Willows for Weeping

by Felicity Pulman

  'We've all been searched and it hasn't been found,' Janna said sharply, not wanting to encourage Winifred to hope for such a miracle.

  'No reason why it shouldn't be found,' Ulf cut in. 'Someone must have it, after all. It wouldn't have been too hard to hide such a thing from the guard's view while the search was on. It could have been secreted inside a thick bush, perhaps, or even buried for a time.'

  'Whoever claimed the reward would first have to find the hand – and how do you do that when the hand wasn't found by the guard when he searched us all? You'd have an awful lot of explaining to do,' Janna pointed out.

  'Yes. Yes, you're right.' Winifred now looked thoroughly downcast and miserable.

  'I wonder why the hand was taken,' Janna said thoughtfully, with a pointed glance at Ulf. 'For gain, do you think, to be sold on as a holy relic? Or did someone covet it for their own private worship? Could it have been an accident, perhaps?'

  'Not an accident, no ways,' Ulf said cheerfully, seemingly blind to Janna's unspoken accusation. 'I saw the hand at the abbey. That is, I saw the reliquary in which it was kept. Whoever took the hand took it by design. And unless the thief intends to keep it forever, for her – or his – private worship, sooner or later it must be returned to Wiltune so that the reward may be claimed.'

  Unless the hand had already served as a tasty feed for Brutus! Janna wondered how Ulf could maintain such an innocent expression. Surely he must know of it, for the dog had carried the thing in his mouth all the way from Wiltune.

  'But you are right, mistress.' Ulf gave Janna a knowing wink before turning back to Winifred. 'Whoever returns the hand will have to answer how it came to be in her possession. She will have need of a very convincing story to escape punishment.'

  'She?' It wasn't fair of Ulf to bolster Winifred's hopes in this way, to encourage her to keep looking for the relic in the hope of claiming the reward. Janna shot him a disapproving frown as she puzzled out how to force him to admit the truth.

  'I saw Brutus eating something yesterday,' she said carefully.

  'A dog that size, he eats all the time! Pity me having to find the means to feed him,' Ulf acknowledged cheerfully.

  'Only I saw what it was that he'd been eating. It looked like a hand.' Janna paused, noticing that both Ulf's and Winifred's mouths had fallen open in shock. 'So I wondered, Ulf, if Brutus was dining on the missing hand of St James?'

  Ulf froze into stillness. But Janna read the guilt on his face as his gaze slid sideways to Brutus then to Winifred and, finally, back to her. 'Why didn't you say summat before now? Why didn't you tell the guard what you'd seen?' he asked at last.

  Janna shrugged. 'If it was the hand of St James, it was far too late to save it. There didn't seem any point in causing trouble for you.'

  'That's kind of you, Janna.' Ulf hesitated. 'And the guard has gone now, so there's no point in stirring things up again. Don't you agree?' It seemed to Janna that he addressed this last remark to Winifred, who nodded eagerly.

  Janna wondered if Ulf had a plan to get himself out of trouble, and perhaps help Winifred at the same time? Was he planning to find a 'hand' somewhere else? Could he and Winifred be conspiring in this together, working out how to share the reward?

  Not liking where her thoughts were taking her, Janna rose, brushed the crumbs from her gown, and strode away from the pair. She was ready to scream with frustration. She hated secrets. They had blighted her life from the very beginning. If her mother had only told her the truth, hadn't kept so many things hidden from her, she wouldn't be here now, walking with the pilgrims and hoping for what might prove to be impossible. Instead, she'd be doing . . . what? The thought stopped Janna's angry questioning. Her life had changed forever because of her mother's pride, her stubbornness, her secrecy. It was because of her mother that she was on this quest to find her father; because of her mother that she was meeting new people, going to new places and learning so many new things instead of staying at home and marrying Godric as her mother had wanted her to do.

  Godric! He'd stood by her after her mother had died, and after everyone else had turned against her. He'd told her that he loved her. They might well have wed if she hadn't insisted on setting out in search of her father. And she might well have regretted it if she had, Janna reminded herself fiercely. To marry the first man who had shown any interest in her without first finding out the secrets of her family, and without gaining any experience outside the narrow confines of the world she knew . . .

