Willows for Weeping (21 page)

Ralph gave her a curious glance, but he heard her out until the end of it. But for all Janna's efforts to distract him, it was impossible for her to keep on singing indefinitely.

'Is everything all right, Janna?' he asked, when she was finally silent. 'You seem nervous. On edge.'

'All's well.' But Janna didn't dare meet his keen gaze. She kept her eyes on the track as they walked along. She could find nothing to say to Ralph. Everything that came to mind led to what she was so desperate to keep a secret.

Eventually Ralph gave up trying to engage her in conversation, and walked on ahead in search of better company. The words of the song stayed with Janna. She sang softly to herself as she followed the jongleurs along the track. It was all very well for women to think of romance and love, she thought, but it was quite clear from the song that the man had other things on his mind as well. Was that how Ralph thought of her? Was that all men thought about? Just how faithful were they anyway, when an opportunity to bed a woman presented itself?

She glanced ahead. Ralph was now deep in conversation with Master Thomas. She wondered if they were discussing her, for he kept flicking glances her way. Janna felt ashamed of herself. Ralph had given up his pilgrimage to Oxeneford to come with her to Winchestre to find her father, and yet she had lied and lied again to him. Could she not trust him with the truth? Yes, she thought, if the truth was hers to tell. But it wasn't, for there was too much at stake now to risk even one word that might spread and spread like ripples in a pond, and come to the wrong ears as a result.

Janna sighed. As soon as this is over, she thought, as soon as I know that the message is safely delivered to Earl Robert, I will tell Ralph everything and try to win him to the empress's cause. She cheered up slightly at the thought of how surprised he would be to hear her news. He'd discover that he wasn't the only source of court gossip! She imagined the respect with which he'd treat her, once he knew of her part in this affair. She patted a smear of dust off her gown, and smoothed her hair under its gauzy veil, consciously readying herself for his admiration. She felt wistful as she remembered the scented lotions and creams that her mother had taught her how to prepare. She wished there was somewhere she could wash and make herself beautiful in Ralph's eyes. She was ready, now, to be close to him, as close and loving as any man and woman could be.

She gave him a self-conscious grin as he dropped back to keep pace with her. It was as well her thoughts were private. Even the recollection of what she'd wished for brought a blush to her cheeks and a weakness to her limbs.

'I believe you had some company while I was gone,' he observed lightly. 'Why didn't you tell me about Master Walter? I hear he paid you a great deal of attention.'

'Our families are friends.' Janna launched automatically into the lie and then stopped, covered in confusion. Ralph, more than anyone, knew that she had no family. She began to burn with shame and embarrassment.

'Really? In that case I can't think what you found to talk about.' His mild tone belied the chilly blue gaze of his eyes.

'I know him from Berford. My mother made up a . . . a potion for his cough.' Janna sought to retrieve the situation, even though it meant telling even more lies.

'He spent a long time talking to you,' Ralph probed.

'Perhaps he was enjoying my company?' Janna looked at him, sure that he could read the deceit in her eyes. This is intolerable, she thought, tempted after all to break her promise to Walter. She was conscious that she was doing nothing to help her own cause. If Ralph suspected that she was lying to him, he might well regret his decision to help her. But how could she tell what she knew when Bernard might have died for the message he carried? Walter had warned her that her own life, as well as his, would be in danger if anyone knew she'd found the letter.

'What did you give Master Walter?' Ralph's voice broke into her thoughts.

In an agony of indecision, Janna was about to deny it. Ralph's grim expression checked her. 'Master Thomas saw you,' he said, adding softly, 'What did you give him, Janna, that has taken him off at such a fast gallop to Winchestre?'

She stared at Ralph in panic. She couldn't deny what the jongleur had seen. What in God's name could she tell him now except the truth? Except that the truth had the power to kill.

Could she say she'd given Walter a favour to carry, something of hers to keep until they met again? If Ralph thought she was interested in Walter, or he in her, it would mean the end of any future liaison with Ralph, and the end of his help in finding her father. Should she rather say she'd given Walter a message to deliver?

