Willows for Weeping Page 19

  First, she must make her farewells to Master Thomas and to Ulf. But she needed a good reason to leave their company, to explain her haste to get to Winchestre and, more important, to allay any suspicions they might have about her going. For the life of her she couldn't think of a single thing, nothing that sounded in the least convincing. She shook her head, trying desperately to come up with something sensible.

  She couldn't tell anyone the truth, not even Ralph. What would he do when he found her gone? Would he continue his journey to Winchestre with the pilgrims, would he fulfil his promise to help her find her father once they arrived? Janna was heart-stricken that she might be throwing away Ralph's good will by going on without him.

  If only she knew for sure whose side he was on. And whose side Ulf was on. Janna's thoughts skittered around like cockroaches in a rubbish dump. Who could she trust? Her mother had trusted no-one: not her daughter with the truth, or even the man whom she'd loved for all her life. Janna had thought her wrong, and had blamed Eadgyth for the hard life they'd lived because of her pride and lack of trust. But perhaps her mother had taught her the most valuable lesson of all, a lesson to live by: trust no-one. So had her mother taught her, and now Bernard had told her the same. She might do well, Janna thought, to take their advice.

  TEN

  FEELING PANICKY AND uncertain, Janna scrambled to her feet, using the staff to support her weight. She must treat it as just that, a staff, something of no importance, she reminded herself as she walked towards Master Thomas. He was engaged in telling Faldo about one of the scenes in The Song of Roland, and declaiming the description of the Battle of Roncevaux. Faldo listened intently, getting the sense of it even though he would never learn it all by heart, for the chanson was far too long. But he obviously relished the challenge as he wielded the props they carried in the cart, mimicking his father's gestures while Master Thomas declared at full voice:

  'Distraught was Roland with wrath and pain;

  Distraught were the twelve of Charlemagne,

  With deadly strokes the Franks have striven,

  And the Saracen horde to the slaughter given . . .'

  Faldo puffed and sweated as he swung his trusty sword Durendal against imaginary Saracen hordes, and finally blew a mighty blast on his horn, Olifant, to summon, too late, the emperor Charlemagne to come to his aid. Unfortunately Brutus seemed intent on ruining the dramatic effect by barking and snarling and trying to snap at Master Thomas's feet which – every now and then – aimed a kick in the dog's direction.

  'For the Lord Christ's sake, get your dog out of the way,' Master Thomas shouted at last, exasperated beyond bearing.

  Muttering apologies, Ulf produced a length of twine and looped it around the animal's neck. It became an act of strength, Ulf against Brutus, as he tried to drag the huge dog away. Janna's attention was divided between their tug of war and Master Thomas, who began now to declaim the stanzas dealing with the death of Roland. Janna dawdled beside them, still trying to find an excuse for leaving the jongleurs in such haste.

  'I'm not feeling well. I need to see a wortwyf? Or a doctor?' Any child, let alone an adult, would know that she was lying.

  'I've had word that my father is about to leave Winchestre, and I must see him before he goes?' That sounded slightly more reasonable. She was about to put it to the test when a movement caught her eye. Janna started in surprise. A man was watching them from along the track. How long had he been there? Could he have seen her unscrewing the staff?

  No! She tried to quieten her racing heart. She'd been sitting with her back to him and to the pilgrims – hadn't she? Her eyes moved to the spot, trying to gauge how much of what she was doing would have been on view to the spectator. Yet, if he knew nothing, whatever he saw would seem innocent enough. Wouldn't it?

  He was riding towards them now. She waited to find out his intentions.

  'God be with you,' he greeted them all as he came closer. 'I am Walter of Eglesham.' A chorus of replies came his way as the jongleurs realised they had company and began to rouse themselves. Janna stayed silent, watching him. She wondered if she'd seen him before. There was something familiar about him, although she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was. His face? Clothes and build? His hair was dark and worn quite long. A yellow cloak was tucked carelessly into the pack on his saddle; part of it was hanging out on view. As Master Thomas made the introductions, Walter looked around the company. It seemed to Janna that his gaze fixed on her and then moved to the staff she carried.

