Willows for Weeping Read online

  'This is so romantic!' Winifred breathed.

  'He must have loved your mother very much,' Ralph observed.

  Janna nodded, swept by a tide of grief as she remembered how her mother had died with John's name on her lips, while never knowing how much she was loved in return. If only she had trusted her lover, she thought. She sneaked a sideways glance at Ralph. It all came down to a matter of trust.

  * * *

  Their first stop, when they arrived in Ambresberie, was the cookshop. Janna's nose twitched as she smelled the delicious scent of hot pies, but before she could find a coin to pay for one, Ralph had darted up to the counter. He returned with five hot, steaming pasties, and Janna and Winifred stretched out grateful hands to receive their share. Morcar and Golde came into view shortly afterwards, and Ralph handed them each a pasty. There was a prolonged silence as everyone ate hungrily, for it had been a long time since their last meal.

  'That was delicious. Thank you, my lord Ralph!' Janna licked her fingers clean of gravy, then washed her hands at the pump. She debated wiping them dry on her gown, but decided against it. She could do little to protect the precious fabric against the ravages of the journey, but she certainly wasn't going to compound the problem by adding food or water stains. Winifred and the others had no such qualms, however, and cheerfully swiped their hands down their clothes to dry them.

  'I'll escort you to the abbey,' Ralph told Janna. He looked at the rest of the pilgrim group. 'Pray you, seek out Mistress Juliana and Ulf. We'll come looking for you later.'

  'No!' Janna said, as a host of problems suddenly presented themselves for her consideration. She knew what sort of reception she'd get if she arrived at the abbey gates escorted by a man, even someone as personable as Ralph. She was determined to get inside the abbey, perhaps stay the night if they would have her, for she wanted time to question everyone who might have known her mother. For that, she would have to make the visit alone. 'I thank you for your offer, but I must go to the abbey on my own. I know not how long I'll be there,' she told him.

  It was the next complication that really bothered Janna, and she wasn't quite sure how to address it. She could only speak out, make the offer, and hope that it did not work to her disadvantage. She took a breath and addressed all the pilgrims together. 'There is no need for any of you to wait for me for it was always my intention to leave you all once we were safely arrived here. Pray, do not delay your journey to Oxeneford on my account.'

  'But I have offered to help you search for your father,' Ralph protested. 'I thought that was what you wanted?'

  'You're very kind indeed, sire, but you've told me you have some business to attend to in Oxeneford. Your concerns must surely come before mine.' It almost killed Janna to throw his offer back in his face.

  'My affairs can wait,' Ralph said airily. 'Your quest is impor-tant. I know how much it means to you. Share with me what you learn from the sisters at the abbey and, in turn, I may be able to point you in the direction of your father.'

  'Thank you, Ralph. You're very kind.' Janna wanted to throw her arms around his neck in undying gratitude.

  'But I . . . that is, we . . . still have some unfinished business,' Winifred said anxiously, gesturing towards her purse.

  Janna nodded. 'Speak to Ulf while I'm gone,' she advised. 'If he can't help you, and you're still here when I come back, then I'll tell you of my other plan.'

  'I'm sure Ulf's time is taken up with Mistress Juliana and arrangements for the transport and burial of Master Bernard,' Ralph said. He was gazing thoughtfully at Winifred's purse. Janna could hear the questions he was asking himself almost as clearly as if he was speaking aloud. She stifled a grin. She knew quite well what was going through his mind for, in his position, she'd have been asking the same questions herself!

  But perhaps Ralph had learned his lesson earlier, for no questions were forthcoming. 'I am at leisure while Janna visits the abbey. Perhaps I can help you with your unfinished business, mistress?' he offered instead.

  'No!' Janna and Winifred answered together. They exchanged glances. Janna shook her head slightly, a gesture of warning not lost on Ralph, she realised, as she noticed his bemused expression.

  ''Tis kind of you, but this is a private matter between Winifred and myself,' she said quickly.

  'And Ulf?' Ralph observed.

  'I'm not sure.' Winifred looked uncomfortable at the thought.

  Ralph shrugged. 'Then why don't we see if we can find him,' he said, and offered his arm to Winifred to escort her.

