'I know what she claims!' Janna said harshly. A vision of Bernard's blood-stained body flashed before her eyes. She blinked quickly to dismiss it.
'She was right to be worried.'
Janna wondered if Ulf's advice was as kindly meant as it sounded. 'It's not what you think about me and Ralph,' she muttered, annoyed at having to explain herself. 'I'm looking for my father and Ralph thinks he knows where he may be found. He's kindly offered to come with me to Winchestre to help me look for him. That's all.'
A sceptical expression crossed Ulf's face. 'If you're sure there's nowt else to it but that.'
Actually, there was a great deal more to it than that! But Janna didn't want to share with Ulf her hope that Ralph's real purpose in travelling with them was to be close to her just as she longed to become closer to him. He had shown himself kind. Honourable. In truth, when she was with him he stirred her senses till she burned as if with a fever. But she would not share those thoughts with anyone, least of all Ulf.
'Is there any news of Adam?' she asked, anxious to change the subject to something less personal.
'Nay, not yet, but the cry has gone out for him.' Ulf was silent for a moment. 'Juliana told me about the message found by Bernard on the dead man. Do you know what became of it, Janna?'
Janna froze into stillness. All her doubts about Ulf came flooding back. 'I know nothing about it,' she said tightly. Anxious to put him off, she continued: 'Master Bernard's scrip is missing. If there was anything of value inside, then Adam will have it.'
'If Adam was the culprit.'
Why should Ulf doubt Adam unless he knew something she did not? Janna was about to ask him when Ulf continued: 'I noticed that you searched Master Bernard's body very carefully. I wondered if perhaps you'd found the bishop's message.'
'If I'd found it, what would you expect me to do with it?' she challenged, hoping to force him to show his hand.
'I'd expect you to take it to the empress, as Bernard intended. But you're going the wrong way.'
'Is that why you're following me?'
'No. I've already explained my reasons for accompanying you and the jongleurs.'
Janna wished she could believe him. 'Who do you support in this battle for the crown?' She waited anxiously for Ulf's answer.
He shrugged. 'Being always on the road as I am, I have found it safer not to have an opinion or take sides.'
Which meant she couldn't trust him. Nor could she trust his explanation for travelling with them. He might well want to keep watch over her but not because Dame Juliana had asked him to do so.
'I looked for the bishop's message, but I didn't find it,' she said curtly. 'So you can go your own way, Ulf. There's no need for you to follow me around.'
Ulf was about to answer when one of the party, a youth, fell into step beside them. 'My name's Faldo,' he introduced himself, even though Master Thomas had already made the round of introductions.
'And I am Janna, and this is Ulf.' She smiled at the youth, glad of the interruption. Ulf's words had left her feeling deeply uneasy.
Faldo had long hair, unusually long for a youth, and a merry smile. He was a few years younger than her, perhaps eleven or twelve, she thought. 'Pray tell me, for I have never met a jongleur before. What is it that you do, exactly?' she asked.
She caught the flash of surprise in his eyes, and knew that she was once again in danger of betraying her humble origins. Then he smiled. 'I sing for my supper at the castles and manors of lords, mistress,' he said. 'So do we all.'
'Sing?'
'And tell stories of noble warriors and heroic deeds.' He grinned sideways at her. 'What chanson de geste would you hear me recite? Something from the Song of Roland? Or we have heard a new story about an old king of Britain called Arthur, who has many fierce battles against giants and creatures from the Otherworld. But his greatest battle is against his ambitious nephew who seizes the crown and wins the love of Guenevere, Arthur's wife. When Arthur and Medraut meet in a battle for crown and queen, Arthur gives Medraut the death blow and is himself wounded. Would you like to hear some of it?'
'That sounds good,' Janna said cautiously, thinking quite the opposite. What a bloody tale of treachery and horror!
Faldo clasped his hand to his heart, struck a pose, and began to recite.
'Shoulder to shoulder
Heart to heart
Arthur and Medraut, united
In hatred.
Deadly enemies sworn
For love of crown
And Guenevere the Fair.
Each draws his sword.
Each suffers the death blow
In the mud and blood at Camlann.'
He looked at Janna and Ulf expectantly.
