly air of the comfortably married. There was also Adam, who seemed to wear a permanent scowl, especially when he brushed up against Bernard. They were talking together now, and although Bernard had his hand on the pilgrim's shoulder, everything about Adam shouted that this show of friendship was entirely unwelcome. Janna wondered what had happened to cause his hostility, but then reflected that perhaps Adam behaved this way with everyone. It seemed that his voyage to the shrine of St James had done little to improve his disposition. Or perhaps he was of a naturally solitary disposition and the long journey in close proximity with others had proved too abrasive and wearying?

  Janna studied them all carefully. They were a disparate group. Bernard and Morcar were in their middle-age, while Adam looked somewhat older, as did Ulf. Juliana, Bernard's mother, was by far the oldest and the slowest, but they matched their pace to hers, never walking too far ahead. The fact that they could afford to go on a pilgrimage and that they were fluent in Norman French suggested they came from a higher level of society than Winifred, although they were dressed in plain, serviceable garments suitable for a hard life on the road. Where had they slept along the way? What had they eaten? More important: where would Janna sleep and what would she eat along this journey?

  She touched the purse concealed beneath the fabric of her gown, which contained information salvaged from the burnt wreckage of her home, as well as Emma's generous reward for the part Janna had played in saving her betrothed from the gallows. Janna now had coins enough to pay her way and was grateful for it. The pilgrims had stayed at the guest hall at Wiltune Abbey and she knew they would have made a donation for the privilege. Even though they might try to beg shelter and food along their journey, chances were they would have to pay for it, as would she. Janna hoped to find out soon. The thought of the nuns at their dinner had set her stomach rumbling with hunger.

  She gave a rueful smile as she recalled the hardship of her early life with her mother, when everything they grew was either eaten or traded, along with her mother's potions and her skill in healing. Even so, they'd often been forced to roam the forest, risking discovery from the king's forester while they hunted for nuts, berries and mushrooms, and the eggs from birds' nests. Small creatures were trapped and even nettles, weeds and the wild seeds from hedgerows were gathered; anything edible to sustain them through the lean and hungry times. She had known hunger and hardship, but not in the abbey. Now, she might have to get used to it all over again.

  Janna's mouth set tight with resolution; she hurried to catch up with the others. Winifred matched her steps, seeming determined to keep her company along the way. Janna looked sidelong at her companion, wondering what Winifred could own that she was so sure would guarantee her a place at Oxeneford – or elsewhere perhaps, for Winifred still hadn't answered Janna's question about her destination. Certes she must know enough to know there would be no place for her at any abbey if she had no dowry to offer in return, so she must have left home with something of substance.

  From the position of the sun, Janna judged they were walking northeast, following a straight track across the downs. The sun was at its zenith now; its rays scorched her face. She wished she wore a broad-brimmed hat like the pilgrims. She wished they might find a shady tree to have a rest, or better yet, find a river. She could almost drink it dry, her throat felt so parched and scratchy. Drops of sweat trickled down her face and dampened her armpits. She was concerned that the precious fabric of her dress would be stained and spoilt. And her new shoes were beginning to hurt. She could feel the soft leather rubbing her heels and pinching her toes. The postulant who had once owned them must have slightly smaller feet than her own. Janna debated taking them off and walking barefoot, as once she used to do. But her year in the abbey had spoilt her. A year of wearing either boots or sandals had softened her feet.

  She decided to persevere for a little while longer. Having caught up with the group, she slowed down, letting Winifred walk ahead while she dropped back to keep company with Juliana. Master Bernard's mother appeared to be walking with some difficulty. Janna had observed such a gait before, and knew it was caused by a stiffness of the hips that would become progressively more crippling. But the woman applied her long staff with vigour, using it to support her weight. It seemed a handy aid, and Janna decided to take time out at the next clump of bushes to cut a staff of her own.

  'God be with you, ma dame,' she observed, as the woman neared. 'My name is Johanna, but I am called Janna by all who know me.' She spoke now in the Norman French her mother had taught her, for this was the tongue she'd used when first she'd introduced herself to Bernard, their leader.

  'I am Juliana.' The woman surveyed Janna, taking good note of her appearance. 'Those shoes will never take you all the way to Oxeneford,' she observed.

  'But I go only to the abbey at Ambresberie.'

  'Just as well.' Juliana turned her nose up and gave the air a contemptuous sniff. 'A highborn lady travelling with no mount, and only the clothes you stand up in,' she muttered. 'Why keep company with us? Surely you have your own servants to escort you?'

  Janna felt a wry amusement that her clothes had so deceived the pilgrim band. 'No, ma dame, I have no servants,' she answered. 'And I value your company for otherwise I should have to make the journey alone.'

  The old woman gave her a sidelong glance. 'Hmmph,' she sniffed.

  'You have come a long way,' Janna observed. 'Was the journey very hard?'

