Willows for Weeping Read online

  Also by Felicity Pulman

  Ghost Boy

  Shalott

  Return to Shalott Shalott:

  The Final Journey

  Janna Mysteries 1: Rosemary for Remembrance

  Janna Mysteries 2: Rue for Repentance

  Janna Mysteries 3: Lilies for Love

  Janna Mysteries

  BOOK FOUR

  Willows for Weeping

  FELICITY PULMAN

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, including internet search engines or retailers, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including printing, photocopying (except under the statutory exceptions provisions of the Australian Copyright Act 1968), recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of Random House Australia. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author's and publisher's rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  Janna Mysteries 4: Willows for Weeping

  ePub ISBN 9781864715446

  Kindle ISBN 9781864717303

  Original Print Edition

  This book is fictitious. The herb properties and herbal remedies detailed in this book are based on ancient folk practice and should not under any circumstances be considered an actual remedy for any ailment or condition.

  A Random House book

  Published by Random House Australia Pty Ltd

  Level 3, 100 Pacific Highway, North Sydney NSW 2060

  www.randomhouse.com.au

  First published by Random House Australia in 2008

  Copyright © Felicity Pulman 2008

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  This electronic book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser

  Addresses for companies within the Random House Group can be found at www.randomhouse.com.au/offices.

  National Library of Australia

  Cataloguing-in-Publication Entry

  Pulman, Felicity, 1945–. Willows for weeping.

  For secondary school age.

  ISBN: 9781741662504

  I. Title. (Series: Pulman, Felicity, 1945– Janna Mysteries; 4.)

  A823.3

  Cover design by saso content & design pty ltd

  Internal illustration and design by Pigs Might Fly Productions

  Typeset in Berkeley Book by Midland Typesetters, Australia

  Printed and bound by Griffin Press, South Australia

  Table of Contents

  By the Same Author

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter ONE

  Chapter TWO

  Chapter THREE

  Chapter FOUR

  Chapter FIVE

  Chapter SIX

  Chapter SEVEN

  Chapter EIGHT

  Chapter NINE

  Chapter TEN

  Chapter ELEVEN

  Chapter TWELVE

  Chapter THIRTEEN

  Chapter FOURTEEN

  Author's Note

  Glossary

  About the Author

  ONE

  AS THE SMALL band of pilgrims passed through Wiltune, Janna saw a crowd ahead, gathered into a shouting, gesticulating knot outside a cottage. At their centre was a cowering wretch who groaned and howled in pain. Those standing close enough kicked out at him, or stretched to pull out tufts of his hair. Dogs barked in excitement and pushed past legs to get closer, slavering over the scent of fresh blood.

  Ever soft-hearted for someone in trouble, Janna quickened her steps to come to the man's aid, but was stopped by a firm hand on her arm. 'Leave it off, lass,' a gravelly voice advised. 'There's nowt you can do for him now.'

  'Who is he? What's he done to deserve such treatment?' Janna strained against the pilgrim's grasp. She felt angry that he should be so lacking in compassion, but was even more furious that he had taken it upon himself to tell her what to do.

  ''Tis the moneyer.' The pilgrim gave a grimace of distaste. 'I heard talk among the guests at the abbey about him. He's been issuing base coins, adding lead to silver to make up the weight. But he's been found out and has paid the penalty for his crime.' The pilgrim looked from Janna towards the fracas still taking place. 'Punished, aye, but it seems his fellow countrymen will also vent their grievances for he must have short-changed all of 'em in his time. Leave him be, lass. There's nowt you can do to help him.'

  Janna nodded in understanding, although she felt helpless in the face of the moneyer's pain. She knew that the penalty for moneyers who shaved coins or made them short-weight was dreadful indeed; knew also that with her knowledge of herbs and healing she might well have been able to ease his hurt. The problem was, she had neither the herbs nor the means to make up any potions or healing salves. She tried to comfort herself with the thought that there were others from whom the moneyer could seek help, and brightened some-what as Sister Anne came into her mind. The infirmarian at Wiltune Abbey was skilful and wise, and had taught Janna more, even, than she'd learned from her own mother. The moneyer would have no need of anyone else's help with the infirmarian here at hand, and with medicaments already prepared for use.

