Willows for Weeping

by Felicity Pulman

  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 liquorice, 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. Neverthe-less, 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. She took a cautious sniff and then a small sip of the potion when it was placed into her hands, for she was interested to find out what was in it. She pulled a face, surprised how bitter it tasted. It was not made up to a recipe she would have used, but she thought it would serve well enough.

  She went off to find Ulf, pleased that she'd found something to give him by way of a peace offering. Although she'd watched him carefully since she'd told him to go his own way and leave her alone, his behaviour had in no way changed, while his courtesy and care made her feel uncomfortable about her continuing suspicion. She hoped that the gift might help to soothe her uneasy conscience.

  'For you,' she said, and pressed the leather bottle into his hands.

  'Me?' His eyebrows lifted in surprise.

  'For the rheum that troubles you. And the cough. Take a sip now and another before you sleep tonight.'

  'That's kind of you, lass. Very kind.' Ulf took a hearty swallow, and pulled a wry face. No liquorice and not enough honey. Janna grimaced in sympathy.

  'It would have tasted better if I'd made it,' she told him.

  'You know summat about such things?' Ulf looked at her with sharpened interest.

  Janna nodded. 'I miss not being able to use my knowledge,' she said, and knew that it was true.

  * * *

  Having finally exhausted all opportunities at Sarisberie, the jongleurs eventually set off on the old Roman road that led to Winchestre. Janna's spirits rose high with the realisation that she was at last on the way to achieving her quest.

  True to his word, Ulf's relics sometimes opened doors that otherwise would have remained closed to them. Several of their hosts made generous donations in return for the various precious objects he pulled out of his bag. Janna wondered what he'd do once his supplies ran out. Recalling his frequent absences at night, she realised that the possibility was unlikely.

  Janna was glad for the long days of walking, for they gave her time to talk to Ralph, time to get to know him better – although most of their time together was spent under Ulf's watchful eye or with Faldo, who was always a lively companion. But Janna was content to take things slowly. She treasured the time spent with Ralph, and knew that he took whatever opportunity he could to keep her company. She found him remarkably well informed on the doings of the royal court and the wealthy noblemen who were part of it. While she kept her own counsel about her preference for the empress, she couldn't resist questioning him about court life. She found it fascinating, being so far removed as it was from her own experience.

  'How do you know so much about all these people?' she asked him one day.

  He laughed. 'In Winchestre, everyone knows everything – and what they don't know, they make up! I found things were no different at Sarisberie.'

  'So what you're telling me isn't necessarily the truth?'

  Ralph looked a little taken aback. 'I thought you'd like to hear all the gossip, whether it's true or no?' He grinned at her. 'For instance, I hear the empress has not given up her fight for the crown. It seems her chief supporter, the Earl of Gloucestre, has come from Oxeneford to Winchestre to see the bishop.'

  'Does the Earl of Gloucestre hope to get the bishop back on side with the empress?'

  'Why do you say that?' Ralph looked suddenly serious.

  Janna cautioned herself to be careful lest she reveal where her loyalty lay. 'Don't you remember what that young boy told us at Stonehenge?'

  'Of course. But he was talking of a mere difference of opinion, no more than that. The bishop has pledged his loyalty to the empress, remember.'

  'So why should the earl need to visit him then?'

  Ralph gave a small chuckle of amusement. 'The empress alienated many of her subjects when she came to London. She made promises which she has broken. Worse, she imposed a large tax on the Londoners, and would not hear their pleas when they told her they were unable to pay. And she has dealt harshly with some of her supporters, who might well have expected more preferential treatment from her. I suspect the Earl of Gloucestre is worried that she has lost some of her key supporters. Certes, she's in a less favourable position now than she was before ever she came to London.'

  Janna tried to conceal her alarm at his words. 'And where does the bishop stand in this?'

  'He knows the Londoners, and can advise the earl.'