  'Ulf?' Walter's eyes flickered as he registered the presence of the relic seller, who had stopped wrestling with his dog and was now watching him with cautious, calculating eyes.

  'And this is Janna,' Master Thomas continued with his introductions. Janna gripped the staff tight, then made a conscious effort to relax her fingers. No-one must know its secret. No-one.

  With the introductions over, Walter spoke. 'This is a happy chance, meeting you here, Johanna.' His glance rested on Janna and lingered there. Colouring under his scrutiny, she turned her head and looked away.

  'Do you travel to Winchestre?' Walter asked. Janna wasn't sure if the question was directed at her, but Master Thomas answered in her stead.

  'Aye, but our journey is interrupted. We're waiting for one of our party whose horse cast a shoe. He has taken it back to the hamlet we've just passed.'

  Walter nodded. 'That gives me time to talk to an old friend,' he said, and moved to Janna's side.

  Instinctively, she stepped away, but was stopped by a firm hand on her arm. 'A word with you, mistress,' he said softly.

  Fighting panic, Janna stayed still. Despite her good intentions, she began to tremble. She took a couple of long breaths to calm herself.

  'You have no reason to fear me,' he said, and drew her further away so that no-one could overhear their conversation. 'Am I right in thinking you travelled with a group of pilgrims from Wiltune to Ambresberie?'

  Janna gave a reluctant nod. The man's familiarity bothered her. Where had she met him before? She summoned up all her courage and looked into his eyes, trying to settle the mystery. She read there a deep and weary sadness. Instinctively she began to relax her guard.

  'You knew my mother, Juliana, and my brother, Bernard, I believe?'

  Janna stifled a gasp, understanding now why she thought Walter seemed familiar. He was shorter, stouter than his brother, but he had something of the same visage as well as Bernard's air of quiet competence.

  'You carry my brother's staff,' Walter continued. 'My mother gave it to you, I know, thinking you had a good use for it. But I've come to ask you, mistress, if you'd mind returning it to me, for she's had a change of heart. She has nothing to remember my brother by, and she craves some memento.'

  As Walter spoke, Janna's hand tightened on the staff. Frightened, she stared at him. If he'd only come just a little earlier, she would have given it to him, and willingly. But she knew now that he hadn't chased all these miles after her just to reclaim a memento. This was no casual request. Walter knew the importance of the message secreted there, even if Bernard had not.

  Trust no-one. Not even Walter? Bernard had told her that he was in the employ of the empress. But so was the bishop, or so everyone had thought. No matter that Ralph had told her the empress had no right to rule, Janna still had no doubt in her mind as to whom she was supporting in this fight for the crown. But what about Walter? She had no way of telling whose side he was on now, not when allegiances shifted with the changing fortunes of the principal players and the promises of land, property and titles to sweeten a betrayal. What had Walter been promised? Whom did he now support?

  'I cannot give you the staff,' she whispered, knowing that he was quite capable of taking it by force, if necessary. She glanced around, taking comfort from the close proximity of the jongleurs. They would surely help her to protect her property, if it came to it. Except it wasn't her property. The staff had belonged to Bernard, and Walter had every right to claim it. 'I
need the staff to walk to Winchestre,' she said firmly.

  'And you may keep it, if that is your wish, mistress,' he assured her. 'But I know there is a secret compartment inside the handle, for Bernard and I instructed the craftsman to make up identical staffs to our specification. I know that there is something secreted inside, a small memento which I may take to my mother. Surely you cannot begrudge us such a thing?'

  Stricken, Janna stared at him. She could not give the letter into his keeping, for she knew not what he would do with it. Supporting the empress's cause with all her heart as she did, she was desperate to warn the earl of the bishop's treachery. But without the letter as proof, no-one would take her warning seriously. And if Walter was in the pay of the bishop, and destroyed the evidence, then the earl was doomed. And so was the empress. She couldn't give the staff to Walter, not if her life depended on it.