  Janna stopped struggling against the pilgrim's restraint. At once he removed his hand from her arm, and gave her a friendly smile. Like the other pilgrims she was now in company with, he was wearing a broad-brimmed hat with a tin scallop shell pinned to its brim, a sign of their pilgrimage across the ocean to the shrine of St James. He was a goblin of a man, grey-haired and hunch-shouldered under the weight of the pack he carried. She wondered why he struggled with such a burden when most of the pilgrims carried only a light pack and a walking staff.

  He in turn was studying her closely. 'Allow me to introduce myself properly, mistress. My name is Ulf,' he said, and bobbed his head in greeting.

  'And my name's Johanna, but I'm usually called Janna.' Blushing slightly under his intent gaze, Janna turned away. She was not used to being called 'mistress', but she realised Ulf had been taken in by the costly gown she wore. It seemed the new apparel given to her by the nuns when she'd left the abbey had conferred on her a higher status that was unexpected but not necessarily unwelcome.

  Ulf hesitated for a moment as if hoping to engage her in further conversation. But Janna hung back, reluctant to pursue their acquaintance until she'd had some time to decide whether or not to reveal her true identity and, with it, her own low place in society. Several people wanted her dead. The memory of the most recent attack still brought her to a cold, sweating fright. She would do anything to avoid such a thing happening again, and if travelling under the guise of a wealthy young woman could keep her safe, it was certainly worth consideration.

  She took some steps away from Ulf, willing him to walk on without her. In the face of her obvious dismissal, Ulf strode on, giving a series of ear-piercing whistles as he went. A huge pale hound emerged from among the tight knot of angry townsfolk and loped obediently to its master's side. It had a smooth, short-haired coat, small pricked ears and a long tail. Noting its ferocious expression, Janna resolved to keep well away from it in the future. But Ulf seemed unafraid as he walked on, the dog pacing beside him.

  As they moved beyond the confines of Wiltune and out across the downs, Janna looked back for one last glimpse of the town, and the abbey that had sheltered her and been her home for the past year. It was almost noon, and the sisters would be sitting down for dinner in t
he refectory, signing to each other to pass the fish, the salt, the butter, or whatever else was needed. Janna wondered if she'd ever see any of them again.

  She could no longer hear the bells, even though she strained to catch one last sound. Their constant jangle had dominated her life: the great bell that had summoned them to prayers during the day and through the night, and the smaller bell that had regulated their lives, waking, eating and sleeping. Janna had thought she'd never get used to their sound, but in time the bells had ceased to disturb her other than as a reminder of where to go and what to do next. In their absence now, the silence seemed oppressive.

  She quickened her pace to catch up with the pilgrims, who were drawing ahead of her. They were seven in number, and they all travelled on foot. Just as well, Janna thought, for she would not have been able to keep up with them had they been mounted. But their leader, a bluff and kindly looking man called Bernard, had welcomed her into the group along with another young newcomer, and had warned her that they travelled slowly to accommodate his elderly mother. Janna just hoped they would not take too long about their journey. She was on fire with impatience to reach Ambres-berie. There she would leave the pilgrims, and go to the abbey to enquire after Sister Emanuelle, who was once the infirmarian there.

  Sister Emanuelle. Janna's mother had never told her that she'd once been a nun. Janna had been shocked by the revelation, for she'd known her mother only as Eadgyth, the wortwyf who had used her knowledge to heal all who came her way and needed her care – and who had died because of it.