What message? And to whom? Her numb brain couldn't think of anything that might convince Ralph other than the truth, for he knew she had no kin there. Could she tell him the truth? Should she tell him the truth? Should she trust him as someone who had demonstrated that he was on her side, for hadn't he put his own interests behind him to help her? Surely he deserved to be trusted!

'A message, perhaps?' Ralph asked coldly.

Janna heard the anger in his voice. Her fear intensified, although she couldn't say now what she most feared: telling the truth, or Ralph's reaction when he found out she'd been lying to him all along. After a space, after what felt like a lifetime, she nodded.

'You gave him a message?'

Janna gulped. Sensing danger, she took a quick step back-wards. 'Yes,' she whispered.

Ralph moved closer. She read his anger in the taut stillness of his body. His hands clenched, his fingers curved into claws like the talons of a bird of prey. Shuddering, she dragged her gaze away from them. She looked into his face, dreading what she might see there.

'The message that Master Bernard found on the dead man's body? You've had it all along?' Something shifted in his hard stare, a sudden softening as he saw how frightened she was.

'No. I . . . I didn't know I had it. I've only just found it.' His stare mesmerised her. She could not look away.

'Yet you gave it away to a stranger? Why didn't you keep it to show me?'

'I . . . didn't know you were interested.' Was that true? Janna remembered his questions about the dead messenger and the letter he'd carried. Was it really only concern for his cousin that lay behind them? Did he even have a cousin, or had he been searching for this letter all along?

'You've lied to me! You've been lying ever since I met you. Why didn't you trust me with the truth?'

'I couldn't.' Her heart was beating so hard she thought it might explode in her chest, might shatter into a million tiny shards of pain. His cold, blue eyes held her transfixed. It was like looking into the face of a stranger.

'I thought we were friends,' he said softly. 'In fact, I was hoping we were a lot more than friends.'

It was what Janna had most longed to hear him say. But not now. Not here, not like this. 'I do trust you,' she stammered, 'but . . . but the truth wasn't mine to tell.' The excuse rang hollow in her ears. She had never felt so miserable.

He grasped her wrist so hard that he hurt her, but she didn't pull away. She couldn't. Everything she had hoped for was standing here in front of her. Her dreams for the future, finding her father, finding love . . .

She was on the brink of losing it all and she didn't know how to save herself. 'Please,' she whispered. 'Please try to understand. Bernard swore me to silence. And so did Master Walter when I told him of the contents of the letter. He said . . .' Her voice dwindled into silence as she realised the enormity of her error.

'You've read the letter?'
He let her go. But his icy gaze kept her trapped and helpless. 'So you know,' he said tonelessly. 'God help you for a fool. You cannot know what harm you've caused.' He turned on his heel and tugged on the leading rein to bring his palfrey to his side.

'No!' Janna cried. 'Wait!' For she knew, with terrible certainty, what was about to happen. But his foot was in the stirrup, and even as she cried out he vaulted up into the saddle and dug his heels into the horse's side. It took off at a gallop. Stricken and despairing, Janna watched her dreams disappear into a cloud of dust as Ralph rode out of her life.

DON'T CRY, LASS. He's no loss. I never trusted him anyway.' Ulf's voice jerked Janna back to her surroundings.

'Neither did I,' Faldo said loyally.

Janna shook her head in abject misery. The ache in her heart had spread through her whole body. She felt shattered by what had just happened. Silently, she cursed again the unfortunate chance that had brought her and Bernard to the dead man's side. Bernard had died for it, and now her dreams had died along with him.

A sudden realisation sank into her consciousness. She felt incredulous as she understood the meaning behind Ralph's words. 'So you know,' he'd said. 'You cannot know what harm you've caused.' Which meant he also knew what was in the letter. Which meant he must have been sent out by the Bishop of Winchestre to find it!