  Janna watched them go. She was rather sorry that she'd dismissed Ralph quite so readily, even though she realised it was far better for her to approach the nuns on her own. The abbey was easily seen: the walls and high spire dominated the small settlement. As she walked towards it, she nervously recited to herself what she might say to gain admission, and what questions she might ask about her mother. And her father. Would the abbess be more generous with her time and information than the abbess at Wiltune? Janna devoutly hoped so, for the abbess at Wiltune was a greedy, grasping woman, with a heart as hard as flint. She just hoped this abbess had been at the abbey long enough to know her mother, and was generous enough to share what she knew.

  'Sister Emanuelle.' She practised the name silently, trying to reconcile the image of a nun with her memory of Eadgyth, the wortwyf who had healed the villagers in return for whatever they were able to give her. Eadgyth, who had offered her daughter little in the way of hugs and kisses but who had loved her nevertheless. Janna understood that now, and understood also that as well as love, Eadgyth had given her the most priceless gift it was in her power to bestow: the knowledge of herbs and healing.

  EIGHT

  JANNA'S MOUTH WAS dry. Her heart beat hard as she pulled on the bellrope. She heard a loud clanging in the abbey beyond the wall. A young woman opened the stout door to her. She wore a habit, but it was too long for her so that she looked like a child dressed up in its mother's clothes. 'Yes?' she asked suspiciously. Her glance moved down to Janna's fine gown, and her features took on a more subservient expression. 'How may I help you?'

  Janna swallowed hard. 'May I speak to your abbess?' she asked, keeping her voice steady with an effort.

  'If you have business with our abbey, mayhap you should rather see our sacristan?'

  'How old is she?' Janna asked impulsively.

  'I beg your pardon?'

  'Your sacristan. What age is she?' Noticing the young woman's blank expression, Janna hastened to explain. 'I come seeking information about my mother, who was once infirmarian here. You are too young to know her, certes, but your older sisters might well remember her. At least, that's what I'm hoping.'

  The young nun continued to stare blankly at Janna.

  'My mother's name was Sister Emanuelle. Is your sacristan old enough to remember her?' Janna conceded that perhaps her request was unusual. Nevertheless, she wished the nun would let her through. Now that she was here, she was impatient to start asking questions.

  The young woman shrugged. 'Wait here,' she said, and closed the door with a bang. Janna wondered if she was a bit lacking in wits, then chided herself for being uncharitable. She began to prowl restlessly, keeping an anxious eye on the door in the wall. Finally, it opened once more.

  This time the nun was elderly. What was even more encouraging, she looked friendly. Janna's impression was confirmed by the nun's first words.

  'You've come to ask about Sister Emanuelle?' She took Janna's arm and drew her inside. 'I knew her, as did several of our other sisters, and if you'll wait in the parlour I will bring them to you.' She bent her head close to Janna's and whispered, 'Do not bother our abbess with your enquiries. She had little sympathy for your mother's predicament, and time has not softened her opinion.'

  Janna nodded. So the abbess had known that her mother was with child, but had apparently been as uncharitable about it as the abbess at Wiltune. But her mother might have confided in some of the other sisters and, if this n
un's friendly tone was anything to go by, they had not judged her. Janna hoped they'd be prepared to tell her all they knew.

  'My name is Sister Amice,' the nun said, as she led Janna into the parlour. Janna settled herself comfortably on a stool pushed forward for her use. 'It's not yet time for Vespers and my sisters will be busy about their various chores, but let me see if I can find Sister Marie to talk to you.' She bustled out again, leaving Janna alone.

  After a while she stood up and began to pace the room, looking about her as she walked, imprinting all she could see on her memory. Her mother had been here in this abbey, even in this very room, seeing what she was seeing and sharing her life with those who lived here. Janna had never known Eadgyth to have any friends, but now she was about to speak to those who had lived in close proximity with her mother and who might have known her well enough to share her secrets. She was shaking with nerves. Her mother seemed so close to her now that she was here. Janna was acutely conscious of how much she missed her.