  She shook her head. Far better to be here than there, she reassured herself. If she'd married Godric, she might always have wondered about her father and about the world outside her home. Yet she couldn't help thinking how sweet life with Godric might have been. They might even have had a child by now. Janna screwed up her face, trying to protect her heart against the painful recollection of Godric and Cecily together in the market square. Cecily was in Godric's life now, and Godric was lost to Janna for ever. Both Godric and Hugh were part of her past. It was time for her to forget about both of them.

  Seeking distraction, Janna glanced back at Ulf and Winifred. If they were concocting a secret plan she wanted no part of it. She bent to pick up her staff and joined the other pilgrims who were now being roused by Bernard to continue their journey.

  * * *

  They made slow time in the afternoon. It was clear that Juliana was in pain, but she brushed away all offers of help. Even Bernard's offer to purchase a donkey for his mother as they passed through a small hamlet was met with a stern refusal. Janna knew what was behind Bernard's offer, and sympathised with it. Indeed she would have taken the donkey herself if she'd been able to afford it, anything to save her sore feet. She couldn't understand why Juliana was so determined to mortify herself.

  A small-holding close to the rough track that threaded along the path of the river was their lodging for the night, and the pilgrims were glad to find it for a steady rain had begun to fall and they were keen to find shelter. But Bernard had to talk hard and fast, for the farmer and his wife were grudging with their hospitality. Perhaps, and more likely, they had little to share. A coin produced some dry, sour bread and a large bowl of thin gruel. Janna noticed that the pilgrims tucked in with good will. Obviously they were used to taking the rough with the smooth.

  They were still at their repast when a loud bang on the door arrested their speech. In the silence that fell, they heard the sound of a horse's neigh. There was another loud bang. The farmer hastened to the door and opened it.

  A young man stepped over the threshold, sweeping a dark green cloak from his shoulders as he came. He flapped it about, sending a shower of raindrops in all directions. He shook his head, reminding Janna of a wet dog trying to dry itself, and swiped his forearm across his face to blot the moisture with his sleeve. That done, he looked about him, registering the presence of the pilgrim group before turning his attention to the farmer, who had closed the door and now stood respectfully beside him.

  'Do you have room for one more traveller, good sire?' the stranger asked.

  'Yes indeed, my lord.' The farmer preened himself, obvi-ously flattered to be so addressed. Janna could understand why, for the farmer and his wife were barefoot and clothed in homespun whereas the stranger wore a red linen tunic which reached to his knees, with embroidery at its hem, neck and sleeves. His breeches were fitted, and were tucked into fine leather boots with pointed toes. He was tall, handsome and obviously a man of some substance.

  His bearing and words confirmed it. 'My name is Ralph de Otreburne,' he said, and swept the party a low bow.

  Bernard bowed in return before introducing himself and the pilgrim band to the stranger. ''Tis good to have shelter on a night like this,' he continued, as a sudden gust of wind swept through the hole in the roof, sending smoke billowing around the room in a choking cloud.

  The man nodded in agreement and turned to the farmer. 'I need something to eat and so does my horse. Will you see to it?' He pulled a silver ha'penny from
his purse and tipped it into the farmer's hand.

  'Oh, indeed, sire. I'll see to it straight away.' The farmer's hand closed over the coin. 'My wife will find you something to eat,' he added, and gave her a meaningful glance.

  After a moment's hesitation, Ralph de Otreburne seated himself by the fire to dry, while the farmer stashed the coin into the rough leather pouch at his waist and made a hasty exit. Bernard picked up a dish and ladled into it some of the gruel from the pot still sitting on the table. He handed it to Ralph, who inspected it dubiously before spooning some into his mouth. He pulled a face. Clearly, this was not what he was used to, nor was it to his liking. As he put down the spoon, the farmer's wife placed before him a trencher of bread and a dish of stew thick with chunks of white meat.

  ''Tis hare, sire, freshly caught only yesterday,' she said, with a shy bob of her head.

  Ralph took an appreciative sniff. All eyes were on him as he spooned up a huge bite.