  Juliana was silent. Janna wondered if she hadn't heard the question. Unless she'd done something to offend Juliana, for the old woman's wrinkled face had clamped into a wary suspicion that left no room for friendliness. Janna was about to walk on her way when Juliana said, 'We've been gone many moons, 'tis true, journeying by both land and sea. A merchant ship took us to the shores of Galicia and from there we walked the Camino, following the path of stars with other pilgrims.'

  'The path of stars?'

  Juliana pointed the tip of her staff up t
owards the bright sunlight. 'The Camino is named for that path of stars that blazes its glittering trail across heaven every night. We followed it, as all pilgrims follow it, for it shows the way to the shrine of St James. Santiago they call him over there, Santiago of Compostela. But the real name of the place where the saint lies buried is campus de la stella. It means "the star field".'

  Janna remembered some of her earlier concerns. 'Where did you stay along the journey?' she asked. 'Did you sleep in fields or find shelter at monasteries?'

  'Both.' Juliana's mouth quirked up into a malicious smile as she surveyed Janna's finery. 'If we found a monastery along the route we would seek shelter there, but there were many times when we were forced to rest overnight in a barn, a cave, or a field. We have known hunger, thirst and great hardship along the way.' She looked Janna over. 'It's not a life you are used to, or that you will find comfortable, mistress.'

  Janna chuckled. 'Do not let these fine clothes deceive you,' she said. 'I have known more hardship than you can ever imagine.' Eking out a living on the smallholding she'd shared with her mother, hiding as an outcast in the forest, working as a labourer on a farm. No, Juliana need have no concerns on her account. She was about to ask the old woman if she thought her pilgrimage had been worthwhile, but decided her question might be considered impertinent. 'Was it very wonderful, the shrine of St James?' she asked instead.

  'Truly wonderful.' Juliana's face glowed in rapturous remi-niscence. 'A small church has been built there, and the remains of Santiago lie in the crypt below. Marble steps lead down to his tomb, which is a silver coffer and richly embossed. In truth, I was so crippled by the journey, and so exhausted when first we arrived there, I feared I had no strength left for our return. And so I prayed to the saint to make me well enough, strong enough to undertake our journey home, for I fear that great ill may befall us, befall my son.' Juliana paused to cross herself. 'We should look to our own souls, and leave justice to God,' she said, her voice so low that Janna could scarcely hear her.

  Janna frowned in bewilderment. Juliana's words had the ring of prophecy, yet the countryside around seemed utterly peaceful, while the purpose of the pilgrims' journey must surely put them on the side of the angels.

  Yet Janna had heard enough news from visitors to the abbey to know that peace was an illusion in this year of our Lord, 1141. Following the disastrous battle at Lincoln, England's King Stephen was now incarcerated at Bristou castle. His cousin, the Empress Matilda, had gathered her supporters together and had marched to London to claim his crown, but it was rumoured that she'd been put to flight by a horde of angry citizens led by an army of Flemish mercenaries who answered only to Stephen's queen. However, it was widely thought now that the king's cause was hopeless and that this setback to the empress's ambition was merely temporary.

  'Think you that the civil war is not yet over, ma dame?' Janna asked. 'Do you fear that more fighting will come our way to upset our journey?'

  The old woman shot her a sharp look. 'I know naught of that,' she muttered. 'I listen only to a mother's heart.' She bowed her head, looking old, tired, and suddenly vulnerable. Janna frowned, puzzled by the unexpected change in her companion's demeanour.

  'Is it not possible for you to travel on horseback so that the journey will pass more quickly and easily?' she ventured.

  Juliana pursed her lips.

  'Stand at the crossroads and look,

  Ask for the ancient paths,

  Ask where the good way is,

  And walk in it,And you will find rest for your souls,' she intoned.

  Janna wondered if the words were her own, or had come from a book of God such as she had seen in the abbey. She didn't like to show her ignorance by asking. It seemed clear that the thought had sustained Juliana on her journey, and she wondered what the old woman had done in the past that she needed to find rest for her soul at such discomfort to her body. 'You look tired. May I help you in some way?' she tried.

  Juliana shook her head. She looked towards Janna, and yet Janna had the feeling she couldn't see her for her eyes looked through and beyond her to something far away. Whatever Juliana saw there did not please her, for her mouth turned down into a thin, grim line. 'You should not be here,' she said unexpectedly, 'for death follows you. You, and my son.'

  'Death?' Alarm sharpened Janna's voice. 'What do you mean?'

  But Juliana bent her head and would not answer. Janna paced beside her for a while longer, wincing as the blisters rubbed deeper, stinging her feet. She became aware that Juliana was observing her once more, watching her limp along in her new shoes. Perhaps the old woman thought she was mocking her own gait? Janna walked faster, feeling too uncomfortable now to linger in the old lady's presence.