Janna closed her eyes, unable to bear the truth of what she had uncovered. Ralph was the bishop's agent! There was no other way to look at the matter. Perhaps he'd been out looking for the courier even before the body had been brought back to Wiltune, for news must have filtered through to the bishop that his message had never been delivered to the king. No wonder the bishop had been desperate to retrieve it, for his treachery was plain to read in every line for those who might have intercepted his letter.

Numbly, miserably, Janna recalled how she'd revealed the presence of a message to Ralph, and how he had questioned her, using lies about his cousin to hide his true interest. Indignation stiffened her and helped in some small part to dry her tears. He'd accused her of lying, but what about him! Her rage and horror intensified as she recalled Bernard's slain body lying across the fallen stone at the entrance to the ancient stone henge. It wasn't Adam who'd tried to disguise Bernard's death as a sacrificial killing. It was Ralph! And it was her fault, for it was she who had inadvertently revealed to him what they'd found on the dead man's body.

'Stupid!'
Janna berated herself. 'Stupid, stupid,
stupid
!' Bernard had warned her to say nothing, but she'd gone and blabbed the news to the first handsome man who'd crossed her path. How childish, how gullible she was to be taken in by Ralph's charm and his lies. Janna's anger with herself, and with Ralph, ran like a thread of bright fire through her misery. She'd been stupid, yes. She'd told lies, but her lies were the sins of omission. She'd concealed from Ralph what she'd believed was none of his concern. But he had lied and lied again to her. He'd led her on with kisses and flattery, and with promises that he would help her find her father, when all the time he sought either the letter or a delay that would eventually render it harmless. Who was the faithless one now? Ralph had played her as Elanor played her harp, plucking her trust and devotion with his lying words and promises. She'd thought he cared about her, thought he cared enough to break his journey to help her find her father in Winchestre. Now, at last, she knew the truth behind his real interest in her. And it was devastating.

All too clearly she remembered the henge, the disfigured boy's careless words that had prompted Bernard to take action, and Ralph to retaliate. Ralph must have searched for the message from the start, while knowing there was no urgency to find it while the pilgrims were still on the road. But he was with Bernard when the boy had mentioned the difference of opinion between the bishop and the empress. He'd understood Bernard's resolve to delay no longer, and must have determined at that moment to prevent him. Janna could only imagine how angry and frustrated Ralph must have felt when, with Bernard dead and all the time in the world to search through his belongings, he had still been unable to find the bishop's letter.

She closed her eyes against the pain of understanding what came next. Ralph had turned his attention to her. He'd ques-tioned her about the contents of her purse, and tried to win her trust by pretending to know how to find her father. He must have believed she knew where Bernard had hidden the message and that she'd found it during her search. And so he had followed her, and kept her on side with his promises.

Ralph's promises were bitter gall. She could hardly believe how she'd misread him. The evidence seemed so obvious now that she was looking at it from a different angle. His interest in her and her opinion of the empress. His interest in the contents of her purse – not the letter to her father but to another letter she might have hidden there. Janna shook her head in disbelief. Her failure rang like a litany through her brain.
Stupid, stupid, stupid!

She remembered Juliana, and the old woman's prophecy. 'Death follows you,' she'd said. Had she known all along that her son would die because of what Janna would reveal to Ralph? No wonder she'd begged her to leave the pilgrim group. But it was already too late by then, Janna thought, and wondered if Juliana had known that too. She scrunched up her face and squeezed her eyes tight, desperate to blot out the guilt she felt, and the remorse. If only she'd kept her mouth shut. If only . . .

But it was too late now for 'if only'.

Too late for her, but not for the empress. A thin sinew of pride helped to strengthen her. Ralph had known from the start what he was about and, yes, she had been gulled by him. But, in the end, and by the greatest good fortune, she had managed to outwit him. The letter was safe and on its way to the earl, just as Bernard had intended. Unless . . .? Her eyes flashed open, reflecting her alarm. Unless Ralph caught up with Walter along the way, and slaughtered him as he had slaughtered Walter's brother? Stricken, Janna put a hand to her heart. She could feel it beating hard beneath her fingers, urgent as the beat of a horse's hooves galloping on to Winchestre.