  He noticed their stares. 'What is it?' he asked through a mouthful of bread and meat. At once everyone glanced away and began to talk among themselves. But Janna watched Ralph, and saw his gaze narrow as he assessed the remains of the meagre meal the pilgrims had shared.

  'Mistress!' He summoned the farmer's wife with an imperious crook of the finger. 'Some more of this fine stew for my fellow travellers, if you please.' And he pulled another ha'penny from his purse and handed it over.

  The farmer's wife bobbed a curtsy and hurried to do his bidding. Janna felt saliva seep into her mouth at the thought of the treat to come, and smiled appreciatively at their benefactor.

  'Mistress Johanna, I believe?' He returned her smile. Janna was flattered that he had remembered her name. She felt a little shy as his eyes roamed from her face down to her silk gown. Here was someone else who might be gulled by her finery, but she wasn't going to tell him the truth about herself. Not yet, anyway! For she was busy conducting her own inspection, and she liked what she saw very much.

  Ralph wore his fair hair long, and sported a moustache and a short beard. His eyes were the blue of a summer sky. Some-thing about his expression and demeanour told Janna that this was a man of courage, of daring. He would not be put off once he set his mind to something, even if it took him to the limits of his strength and endurance, even if it led him to the very gates of Hell itself.

  She shook her head and told herself not to be so fanciful. Yet the impression lingered as she watched the stranger return to his meal, breaking bread with long, strong fingers and stuffing it into his mouth.

  'So you are pilgrims?' he asked the company at large.

  'Indeed, sire.' Bernard answered for them all. 'We have walked the pilgrim path to Santiago de Compostela, and are now on our way home to Oxeneford.'

  Ralph nodded thoughtfully. 'You will have seen many signs and wonders on your travels, I am sure.'

  'Indeed we have, sire.' Bernard stared into the distance. His face took on a dreamy thoughtfulness as he continued. 'The Camino is marked in places with a cross, and sometimes the scallop shell sign of the saint, but often it is hard to know which fork in the road to take. Yet always there was a sign, a light perhaps, or a tolling bell, or even a passing traveller to guide us.' He took the scallop shell badge from his hat and held it out for Ralph's inspection. 'We wear these in honour of St James, who is known as Santiago,' he said. 'These fan-shaped lines, spread out like a hand, symbolise the work – both charitable and physical – that a pilgrim should undertake. But we were also told another story about the shells.'

  He paused to focus his thoughts, and to be sure his audience was fully attentive, before resuming. 'It's said that, a long time ago, a rich pilgrim coming to the shrine was pursued by bandits. There was a storm, the man's horse was exhausted and could go no faster, and the bandits were closing in on him. He could see the glint of their knives and knew they would show no mercy if they caught him, for he was unarmed.

  'He urged on his poor, exhausted horse, knowing his only hope was to outpace the bandits for there was no turning or possibility of escape. The path he travelled followed the coast-line high above the sea, with a steep drop on one side and a high rocky wall on the other. Suddenly the ground gave way, and he and his horse plunged over the cliff into the sea.

  'The bandits were sure he could not survive such a fall, and so they turned and left him. Shortly afterwards, and still mounted on his horse, the pilgrim emerged safely from the water onto a nearby beach. He was covered in scallop shells. Ever since then, the scallop shell has become a symbol of life and of the Camino and St James.

  'But that is only one of the many wondrous tales we heard as we walked the Camino. On another occasion . . .'

  As Bernard told the stories, Janna watched Ralph. She had the feeling that his mind was on other, more pressing matters, for he seemed distracted, only bobbing his head or making some noise in his throat when a comment was called for. She wondered why he was abroad this foul evening. But it was some time before Bernard's travel stories came to an end and she could fit a word in.

  'And what is the purpose of your journey, my lord?' she asked respectfully.

  He turned his amused gaze upon her. 'Why, I am also going to Oxeneford.'

  'We have our own saint there too, of course,' Bernard inter-posed. 'Many pilgrims come to visit St Frideswide's holy well.'

  'And that is the purpose of my visit,' Ralph said. 'I am a simple pilgrim, just as you are.' He looked to Janna as he answered her question.

  'But the lady is not a pilgrim, sire. You mistake her,' Bernard observed.