  He was waiting for her answer. 'No!' she said desperately, hugging the staff close to her chest. 'Your mother gave this to me. I'm sorry, but I cannot let you have it.'

  Their voices had begun to attract attention. Ulf looked towards them, as did Faldo. The boy winked at Janna. He balled his hands into fists and boxed the air a couple of times. She felt comforted by this small show of support. It gave her the courage to face Walter.

  'I beg you, mistress, do not make a scene,' Walter said quietly, abandoning any pretence that his was merely an idle request. 'It is not safe for anyone to know what's hidden inside the staff.' He glanced over his shoulder to make sure they could not be overheard. 'You've found the secret hiding place, haven't you?'

  After a moment's hesitation, Janna nodded. It seemed pointless to pretend any longer.

  'Is there a letter inside?'

  'No!' Janna eased a breath of relief that she might yet talk her way out of this trap.

  Walter's gaze sharpened. Janna suspected that he knew she was lying.

  'May I look for myself?'

  Janna clutched the staff tight to her chest, inadvertently giving herself away.

  Walter sighed. 'I don't want to arouse suspicion, nor do I want to take the staff from you by force,' he said, his voice a low mutter so that Janna had to lean closer to hear him. 'It's too dangerous, both for you and for me, to draw any more attention to ourselves than we already have. Let me, instead, tell you what I know of the letter my brother found on the dead body of the bishop's messenger. The letter bore the seal of the Bishop of Winchestre. I know you saw it too, for Bernard told my mother all about it. Although my brother didn't read the bishop's letter, he told my mother that it was important that he take it to the empress as soon as possible. My mother argued against it for several reasons, not least of which was that he should stay to guard Adam. But Bernard insisted on it. He told her of a conversation he'd had with a young lad at the henge: that the empress and the bishop had argued over several broken promises. My brother was fearful there might be forces plotting against the empress, and thought she should be warned as a matter of urgency.'

  'But your brother's death had naught to do with the letter!' Janna said, desperately hoping to deflect Walter's purpose with the promise of vengeance. 'Adam has been captured and is held at the castle at Sarisberie. He has killed once before and tried to disguise his deed by making it look like an accidental drowning. In the same fashion, your brother was also hit on the back of his head and, while still alive, dragged to the site where he was found. There, he was stabbed to make his death look like a blood sacrifice.' Janna remembered her vision. 'Such things have happened before. I know it!' In spite of her misgivings about Adam's guilt or otherwise, she was determined to convince Walter, anything to take his attention off the staff and what it contained. 'If it's justice you seek, you'll find Adam at Sarisberie,' she urged.

  'My mother has gone to Sarisberie to see Adam,' Walter said grimly. 'But first she told me all she knew about the letter, for she knows I am in the empress's employ. What she didn't know was where the message was hidden, and whether or not my brother's killer had found it. Now you have confirmed that he did not, and I thank God and all his saints for it. I will find my brother's killer, but finding that letter comes first.'

  'What do you propose to do with the letter?'

  'Take it to the empress, of course.'

  Trust no-one, Janna reminded herself. Bernard had done his best to keep the message safe, might well have given his life for it, in fact. He'd taken it on trust that the message was meant for the empress. And so, it seemed, did his brother.

  She remembered the conversation she'd had with Bernard. Right from the start, he'd planned to hand the letter over to Walter who, he said, would arrange its delivery to the empress. Janna had been given no reason to doubt Walter's sincerity, or his loyalty to the empress. And bringing the bishop's message to the attention of the empress's supporters was a priority right now. Walter had a fast horse, he could travel far more quickly than ever she could. He was the very man to take the message – if she could believe him. Could he be trusted? Did he really not know to whom the message was addressed?

  Janna was in an agony of doubt. Walter waited impatiently for her answer. She glanced around, and met the curious gaze of Ulf and Faldo. They were still too far away to overhear her conversation with Walter and she wanted to keep it that way. Not for anything would she have Ulf know that the letter was found. She gave them a quick nod and a reassuring smile, and turned back to Walter.

  'What if I told you the letter was addressed to King Stephen, not the empress?' she asked warily.