  Turning her back on the life she had once known, Janna whispered also a quiet goodbye to the people she'd come to know and love during her stay at Wiltune Abbey. Sister Anne, the infirmarian. Sister Ursel, who had taught her how to read and write, enabling Janna to read the letter from her father to her mother and thus begin the next stage of her quest to find her unknown father. The lay sister, Agnes, who was about to leave the abbey and start a new life of her own.

  There were people outside the abbey whom Janna would also miss. She thought of Hugh, the handsome nobleman. She was sure she hadn't imagined the signs of the growing attraction between them, or the new respect with which he'd treated her while she'd nursed him to health in the abbey's infirmary. But Hugh was so far above her in station that any relationship between them was impossible.

  She looked down at the fine blue dress she was wearing, given to the abbey by a young postulant in exchange for the black habit of the convent sisters. She stroked the silky wool with careful fingers, then raised her hand to her hair and the gauzy veil that covered it. She had never worn anything so fine in her life, had never even aspired to possess such luxury. If Hugh had met her now, he would think she was a lady and worthy of his respect. He might even court her as an equal, thinking she came from a wealthy family and would have a dowry to match. If only that was the truth of it, she would marry Hugh, and gladly. But he had his way to make in the world and must find a truly highborn lady to take as a wife, someone with land and wealth of her own. Hugh was not for her; she must not even think of him.

  But there was someone else whom Janna would miss: the villein Godric, who had now become Hugh's right-hand man about the manor. Godric had loved and protected her since their first meeting; he had promised to come at her command if ever she needed him. But she didn't love Godric, Janna told herself hastily, even as the scarring memory of the last time she'd seen him came into her mind. The marketplace, bleak and miserable on a winter's day. Godric had been there with Cecily and her young charge, Hamo. Their close companion-ship, their laughter had brightened the afternoon, but had struck a deep chill in Janna's heart. Godric was her friend. Why then, did the thought of him finding happiness with Cecily hurt so much?

  'I heard tell you come from Wiltune Abbey, mistress?' A voice at Janna's side jerked her back to the present. She turned to look at the young woman who now kept pace with her.

  'Yes, I've been at Wiltune for the past year,' Janna confirmed, speaking in the language of the English, for that was how she'd been addressed. She struggled to remember the young woman's name from Bernard's introduction, and then it came to her. Winifred.

  'What's it like, life in the abbey?' The girl stared at Janna with an intent expression.

  'Hard.' Janna considered for a moment, wondering if she'd been unfair. 'But not if you have a vocation,' she amended.

  'I have a vocation.' There was no doubt in the young woman's voice.

  'Then you're going the wrong way for Wiltune.'

  'I'm not bound for Wiltune. My destiny lies elsewhere.' Winifred was silent a moment. 'Do you travel all the way to Oxeneford with us, mistress?' She cast a disparaging glance at Janna's blue gown and soft leather shoes.

  'No, I go only to Ambresberie.'

  'To the abbey?'

  'Yes. But not to stay.'

  The girl shot a swift look over her shoulder, checking the path behind them. Then she turned to Janna. 'I wish to know all there is about the life of a religious. Will you tell me how it is to live a life devoted to God?'

  Intrigued, Janna cocked her head sideways to look more carefully at her companion. She was dressed in what Janna felt sure was her best gown, bound at the waist with a shabby cord from which dangled a worn purse made from coarse leather. Her gown was such as a villein might wear, long-sleeved and hanging loose and, although clean, it was patched and definitely homespun. How could such a girl afford the dowry to give her entry into an abbey? It seemed rude to ask.

  'Do you go to an abbey in Oxeneford? Why not stay closer to your home?' she asked instead.

  Winifred shrugged. 'There is nothing and no-one to keep me here,' she said, and glanced once more over her shoulder. Janna wondered why she seemed so tense. Her curiosity grew stronger. She had ever been inquisitive, and while her meddling had often got her into trouble in the past, lately it had also helped her solve some of the mysteries that had baffled her since she'd started on this quest to find her father.