Not quite sure what was expected of her, Janna clapped her hands together. 'Well done,' she cried.
Ulf patted Faldo on his shoulder. 'It sounds like a fine tale, lad. I'll look forward to hearing you recite some more of it,' he said, immediately giving the lie to his words by whistling for Brutus and striding on ahead. Janna knew that she had offended him, and hoped that Faldo didn't mind Ulf's seeming indifference to his recital. She wondered if there was more to come, hoping for something happy about love and lords and ladies this time, but Faldo began to walk once more. She fell into step beside him.
'That's not the end of the story,' he said modestly, clearly pleased by her applause. 'Everyone believes that Arthur still lives, and that one day he will return again to save England. There are also marvellous tales about Merlin and his prophecies.'
'Merlin?' The name seemed familiar, and now Janna remembered why. 'It's said that he magicked giant standing stones from Ireland and put them in a huge stone circle,' she told Faldo. 'It's near here. Have you seen it?'
'Indeed, I have,' the youth said enthusiastically. 'It's all part of the stories about him. The "Giants' Dance", it's called. But that's only one of many magical deeds that Merlin performed. There's a tale of how he found dragons sleeping below Vortigern's tower. By telling Vortigern why his tower kept falling down, he saved himself from being put to death. Another story tells how he transformed Arthur's father into the likeness of Gorlois, the Duke of Cornwall, so that Uther Pendragon could lie with the duke's wife. Uther was Arthur's father, you see. That's how Arthur came to be born, through trickery and deceit.'
Janna listened with interest, thinking that a journey with jongleurs was bound to be far more entertaining than travelling with pilgrims. 'And what do you sing when you're not reciting about battles and things?'
'Love songs mostly,' Faldo said with deep hatred. 'And I'm learning tricks and juggling too,' he added defensively. 'My father, Master Thomas, is our leader. He recites the deeds of kings and nobles to entertain the houses that take us in. I've been learning these stories all my life and, soon enough, my turn will come.' He drew himself up and struck a noble pose. 'When I am of age.'
'And you'll do it very well, I'm sure.' But Janna was more interested in hearing a love song. 'Will you sing something for me?'
Faldo thought for a moment. 'I know a good song in the English language,' he said. 'Have you heard this one, mistress?'
'Sumer is icumen in
Lhude sing cuccu,
Groweth seed and bloweth mead,
And springs the wood anew.
Sing cuccu,' he piped obligingly.
It was a cheerful and infectious song, and Janna's head bobbed in time to the beat as they walked along.
'Now it's your turn. You sing me something,' said Faldo, when he'd sung the song through.
'I . . . I don't know any songs,' Janna admitted.
The youth stared at her with pity in his eyes. 'No songs?' he repeated incredulously.
'I've spent the past year in an abbey,' Janna said by way of explanation.
'An abbey is full of singing, so I've heard. Master Thomas told me that sometimes the songs we sing began as a chant in the abbey, but sometimes it's the other way around. Always with different words, of course!' he added hastily.
'Will you sing a chant for me, mistress, and see if I know it as a song by another name?'
'I can't.' Janna felt miserable as she made the admission. It was perfectly true. There had been no singing in her life with Eadgyth, although her mother had sometimes hummed a sacred chant when she'd thought she was alone. Janna had asked about it once, and Eadgyth had been angry with her. So she'd come to think there was something wrong, something sinful, about singing. It was only when she got to the abbey that she realised what it was that Eadgyth sang, and why she was so angry and embarrassed when Janna overheard her. But the lesson had been telling. To Janna's chagrin, when she'd opened her own mouth to take part in the services, she'd found that she'd been unable to sing any part of them.
'You can't sing?' Faldo looked even more astonished.
'What's all this about "can't sing"?' Ralph questioned. Janna hadn't noticed his approach, and jumped at the sound of his voice. He put out a hand to steady her. 'Is that can't, or won't?'
'Can't.' It cost Janna a great deal to admit it.
'Everyone can sing,' Faldo asserted. 'Everyone. Listen, mistress. 'Sumer is icumen in, lhude sing cuccu,' he warbled.
'Summer is icumen in, lhude sing cuccu,' Ralph copied him.