  Ralph continued to watch Janna. 'Why, then, do you travel with pilgrims, mistress?' he asked softly.

  She felt herself colour under his steady regard. 'I have my own reasons,' she told him, unwilling to divulge to a stranger, or even to Bernard, her purpose for visiting the abbey at Ambresberie.

  Something flitted across Ralph's face, an expression that Janna was hard put to read. Curiosity? Suspicion? 'And it is safer to walk with pilgrims than to take to the road on your own,' he said. 'I trust you travel in peace and comfort?'

  Janna wondered if there was more to his enquiry than mere courtesy. 'Not in comfort,' she admitted ruefully. She had pulled off her shoes at the earliest opportunity, and now she glanced down in the direction of her sore, torn feet before returning her regard to the newcomer.

  'Nor in peace! We've encountered nothing but trouble since these two young women joined us,' said Bernard, with a wide sweep of his arm that encompassed Winifred sitting beside Janna.

  'Trouble?' The stranger cocked his head and raised an enquiring eyebrow.

  Janna stayed silent, leaving it to Bernard to explain his remark. He willingly continued. 'The first thing we encoun-tered was a dead man, a stranger, lying close to the river. And his horse grazing nearby, lamed. We think they had been there for some time. But that wasn't the end of the alarums, not by any means! No sooner had we stumbled across the corpse than we were pursued by a guard from Wiltune Abbey. It seems that a relic has been stolen, the blessed hand –'

  'A dead man?' the stranger interrupted. 'But . . . how did he come to die?'

  'Broke his neck when his horse reared and threw him, I suspect,' said Bernard.

  'Why did his horse rear? Was he attacked? Were there bandits about?'

  'On the road, yes, but none down by the river. I searched the area but all I found was the horse. It was limping. A snake, or perhaps a sharp stone under its hoof . . .?' Bernard gestured towards Janna. 'You were there as witness, mistress. You saw what I saw. Wouldn't you agree that's how it was?'

  And Janna, thus pressed, had to say that yes, she did agree.

  'Who was the man, do you know?'

  Janna wondered if Bernard would mention the letter, but the pilgrim said easily, 'I have never seen him before. I don't know who he was. Neither does Mistress Johanna.'

  'Surely he carried papers? Something to identify him?'

  Bernard shook his head. 'We searched his possessions but fou
nd nothing to tell us his name.' It was no more nor less than the truth.

  Ralph turned an enquiring glance on Janna. She was torn between honouring her promise to Bernard and wanting to excite Ralph's interest by mentioning the parchment they had found. But the pilgrim had invited her to join their group and had given her a warm welcome. She trusted him, and trusted his judgment. So she gave a shrug but kept silent, excusing herself with the thought that they didn't know if Ralph supported the empress or the king. Nor did they know where he'd come from or why he seemed so interested in the dead man.

  But it seemed no more than a casual enquiry after all, for Ralph turned back to Bernard. 'I beg your pardon,' he said. 'I allowed my interest in the fate of an unfortunate traveller to interrupt what you were saying about the theft of a relic?'

  Janna admired his courtesy, while acknowledging there was a great deal else to admire about Ralph! He met her gaze once more, and gave her a wicked grin. Janna risked a quick, shy smile before looking away. She felt sure that he suspected they hadn't told him everything for there was such knowing in his eyes. This was a man of courage and daring, yes, but perhaps also a man with his own secrets. At least, that was her guess from what she'd seen of him so far.

  She became aware that Juliana was watching them closely. Her face was closed and still, her mouth turned down tight as a trap. Janna wondered what she was thinking. She stood up and walked across to the old woman and sat down beside her.

  Juliana was trembling. Janna reached out a comforting hand. 'What ails you, mistress?' she asked. 'Is there aught I can do to help you?'

  'There's naught anyone can do, for it has begun.' Juliana turned to her and Janna read the fear in her eyes.

  She gripped Juliana's hand tightly, trying to pour her young strength and courage into the feeble body. 'All will be well,' she said. 'Pray tell your son of your concern for him. Ask him to take care. Tell him that you watch over him. Tell him we shall all keep watch.'