  As time went on and Sister Amice did not return, Janna's thoughts turned from her mother to curiosity about the abbey that had once been Eadgyth's home. The candles and their holders were of inferior quality to those that adorned the abbey at Wiltune. There were only a few threadbare hangings on the wall. But the rushes strewn about the floor were clean and smelled sweet. Somebody had taken trouble; somebody cared. She sat down again and tapped her foot restlessly, impatient with the delay.

  At last the door opened once more. A woman swept in, garbed in the full regalia of an abbess. She had a nose like a beak and no chin. At once Janna jumped up to greet her. Sister Amice followed behind. As her eyes met Janna's she put a finger to her lips and then made a slicing motion across her throat. Her actions became clear when the woman stopped and glared at Janna. 'I am the abbess here at Ambresberie. I understand you are enquiring after Sister Emanuelle, who was once our infirmarian?'

  'Yes, Mother Abbess.' Janna could hardly speak, she felt so sick with fright and anticipation.

  'And who are you?'

  'My name is Johanna, mother. I am Eadgyth's . . . Sister Emanuelle's daughter.'

  Sister Amice's eyes rolled up to the heavens. Janna quickly realised her mistake as the abbess's countenance darkened into stern disapproval.

  'So you are the offspring of that vile union.' She held up a hand to silence Janna, who was about to protest. 'You should know that while your mother was under our shelter, and on the very eve of taking her vows, I discovered that she had betrayed our order by consorting with a man. Worse, she left our abbey to live with him!' She glared at Janna as if it was all her fault. 'Of course he deserted her when it transpired that she carried his child, and she returned to the abbey expecting mercy. My predecessor might well have forgiven her had she still been here, for she was a lax woman and not fit for her position here. But I am not of that ilk, and I thank God for it. Your mother broke her promise to us, she betrayed her sisters. For that, there cannot be forgiveness, and so I told her. It is past, it is done. We do not speak of your mother here.'

  Janna was stunned by the cold dislike in the abbess's voice. Although she now despaired of hearing anything of her mother's early life, yet she was determined to speak up in her mother's defence. A voice forestalled her.

  'With due respect, Mother Abbess, Sister Emanuelle's position here in the abbey was somewhat different from our own.'

  There was a quiet authority behind the voice, although Janna could not, at first, see where it had come from. Then Sister Amice moved slightly to make way for someone else to come forward.

  This nun was tiny, and bent with age. Yet Janna noticed that there was a bright twinkle to her eyes, and compassion on her face as she took Janna's hands in her own. 'You have something of your mother in your looks,' she said quietly, 'but I do think you more resemble your father.'

  'You know my father?' The unexpected flicker of hope brought sudden tears to Janna's eyes. 'Pray, tell me about him!' she said quickly. 'Please, tell me everything you know!'

  The tiny nun looked at the abbess. Their eyes met and held, and Janna sensed the battle of wills going on between them. She looked from one to the other, hardly daring to hope. If this was a wager, her money would have gone on the abbess. But, to her surprise, the abbess gave a slight nod and swept out of the parlour, her face scrunched tight with fury. A general sigh of relief marked her passing.

  'I am Sister Marie.' The tiny nun let go of Janna's hands, and lowered herself onto a stool nearby. 'Pray, sit down.' She waved her hand towards a bench, and Janna pulled it closer and sat alongside Sister Amice. She leaned forward, eagerly waiting to be told what she so longed to hear.

  'Why are you asking us about your father? Why not ask your mother what you wish to know?'

  'My mother is dead.' Janna felt her throat close tight with grief. 'Murdered.'

  'Murdered?' Sister Marie's shock was mirrored on Sister Amice's face.

  'She never told me anything about her early life, or about my father,' Janna explained. 'We argued about it, and finally she promised that she would tell me what I wanted to know. But . . . but she died before we had a chance to speak of it. We left each other on bad terms, and I didn't get the chance to tell her I was sorry.' Janna dashed the tears from her eyes, angry at betraying weakness in front of the nuns. 'That's why I seek knowledge about my father, for I have made a vow that I will find him and, with his help, avenge the death of my mother.'