'Now it's your turn,' said Faldo. They both looked expectantly at Janna.
She flushed, felt her throat grow dry and tight. 'I can't,' she whispered.
'You can,' Ralph assured her. 'Sing along with both of us.' He glanced at Faldo. 'Come on.' And they both sang the first two lines in unison. Janna stayed silent. They sang the lines again. Still Janna stayed silent.
'We're going to keep on singing this until you either join in with us or drop dead with boredom,' Ralph warned. There was a wicked gleam in his eye. He was daring her to do it. Janna had the sense she'd be letting him down if she refused.
'Sumer is icumen in, lhude sing cuccu,
Sumer is . . .'
'. . . icumen in, lhude sing cuccu.' Janna's voice was thin, scratchy with terror, but she felt a certain sense of accomplishment as Faldo beamed at her, and Ralph gave her a congratulatory pat on the back. By now the other jongleurs had gathered around, looking from one to the other to see what was going on.
'Sumer is icumen in, lhude sing cuccu . . .' This time Faldo kept on singing while, one by one, the others joined in, so that each sang a line behind the one before, and their voices contributed to a harmonious whole. Janna felt her face bursting into a smile with the joy of the sound they made.
'I shall teach you all of it, and you shall sing the song with us wherever we stop for the night,' Faldo promised.
'You expect me to sing for my supper too?' Janna didn't know whether to be amused or alarmed by the prospect. 'We'll be out with the pigs if you leave me to do it!'
'Not you, mistress,' Faldo said cheerfully, 'but we're expected to pay for our board and lodging by entertaining the owners of the manors where we stop. With luck we'll find plenty of work and shelter in Winchestre, enough to tide us through the bitter months of winter. If not, we'll have to continue on to London.'
Janna gazed at him in wonder. She had no idea that some people earned their living in this way. She looked around the small band. All were men save for Master Thomas's wife, whom Janna thought of as her chaperone. She wondered where the other jongleurs' womenfolk were, or even if they were married and had families. Not Faldo, of course; he was too young. But what of Nicholas and Jocelin? It must be a hard life, and a lonely one, she surmised.
'Now, sing along with me,' said Faldo, getting back to business. 'Sumer is icumen in, lhude sing cuccu.'
Ralph was still walking with them, and he repeated the line, smiling sideways at Janna as he did so, daring her to try again. Heaving a resigned sigh, she joined in with them both as, once more, they began to sing about summer and the cuckoo.
'Do I sing it in tune? Do I sound all right?' she asked anxiously at the end of it.
'You sound fine,' Faldo assured her.
'Like a nightingale!' Ralph added. But the glint in his eye warned Janna that he was teasing her again.
* * *
Days passed as they slowly made their way to Winchestre. Faldo hadn't exaggerated when he told Janna that they sang for their supper. What Janna hadn't realised was that they would stop at every likely looking manor or farmhouse to ask for a night's lodging in return for giving entertainment.
They didn't always find shelter for the night. Sometimes they had to take their rest in barn or hedgerow, or even under the cart if it was raining, but they always stayed as long as they could wherever shelter and employment was offered to them.
Although Janna sometimes became impatient with their slow journey, she enjoyed the company of the jongleurs and the fun they had as they walked along. Nicholas taught Faldo magic tricks and tried out new ones of his own. Janna always watched carefully, but she could never tell how the white dove got into a hat, or a ribbon up a sleeve, or a silver coin behind an ear, even though they always invited her to inspect everything before they started, just as Nicholas invited the audience to do the same thing.
When not engaged in practising magic, Nicholas accompanied the players on his fluting pipe, or kept everyone in time to the beat of his small drum. Master Thomas's wife, Elanor, played both the harp and the rebec, and occasionally Jocelin took a turn on the hurdy gurdy, but he was also a skilled juggler and fiery sword swallower. Janna couldn't work out how he was able to do such things, but marvelled every time she saw them. She could tell, as she watched Faldo practising under Jocelin's keen eye, that it took confidence and skill. And patience, she thought, as Faldo dropped a ball and swore at it, reflecting his annoyance with his own performance.