'Janna?' Ulf touched her elbow. She swung to face him, hardly able to talk or even breathe, so great was her misery.

'Janna,' he said again, and grasped her arms. He gave her a little shake, trying to bring her back to the present, to reality. 'It's all right,' he said gently. 'I'm here, lass. You can trust me. Just tell me what to do, and I'll help you.'

Trust? Janna clasped her arms around her body and rocked to and fro. Tears, scalding as liquid fire, ran down her cheeks. She didn't know what to do. She didn't know which way to turn. She didn't know who she could trust.

Trust no-one. That was the edict her mother lived by, but it had led to disaster. Trust no-one, Walter had said, and so had Bernard. Janna wiped her eyes on her sleeve, no longer caring if the moisture stained the delicate fabric of her gown. She peered at Ulf, wanting to believe in him but afraid to trust anyone now.

'Why should you help me?' she asked grudgingly. She couldn't forget that only moments ago she'd suspected him of exactly the deeds for which she now knew Ralph was responsible.

'Because you've helped me in the past,' Ulf answered readily enough. 'You kept quiet when the guard might have arrested me for stealing the hand of St James. And you patched me up when those drunken idiots broke my nose.' He raised his hand to his face, wincing at the memory. 'You also found the means to cure my rheum. You have a kind heart, Janna. I haven't forgotten that.'

Janna looked at him. She wanted to believe him. But Ralph's betrayal had shattered her confidence in her own judgment. Trust nobody, she thought again. It was safer, after all. She folded her arms against him, and kept silent.

Ulf sighed. 'Perhaps there's something I should tell you. Faldo, could you leave us alone, please?' Ulf's words were an order rather than a request. The boy looked from Ulf to Janna, clearly reluctant to miss a moment of a story that promised to be even more dramatic than the doom of King Arthur. But Ulf jerked his head, his intention unmistakeable. Reluctantly, Faldo walked away.

'I expect you're wondering why I've been following you around?' Ulf said quietly. 'You may even have cast me as the villain in all this, for I know you thought the world of Ralph.'

Janna felt a wave of desolation wash over her at the mention of Ralph's name. It was mixed with a feeling of shame that Ulf had read her mind so clearly.

'Let me tell you something,' he said now. 'It's true that Dame Juliana asked me to watch over you. She knew it would make no difference to me whether I travelled on to Oxeneford or went somewhere else instead. But I had my own reasons for wanting to protect you. You see . . .' He rubbed a hand across his mouth as he searched for the words he wanted. All trace of his customary gaiety was gone now. Janna found she was looking into the face of a man who was familiar with sorrow and despair.

'I had a daughter once,' he continued. Janna pricked up her ears. Ulf had told her that he had no home and no family. So what then, was this?

'My wife died shortly after she was born, but my daughter thrived. Mildryth, her name was. She grew up bright and bonny as a butterfly. She would have been about your age now, if she had lived.' He stopped to draw in a shaky breath.

'What happened to her?' Janna prompted gently.

'She drowned when she was but five summers old. She was my responsibility, the love of my life. And I let her drown. I should have been watching out for her, but instead I was drinking at an alehouse with friends. By the time I realised she was missing, it was too late. She was gone.'

There was a glint of tears in Ulf's eyes as he struggled to collect himself. 'I couldn't save her, and I have lived with that regret every day of my life since. When Juliana asked me to watch over you, I said that I would. In some measure it goes towards making up for my neglect of my daughter.'

Janna bowed her head, feeling mortified that she could ever have doubted Ulf's good faith. She tried to find the words to frame an apology.