  'So Robert of Gloucestre comes to discuss with him how to make sure the empress secures the throne?' Janna asked carefully.

  'Yes.' Ralph gave a wolfish grin. 'I expect that's exactly why he has come.' There was a dangerous glint in his eyes that Janna found exciting. Yet Ralph's words had disturbed her too, for she sensed in them some unnamed threat towards the empress.

  'So,' Ralph continued, 'what do you think the outcome of their talks will be?'

  'It's not safe to have an opinion, remember? You taught me that!'

  'In truth, it's good advice.' He nodded gently. 'So, if you won't give me your opinion on affairs of state, tell me some more about yourself instead.' He tucked Janna's arm through his and they walked on while he questioned her about her early life and, in turn, told Janna something about his own family.

  They stopped for a rest several miles beyond a small hamlet. Ralph's palfrey had thrown a shoe and, after some conversation with Master Thomas, he decided to walk it back to the hamlet where there was known to be a blacksmith, rather than taking his chances further on. The jongleur assured Ralph that they would await his return before moving on. Faldo unhitched the cart horse to roam free in search of fodder, while the jongleurs untied the sack of food they'd cadged from their hosts of the night before, and sat down to make a hearty dinner.

  As they all drowsed in the heat of the day, Janna dreamily thought back on her conversation with Ralph. He'd told her that his father was dead, but that his mother lived in a hamlet north of Winchestre, along with his two sisters. Both of them were wed, and he was uncle to a little boy and two little girls. There had been great love in his voice as he spoke of his family, as he described to her the games he played with his nieces and nephew. It thrilled Janna to think that he could show so much care for his own. And he'd shown his care for her too, she thought, remembering how he'd tried to shield her from the sight of Bernard's body. How close he had held her, how protective he'd been. The memory of how gently he'd kissed her, and the strength with which he'd gripped her hand, brought warmth and a spiralling hope that indeed their relationship had grown into a love that would last through time.

  A prick of unease touched Janna momentarily as she recalled that Ralph had not said exactly what it was that he did for a living, if living he needed to find. Nor had he said anything more of his reason for visiting Oxeneford, the property he thought might be at risk and that perhaps was the basis of his livelihood.

  Not that he ever said all that much about himself. Indeed he seemed far more interested in finding out everything about her. Janna had described their cottage close to the forest and how she'd learned from her mother about herbs and healing. While she hadn't told him all the circumstances of her mother's death, she'd made him laugh with her tales of life at Wiltune Abbey: the irreverence of her friend, Agnes, and the pet-keeping habits of the nuns that had led to so much trouble.

  There seemed no end to Ralph's curiosity, and she revelled in it. They were becoming closer every day, had even stolen another kiss. Only a slight brushing of lips before they were interrupted by Ulf, yet what promise that kiss had held! Janna knew that Ralph would kiss her again, and prop
erly next time. He was only waiting until they were free of the company of Ulf and the jongleurs. In the meantime, the anticipation of his kisses was part of the thrill of being with him.

  She lay back on the grass, her mind full of Ralph and of the future. She'd never met anyone like him before. There was a wicked twinkle in his eyes that intimated there were secrets he could tell her, if only she could find the key to them. She longed to hear him speak directly of what was in his heart, yet she feared that he might never forgive her once he found out what she'd concealed from him. It hung heavy on Janna's conscience that she'd never told Ralph about the bishop's letter, yet she couldn't forget her promise to Bernard to keep it secret. If there was love, then surely there should also be trust? She should trust Ralph with the truth. But she was fairly sure that Ralph did not share her sympathy with the empress's cause, and she did not want to risk causing a rift between them, at least not until the empress was safely on the throne and it no longer mattered whose side Ralph was on. The knowledge that Bernard had recognised the bishop's seal on the letter strengthened her resolve. There could be no possible connection between the dead man and Ralph's cousin who seemed to have disappeared without trace. Besides, the bishop's letter was gone. She had nothing to show Ralph, nor any responsibility to do anything more. In fact, and the thought cheered Janna greatly, she might not need to mention the message at all. It mattered not, now, what the bishop had written to the empress. The Earl of Gloucestre had come to Winchestre, and the bishop would tell him in person whatever it was that he'd wanted the empress to know.