As Faldo had said, Master Thomas was their leader, and the noble deeds of kings were his to tell. But between them Nicholas and Jocelin had devised some funny routines: a block-headed husband and a pushy wife; a deceitful merchant and a dissatisfied customer; a peasant triumphing over an evil baron, or vice versa depending on their audience. These re-enactments were accompanied by jokes, quips and insulting repartee and provided some light entertainment between the more uplifting tales of heroes and battles.
Janna enjoyed the company of the irreverent pair, their tricks and jokes and great enjoyment of life. They, in turn, had danced attention on her until Ralph's proprietary air had cautioned them to discretion. Janna didn't know whether to be pleased that Ralph was so attentive, or annoyed that he was taking it upon himself to determine her friendships. Yet every day saw her falling deeper under his spell.
Sometimes, when they stopped in a market square, one or other of the jongleurs would bring out an instrument and play a carol. The rest of the band would link hands and dance in a ring, while encouraging the crowds to join with them. After watching carefully a few times, Janna began to take part, delighted to be learning a new skill. The touch of Ralph's hand under her own set her senses on fire with delight. In her imagination, they became a great lord and lady, dancing in courtship, dancing in love.
While Ralph had no qualms about paying his way along their journey and being independent, Janna preferred to save her coins and, instead, contributed her labour to helping the cause of the jongleurs. Her chores kept her busy, but even so she stole whatever time she could to be with Ralph. In fact, Ralph's attention to Janna caused some comment, and sometimes even ribald speculation which Janna did her best to ignore. But, when she overheard Elanor questioning Ralph as to why he travelled with the jongleurs, she crept closer to listen. While she hoped she knew the answer, she was still not quite sure how to read him and hoped his reply might settle her own doubts about his motives.
'It is for my own pleasure, lady,' he replied. 'I have taken it upon myself to help Janna search for her missing father. But I confess, my interest goes deeper than that.' He swung around, so suddenly that Janna feared she might have been seen. She shrank further behind the cart, hoping he hadn't noticed her. 'I would have her for my wife, but she is young, and innocent of the ways of the w
orld,' Ralph continued. 'I want to give her a chance to come to know me and to trust me for, at present, she is alone in the world, with no-one to guide her or speak for her.'
Janna missed Elanor's low-voiced reply, but by then she'd stopped listening anyway, so overwhelmed was she by Ralph's words. She clasped her hands to her breast and stayed quite still, suffused with delight and savouring the moment. This was all and more than she had hoped to hear. Caution kept her standing still until the pair had moved away. Not for anything would she reveal to Ralph that she'd overheard his declaration of love.
At last, when she was quite sure they had gone, she crept out of her hiding place and continued with her task, which, today, was to cut fodder in a nearby field for the jongleur's carthorse. But her heart was singing with joy and the task passed as lightly as her thoughts.
On Janna's conscience was the continuing coolness between her and Ulf. Sometimes he joined the company for their evening meal but often he went missing. Janna wondered if he was scouring streets and rubbish dumps looking for new 'relics' or whether he had some other purpose altogether. She didn't question him. She didn't quite know how to heal the breach between them, even if she wanted to.
They retraced their steps for part of the way, and finally came through a sprawling settlement to the old walled hill fort that Master Thomas told her was called Sorviodunum in Latin, although the Normans referred to it as Sarisberie or Sarum. Janna felt a flutter of excitement as she looked up at the huge chalk ramparts that dominated the sky. They crossed the drawbridge over a deep moat and there they had to wait while Master Thomas spoke to the gatekeeper. After some persuasion and what looked like a coin exchanging hands, they were at last given access to the outer bailey.
Janna's gaze was immediately drawn to the gleaming chalk ramparts that surrounded and dominated the inner bailey at the centre of the large hill fort. They were topped by a timber palisade, and surrounded by a deep and seemingly impregnable ditch. The white chalk was so dazzling bright in the sunlight that she had to squint her eyes against the glare. A wooden drawbridge over the ditch gave access to the gate-house, a strong and imposing building that towered above their heads. The jongleurs wasted no time looking around the small settlement that sprawled to one side of the outer bailey but instead forged ahead towards the gatehouse.
Willows for Weeping Page 16
