Willows for Weeping Read Free Page B

'The Camino is named for that path of stars that blazes its glittering trail across heaven every night. We followed it, as all pilgrims follow it, for it shows the way to the shrine of St James. Santiago they call him over there, Santiago of Compostela. But the real name of the place where the saint lies buried is campus de la stella. It means "the star field".'
    Janna remembered some of her earlier concerns. 'Where did you stay along the journey?' she asked. 'Did you sleep in fields or find shelter at monasteries?'
    'Both.' Juliana's mouth quirked up into a malicious smile as she surveyed Janna's finery. 'If we found a monastery along the route we would seek shelter there, but there were many times when we were forced to rest overnight in a barn, a cave, or a field. We have known hunger, thirst and great hardship along the way.' She looked Janna over. 'It's not a life you are used to, or that you will find comfortable, mistress.'
    Janna chuckled. 'Do not let these fine clothes deceive you,' she said. 'I have known more hardship than you can ever imagine.' Eking out a living on the smallholding she'd shared with her mother, hiding as an outcast in the forest, working as a labourer on a farm. No, Juliana need have no concerns on her account. She was about to ask the old woman if she thought her pilgrimage had been worthwhile, but decided her question might be considered impertinent. 'Was it very wonderful, the shrine of St James?' she asked instead.
    'Truly wonderful.' Juliana's face glowed in rapturous remi-niscence. 'A small church has been built there, and the remains of Santiago lie in the crypt below. Marble steps lead down to his tomb, which is a silver coffer and richly embossed. In truth, I was so crippled by the journey, and so exhausted when first we arrived there, I feared I had no strength left for our return. And so I prayed to the saint to make me well enough, strong enough to undertake our journey home, for I fear that great ill may befall us, befall my son.' Juliana paused to cross herself. 'We should look to our own souls, and leave justice to God,' she said, her voice so low that Janna could scarcely hear her.
    Janna frowned in bewilderment. Juliana's words had the ring of prophecy, yet the countryside around seemed utterly peaceful, while the purpose of the pilgrims' journey must surely put them on the side of the angels.
    Yet Janna had heard enough news from visitors to the abbey to know that peace was an illusion in this year of our Lord, 1141. Following the disastrous battle at Lincoln, England's King Stephen was now incarcerated at Bristou castle. His cousin, the Empress Matilda, had gathered her supporters together and had marched to London to claim his crown, but it was rumoured that she'd been put to flight by a horde of angry citizens led by an army of Flemish mercenaries who answered only to Stephen's queen. However, it was widely thought now that the king's cause was hopeless and that this setback to the empress's ambition was merely temporary.
    'Think you that the civil war is not yet over, ma dame?' Janna asked. 'Do you fear that more fighting will come our way to upset our journey?'
    The old woman shot her a sharp look. 'I know naught of that,' she muttered. 'I listen only to a mother's heart.' She bowed her head, looking old, tired, and suddenly vulnerable. Janna frowned, puzzled by the unexpected change in her companion's demeanour.
    'Is it not possible for you to travel on horseback so that the journey will pass more quickly and easily?' she ventured.
    Juliana pursed her lips.
    'Stand at the crossroads and look,
    Ask for the ancient paths,
    Ask where the good way is,
    And walk in it,And you will find rest for your souls ,' she intoned.
    Janna wondered if the words were her own, or had come from a book of God such as she had seen in the abbey. She didn't like to show her ignorance by asking. It seemed clear that the thought had sustained Juliana on her journey, and she wondered what the old