  Sunlight slanted through the trees, touching the treetops with gold and encompassing grass, flowers and the reclining bodies of the jongleurs in its warm glow. Bernard's staff lay close beside her, illuminated in its own pool of light. Janna picked it up, feeling a pang of regret for the untimely death of the kind pilgrim. Was an unknown thief responsible for his death? The idea did not sit easy in Janna's mind. A stranger would have knocked Bernard unconscious and made his escape with the spoils. There was no need to go to the trouble of killing him unless he was known, unless Bernard could identify him. All the evidence pointed to Adam, who was already paying penance for one murder. Why shouldn't he kill again in order to escape? It also made sense that Adam would take the trouble to stage an elaborate sacrifice in order to disguise his true motive and throw everyone off his scent. Yet Ulf believed in Adam's innocence, for this death at least. Was that because Ulf himself knew different?

  Janna gazed thoughtfully at Bernard's staff, wishing it could tell her what she wanted to know. She turned it around in her hands, and noticed a fine line just under the handle. She peered closer. The crack ran right around the wooden shaft. She hadn't noticed it before, it was only that the shining sunlight illuminated the length of the staff save for that small, telltale shadow.

  Janna examined it, hoping that the crack wasn't as bad as she feared, and that the staff would be strong enough to support her until she came to Winchestre. After that she would have no further need of it. She gripped the handle with one hand and gave the shaft a twist, testing its strength. To her surprise, the handle turned slightly. She gave another tentative twist and it turned further. Suddenly apprehensive, she glanced around. But the jongleurs were either dozing or chatting amongst themselves. No-one seemed to be paying her any attention. To be on the safe side, she turned her back on them all and continued to unscrew the handle of Bernard's staff.

  It was hollow inside. Janna's heart jumped erratically as she noticed the small packet of parchment carefully concealed within the handle. Knowing already what she would find, she carefully drew it out and studied the bishop's seal. So this was how Bernard had managed to secrete the parchment from the eyes of the abbey guard – and from anyone else who might have an interest in the letter. Could this have been why he was killed? Janna gave a shudder of unease, knowing that any supporter of Stephen's might think it worth taking a life to intercept a message from the bishop to the queen-in-waiting.

  Ralph supported the king! She banished the thought immediately from her mind. She had no real proof of where his sympathy lay. Besides, Ralph was no killer. She'd stake her own life on that. But what about Ulf? Was his guise as a relic seller designed to cover a deeper and darker purpose?

  She turned the letter over in her hands, and studied the seal. The Earl of Gloucestre was now with the bishop. Ralph had said so. This letter, therefore, was no longer important. Succumbing to curiosity, she slit the seal to read its contents.

  'To my lord liege and my brother, greetings.

  I bid you be of good cheer, for a blow has been struck from which the empress cannot recover. While she was preparing for her coronation, and on my advice, your queen brought her army from Kent to the south bank of the Thames. Under the command of William of Ypres, they caused great havoc and destruction along the way. By that action, your queen has warned the Londoners of what will befall them should they lend their support to the empress, for they know now that the empress is powerless to stop the queen's army.

  On the eve of Matilda's coronation, the bells of London were rung as a call to arms. The Londoners rose in revolt and stormed the palace of Westminster. Matilda was forced to flee back to Oxeneford, along with those who still support her claim.

  Knowing our cousin, I doubt this setback will stop her misguided attempt to claim your crown. However, she continues to make herself extremely unpopular with everyone, the Londoners in particular. They resent her high-handed attitude and, even more, the large tax she has imposed on them which, I suspect, was imposed as punishment for their previous support of you.