  'I am so sorry, Johanna. So sorry.' Sister Marie shook her head in sympathy. 'Tell me what you want to know. I'll do my best to answer your questions.'

  'I want to know everything you can tell me! Especially about my father.'

  Sister Marie nodded slowly, as if Janna had confirmed something she'd long suspected. 'So he never found you?'

  'Found us?'

  'Your father. I'm not sure if he knew about you. He came looking for your mother some months after she left the abbey. After she was asked to leave.'

  'After she was thrown out,' said Sister Amice.

  'Did anyone tell him that my mother carried his child?'

  'I don't know. He was admitted to the abbess and shown the door almost immediately afterwards. None of us had a chance to talk to him, I'm afraid.'

  Janna was silent as she thought over what she'd just heard. As she'd suspected, her father hadn't abandoned them. He'd written to explain the delay, but Eadgyth couldn't read what he'd said and had assumed he'd deserted her. Janna felt a great sadness as she imagined how frightened and betrayed her mother must have felt after her meeting with the abbess. It explained so much, and yet things could have turned out so differently if only her mother had trusted her lover, if only she hadn't been so proud.

  She pulled herself together with an effort, and turned to Sister Marie. 'Why did my mother not go to her family for help?'

  'She had no family. That was why she came to us in the first place, for she was still quite young then and in need of protec-tion. She told us that she had learned about herbs and healing from her mother, who was also a healer. A wortwyf, she called her. She said that her father had died some years past, and her mother most recently of some pestilence which also took the life of a younger brother, I believe. Or was it a sister?' The nun's face creased in thought. 'I can't remember.'

  Janna's hopes of locating any members of her mother's family were dashed, although she'd suspected as much from the start. 'What else can you tell me?' she asked.

  Sister Marie sat silent for a moment as she marshalled her thoughts. 'As I reminded our abbess, your mother was not bound to the abbey in the same way as we were,' she contin-ued. 'She came here for protection and offered her services as a healer in return, for she'd heard that our infirmarian had died and that we had no-one to replace her.'

  Janna nodded. This much she had learned from Sister Anne, the infirmarian at Wiltune.

  'So far as I know, she never took any vows, but she dressed as a lay sister and took part in the offices of our daily life. She stayed
here of her own free will and worked tirelessly for the comfort and wellbeing of our community while she was here.'

  'She was renowned as a healer where we lived. Even the infirmarian at Wiltune Abbey knew of her,' Janna said proudly.

  'Is that where she went? I'm glad she found shelter some-where. The Abbess of Wiltune is obviously more charitable than our own.'

  'She wasn't at all!' Janna said hotly. 'She gave my mother a derelict cottage which my mother repaired, and for which she paid dearly for the rest of her life.' But Janna didn't want to waste time on a past already known to her. 'Where did my mother meet my father?' she asked eagerly.

  'Right here in the abbey.' Sister Marie smiled in reminiscence. 'Your father was with a hunting party. He had taken ill with a fever, and his companions brought him here, being the nearest place to find shelter and healing. And your mother nursed him devotedly.'

  Unbidden, a scene came into Janna's mind. The abbey at Wiltune: Hugh lying in the infirmary, wounded and bleeding, while she did her best to take care of him. Was her mother's story repeating itself? Was this a sign of some sort?

  'We watched your mother fall in love.' Sister Marie's gaze was far away as she recounted what had happened. 'Your father fell in love too,' she said. 'I have never seen a couple so devoted. And so, when he'd recovered from his fever and was ready to leave the abbey, your mother said her goodbyes and went with him.'

  'Where did they go?'

  'To Winchestre. I believe your father has property there.'

  Winchestre! Janna felt excitement, strong and heady as wine. 'My father's name was John. Is John. Do you know any more about him than that?'

  Sister Marie shook her head. Janna felt in her purse, and produced her father's ring. 'Have you ever seen this before?'

  'No.' Sister Marie took the ring and examined it carefully. 'Did this belong to your father?'

  'I think so.'

  'There's a royal crest on it.'

  'I believe my father was a loyal subject of King Henry.' Something the nun had said was puzzling Janna. 'Why, if my mother never took any vows, is the abbess so against her?'