  She crested the summit, and caught sight of a thin ribbon of water in the distance, coiling like a silver snake through the green trees. She swallowed hard over her dry throat, anticipat-ing the pleasures of a long, cool drink. A sudden shout jerked her to a standstill. It was Bernard, hurrying back towards the stragglers and gesturing urgently to one side. Janna noticed that the pilgrims ahead of her had already turned down towards the river with its sheltering screen of trees. As Bernard came closer, she understood the reason why.

  'Riders ahead,' he panted. 'Get off the road. Hurry now!' He caught hold of his mother's arm and half-dragged, half-carried her along, hastily explaining his actions to Janna as she kept pace with them. 'We live in uncertain times. Even the barons who are supposed to protect us are known to cut down anyone who stands between them and their lust for new land and castles. And their subjects follow their example, knowing they will not be called to account for their actions. We've heard several tales of travellers robbed and left for dead, so any bands encountered on the road are a source of concern. Come quickly if you value your life.'

  Catching his alarm, Janna quickened her footsteps to match his. Once within the sheltering belt of trees the pilgrims stood motionless, listening to the muted thunder of the horses' hooves and waiting for the danger to pass. At last, when all was quiet, Bernard gave the signal to move on. Janna forged ahead, pushing her way through weeds and reedy grass, keen to slake her thirst as soon as possible.

  'You're in a great hurry, Janna,' Bernard observed as he caught up to her.

  'I'm thirsty, Master Bernard.' Janna quickly wiped a strand of wet hair from her forehead and tucked it under her veil. She remembered then that she was no longer in the abbey and didn't have to hide her hair. In fact, she didn't have to wear a veil at all if she didn't want to, but at least it gave her a small amount of protection from the sun. 'Where are we?' she asked.

  'We've just left an ancient road that people hereabouts call the theod herepath.' Janna nodded, understanding that he meant the 'people's way'. 'And this is the River Avon,' Bernard continued. Janna could not yet see the river, but could hear it chattering and bubbling beyond the green screen. She licked her dry lips in thirsty anticipation. 'Sarum, that the Normans call Sarisberie, is behind us now. Once we've had a rest, we'll follow the path of the river until we come to Ambresberie. That's probably the safest way for us to go now.'

  'How far is it to Ambresberie?'

  'Some days away. My mother tires quickly and we'll travel slowly now that we've left the road.' Bernard looked down at Janna with a worried frown. 'I fear for your fine gown, mistress. We may have to beg several nights' shelter in a farmer's barn, or even sleep under a hedge if naught else comes our way.'

  'I have slept in far rougher places, I assure you,' Janna said, remembering the wet, cold nights she'd spent hiding up in trees.

  Bernard smiled his relief. 'We'll make a stop once we get to the river. You can have a drink there, and something to eat.' The worried frown came back as he surveyed Janna's empty hands. 'You have no pack? And no cloak for protection against the cool of the evening?'

  'No. And nothing to eat, either.' Janna hoped that, if they did stop at a barn for the night, the farmer might be persuaded to provide them with some bread
and ale, or perhaps even some warm milk straight from a cow.

  'What we have, we share,' Bernard promised. He turned to survey the rest of the pilgrim band.

  'There seems to be a gap in the undergrowth over there.' Bernard pointed with his staff. 'Wait here while I look for an easy access to the river.' He set off, full of purpose. Janna hurried after him, determined to waste no time in slaking her thirst.

  She had almost reached the river's edge when she noticed Bernard check abruptly, and stoop down to scrutinise a long, dark log that lay nestled deep in thick grass. He made the sign of a cross and sank to his knees. Intrigued, she came to his side, wondering what it was that smelled so putrid. As Bernard reached out a shaking hand, a swarm of flies buzzed up around his face. With an oath, he swiped them away.

  Realisation came with a sickening jolt that brought Janna to her knees. It wasn't a fallen log that Bernard was touching so reluctantly. It was the body of a man!

  TWO

  THE MAN'S HEAD was bare, the hood of his black cloak pushed askew from the fall. He had the cropped brown hair of a Norman and lay face down in the grass. It was quite clear that he was dead. Fighting nausea, Janna watched as Bernard gingerly rolled the corpse over. She had seen dead bodies before, for she had helped her mother minister to the sick and the dying. She had also helped Sister Anne in the abbey, but she had never seen anything quite like this. Sickness rose from her stomach up into her throat. She swal-lowed hard against an urgent need to vomit.

  The man had been dead for several days, she surmised, as she peered queasily at his corpse. His skin was a greenish colour. As his face was bared to the sky, flies buzzed and massed around his eyes, nose and mouth. A seething mass of maggots was already burrowing into the soft cavities of his face. With a heaving stomach Janna noted that the man's flesh, where exposed, was bitten and torn. He'd been gnawed at by foxes, perhaps, or badgers. The stench of death and voided bowels was overpowering, and she put a hand over her nose to block out the worst of it while she continued her examination. It seemed important to her to find out how and why he had died, for the pilgrims might face a similar danger.