  Have courage. Your queen's troops remain armed and ready. We shall continue to oppose and thwart the empress's ambition at every turn. God willing, she will soon fall into our hands and we shall then have the means to set you free.

  Your brother in name and in Christ,

  Henry, Bishop of Winchestre.'

  Janna read the letter swiftly. She feared she'd misread it for it didn't make sense. She read it again. This time she read slowly and with care, for it was written in Norman French and she needed to think about some of the words. But the letter still didn't say what she thought it should. She read it through once more, thinking beyond the words to their meaning. And, at last, she came to comprehend the full extent of the bishop's treachery and the grave importance of what she'd found.

  Her hands were trembling as she swiftly folded the parchment and returned it to its hiding place. After a quick glance around to make sure that no-one was watching, she twisted the handle into the shaft of the walking stick to conceal the evidence. Her senses were reeling with the enormity of her discovery. She closed her eyes, the better to think about the implications.

  Had Bernard died for this? Or had Adam killed him to make his getaway, not knowing what the pilgrim had concealed in his staff? And what of Bishop Henry, now entertaining the empress's envoy with lying smiles and flattery, and treachery in his heart? Did he know his letter had never reached his brother, the king? Had he taken steps to retrieve it, knowing his treachery would be revealed if it fell into the wrong hands?

  Janna gave an involuntary shudder. No-one knew of this letter other than herself, Bernard and Ulf. Bernard was dead. That left Ulf. What did she really know about the relic seller? He'd been with the pilgrim band for a long time, even if not from the start. He'd won Juliana's trust enough to accompany her to Ambresberie and to persuade her to confide in him. But had Ulf already known about the message before that?

  Janna was fairly sure that Bernard supported the empress, and that he'd taken the letter in good faith that it was meant for her eyes. If he'd confided in Ulf his real reason for leaving the pilgrim band, then it could be that Ulf was responsible for his murder. She remembered that she'd once questioned Ulf about whether his loyalty lay with the empress or the king, and that he wouldn't answer her. Could he have killed Bernard to get the message and prevent him from taking it to the empress? And was he now travelling with
the jongleurs because he believed Janna had it in her possession?

  What frightened Janna most was the thought that, if Ulf had killed once to get at the letter, he would not hesitate to kill again. She took a shuddering breath, and struggled for calm.

  The more urgent question was: what should she do now? The empress must see this letter without delay. Already her half-brother might have walked into a trap. Who could she turn to for help with this? Ralph? He had his own steed. He could travel far more quickly than she could. Could she trust him with the truth when she was fairly sure he supported the king rather than the empress?

  Janna buried her face in her hands in an agony of indecision. With all her heart she wanted to confide in Ralph, and pass the responsibility for action on to him. And yet, as clear as if he was sitting beside her, she could hear Bernard's voice: 'Trust no-one.' She tried to slow her whirling thoughts, to think her way through the problem and reach an informed decision, a decision that would benefit the empress at the expense of her lying, cheating cousin Henry, Bishop of Winchestre.

  What should she do? Janna trembled as the question repeated itself. She had to do something. The empress was in danger, and so was her envoy. They must be warned of the bishop's treachery and betrayal. Robert, Earl of Gloucestre, had come to negotiate with the bishop in good faith. He was already in Winchestre, where the jongleurs were bound. Should she continue on with them and give him the letter, or should she flee to Oxeneford to warn the empress? Wherever she went, she knew that speed was of the essence. But she had only her two feet to walk upon.

  They would have to do, at least until she could beg or steal a mount from somewhere. Impatient for action, although still undecided as to which direction she should go in, Janna began to rise. She subsided again as other considerations came into her mind. True, the empress was in Oxeneford, but she would be surrounded by her supporters there. She would be protected. The earl was much nearer at hand. More, he was alone and unsuspecting in the enemy's camp. He was the empress's chief supporter, the leader of her army, and the one most at risk. She must take the letter to him and she must leave now, for any delay put his life in ever more danger.