'I haven't always lived on the road,' Ulf continued, perhaps misunderstanding her silence. 'I left my home up north after Mildryth drowned. I turned my back on everything and took to the road and to the drink. My life was down in the gutter until, one day, I met a relic seller. We talked, and for the first time I found myself unburdening my guilt over my daughter's death. Of the goodness of his heart, he gave me what he said was the toe of St Peter. And he advised me to forgive myself. Here, let me show you.' He fumbled in the purse slung around his neck. He pulled out a small cloth-wrapped bundle and unrolled it for Janna's inspection. 'I'll never part with this, for it turned my life around, I can tell you.'

Janna peered dubiously at the small bone. Ulf swiftly rolled it up and put it away again. 'I decided then that I would also become a relic seller, because we all need hope, we cannot live without it,' he said. 'I went on a pilgrimage to the tomb of St James to pray for my daughter and to give thanks that I had found a new purpose in life. And I believe now that my way was made clear when I decided to continue my journey with the pilgrims and came to meet you, lass. I couldn't save my own daughter, but perhaps I can atone for it by helping you now. If there's owt I can do for you, you have only to ask. I have no other motive than wanting to make things right for you. But I can swear my good faith on a sliver of the true cross of Christ if it'll make you feel any better.'

'I thought you'd sold – given – that particular relic to Juliana?' Janna was somewhat reassured that at least her thoughts were ordered enough to remember the occasion.

'I have another. But I'll swear on something else, if you prefer?' In spite of the sadness of his memories and the gravity of the situation, a challenging twinkle glinted in Ulf's eyes. Janna found herself responding to it with some relief.

'The eyelash of St Peter? The quill with which St Paul wrote his letters?'

'That would be worth having,' Ulf said wistfully.

Janna gave an impatient exclamation. Ulf smiled at her, and put his hand on his heart. 'I swear I will do all in my power to help you. I swear it on the toe of St Peter.' There was no doubting the sincerity in his voice.

'First tell me one thing.' Janna needed to know for, up until now, Ulf had always refused to be drawn on the subject. 'Who do you support in this battle for the crown. The king or the empress?'

'I have always found it better, safer, not to take sides. I told you that before.'

'But you must tell me the truth now. I need to know.'

Ulf pulled a face. 'The empress. I suppose it's safe to admit as much to you, for Dame Juliana made her feelings plain to me after Bernard's death. As you didn't speak out at the time, I'm assuming you shared their regard for the empress.'

'Yes, I do.'

'Very well, then. We are in agreement, it seems. Besides . . .' Ulf weighed up his words with a sideways glance at Janna. 'Stephen has proved not fit to govern, while the Empress Matilda may yet bring peace to our land. So I would help her, if I could.'

Janna nodded. His support might not be quite as wholehearted as she would have liked, but it would have to do. 'I have to get to Winchestre. Fast.'

Ulf nodded. 'I thought so.' He was silent for a moment as he weighed up possibilities.

'If only your dog was a little bigger, I could ride him,' Janna said, making a great effort to lighten the situation.

Ulf gave a quick snort of amusement. 'Winchestre isn't all that far from here,' he said. 'When I talked to our hosts last night they mentioned it is but ten miles away and we've covered part of that already. If we set off now, if we walk without stopping, we should reach the gates of Winchestre some time this evening.'

'But we won't get there in time to warn . . .' Janna gulped, and looked hard at Ulf. He stared back at her, grave and unsmiling once again. Beside him, Brutus quivered, and thumped his tail. Ulf dropped his hand to scratch the dog's head and Brutus's tail wagged harder. There was no mistaking the bond between the two, the trust and love between them. It helped Janna to make up her mind.

'I have to warn Master Walter.' Janna drew a deep, shudder-ing sigh. 'I've found the letter that Bernard was killed for. It was hidden in his staff. It's a letter from the bishop to his brother, the king. It reveals that the bishop has always supported his brother, and that he plans to trap the empress if he can. Walter has taken it to Earl Robert, to warn him that the bishop is a traitor. But Ralph knows what's in the letter and that Walter has it. He's gone after Walter and I know that he will stop him if he can, even kill him if he must. Ralph . . .' Tears burned Janna's eyes, blurring her vision. 'Ralph is the bishop's agent.'