  'Which abbey do you go to? Do you have a place saved for you?' she asked carefully, noting that Winifred had avoided answering her question.

  'No, I don't.' Winifred's lips curved into a sly smile. 'But the abbey will welcome me once they see what I have.'

  'And what is that?' But the girl's lips tightened on her secret, and she turned again to check the track behind them.

  Janna wondered if, in spite of her brave words, Winifred was having second thoughts about her chosen path. Or had she perhaps run away from home to follow her vocation, and now feared pursuit? Having herself been forced to flee her home, Janna felt a spark of fellow feeling for the girl and was keen to understand her situation. 'Have you visited Oxeneford in the past? Is that why you wish to go there now?' she persevered.

  'No, I have never travelled beyond my home before. But once I'm accepted into the convent, I intend to stay. Unlike you, mistress. How is it that you have left such an important abbey as Wiltune to take to the road?'

  Janna shrugged. If the young woman wanted to keep her secrets close to her chest, so did she. Besides, it was a long story, too long and too personal to share with a complete stranger. 'I found I had no vocation,' she said, sticking to a small truth at least.

  'Then why do you go to Ambresberie?'

  Janna sighed, debating how best to satisy the girl's curiosity. 'I go to enquire after my mother,' she said at last.

  'Your mother's at Ambresberie?'

  'No.' Janna hesitated. 'My mother is dead.' A sudden rush of misery brought hot, pricking tears. She blinked them away. 'There is no need to call me "mistress",' she said, keen to change the subject. 'My name is Janna, short for Johanna. And you are Winifred?'

  'Yes, but not for too much longer. I shall ask to be called Sister Edith once I'm at the abbey.' A sudden gleam of humour lit the young woman's intense expression and softened the firm line of her jaw. 'I'm glad to find someone my age in this company. They're all so old! And we walk so slowly.'

  The Sin of Pride. Or was th
at the Sin of Judgment? Janna couldn't be sure, and wished that Agnes was here to tell her. Agnes was always signalling Sins, imaginary or otherwise. She would miss Agnes and her sense of fun. But there was no point in showing disapproval. The nuns would soon discipline Winifred for her lack of charity! She contented herself with saying instead: 'You'd walk slowly too, if you'd travelled across land and sea to the shrine of St James at Compostela, and now had to go all the way home again.'

  'Is that where they've been? All the way to Compostela! Oh, how I would love to make that pilgrimage.' Winifred's face was luminous with wonder.

  'Did I hear someone mention the shrine of our most beloved saint?' Ulf bobbed up once more. He grinned at Janna. She noticed that he was still accompanied by the huge hound, and she took several nervous steps away from it, just in case. The animal had something clamped in its mouth. Janna hoped that whatever it guarded so carefully might discourage it from wanting to take a bite out of either her or Winifred.

  'Have you visited the saint's shrine? Were you there too?' Winifred peeked out from behind Janna, making sure that someone was between her and the dog as she put the question.

  'Indeed I was. We all made the pilgrimage, except for you two young women, of course.' The pilgrim sketched a quick bow in Winifred's direction. 'My name is Ulf,' he introduced himself, and patted his pack. 'When next we stop, I shall show you some of the wonders I was fortunate enough to procure there, some of 'em even from our beloved saint himself.' He'd turned to address his remarks to Janna, who was a little confused by his attempt to interest her in his wares until she realised that he was still deceived by the fine clothes she wore. She tried hard not to smile lest she encourage him. She had once been deceived by a relic seller, but had learned her lesson from it and would not be taken down again.

  Winifred, however, didn't hesitate to take him at face value. 'Oh, I'd be most honoured if you would show me your sacred relics,' she breathed eagerly.

  Ulf nodded, looking somewhat disappointed. He turned to Janna. 'I have a lock of hair from the head of our blessed saint, who was a most beloved disciple of our Lord Jesus Christ. I even have a scrap of fabric from our Lady's own gown.'