  Walter stiffened. 'Why would the bishop write to the king? Unless . . .?' His expression softened. 'He is the king's brother, after all. He might bid him to be of good cheer. He might even promise to intercede with the empress for leniency, for the empress has now ordered his jailors to keep the king in chains.' His shrewd eyes bored into Janna's. 'How do you know the message is addressed to the king and not the empress?'

  Should she admit that she had read it? Janna felt as if she was being torn apart by doubts and confusion. She decided to ignore Walter's question. 'Do you support the empress's bid for the crown?' she asked instead. 'Or are you a servant of the king?'

  'No, nor ever have been!' Walter said sharply. 'I have the honour of serving my lady, and I will do all in my power to help her gain the throne that is rightfully hers.'

  'Even if that was not, after all, her father's wish?'

  'Who told you that?'

  'I heard some travellers discussing it,' Janna said, not wanting to have to explain Ralph to Walter. 'I heard that one of the barons, who was at the king's bedside when he died, reported that the king had changed his mind about the succession, and that Stephen's claim was perfectly legitimate.'

  'That's down to Hugh Bigod, the traitor!' Walter said angrily. 'It was a lie, concocted in the belief that Stephen would reward him for it, not that it ever did him much good. But the barons wanted to believe him, because it relieved their own conscience for breaking their oath to the old king. They said then that they had been forced to make the oath, which was also a lie. It was Stephen who first put his hand to it – not once, but twice – when King Henry asked it. And they all followed willingly behind him. But the barons thought they'd serve their own interests far better under the rule of a weak and easygoing king like Stephen, who has ever tried to buy their loyalty. It is to their eternal shame that they broke their oath and supported Stephen, and brought down this calamity on us all.' He stopped to draw breath, while Janna looked at him in amazement.

  Not safe to have an opinion indeed! This man was positively spitting with rage at the mere mention of Stephen, and Janna found herself liking him the better because of it. Trust no-one? She looked searchingly at Walter, his sad eyes and open, honest face.

  'Your loyalty is to the empress?'

  'For ever.' He clasped a hand to his heart, his expression solemn. Then he fumbled in his scrip, and produced a sheet of parchment, folded small. 'I have this from the empress as a guarantee of my safe passage through her realm
,' he said. 'She gave it to me after my mother arrived with news of Bernard's death and the missing message. The empress sent me out to find you, and to locate it, for we believe it was the reason my brother died. I knew where Bernard would have hidden it, but we weren't sure if his killer had found it or not. Now that I know the message is safe, I must take it to the empress without delay.' He handed the parchment to Janna. 'Look at the seal. Perhaps that will convince you of my good intentions?'

  Janna inspected it. There was a Latin inscription around its edge: 'MATHILDIS DEI GRATIA ROMANORUM REGINA', with the seated figure of a woman in the centre. She wore a crown, and held some sort of staff in her right hand. Mathildis? Matilda? It seemed possible. She unfolded the parchment and tried to read what it said, but the Latin defeated her. She scanned the page, and her eyes fixed on some writing underneath the Latin script. This, she could understand. It was written in Norman French, and asked that the bearer be given safe passage. It was signed with Matilda's name, just as Walter had said.

  'You speak the truth.' Janna folded up the parchment and handed it back to him.

  'You've read what it says?' Walter sounded surprised.

  'Yes.' Janna had made up her mind. 'What about you? Do you know how to read?'

  'Of course.'

  'Then you'd better look at this.' She turned her back on the jongleurs and cautiously unscrewed the handle of her staff. She took out the small packet of parchment and palmed it to Walter. 'Read this as soon as you may, but don't let anyone see you looking at it now,' she warned. But her warning was unnecessary, for the message had been quickly slipped out of sight.

  'Even though you say it's addressed to the king, I shall take it to the empress,' Bernard assured her.

  'No!' Janna was in a panic that she'd done the wrong thing. 'No, this is a matter of life and death! You must take it to Robert, Earl of Gloucestre, in Winchestre. Now, today, for I fear he has walked into a trap of the bishop's making.'