Although the men within the room had laid out their pallets for the night, they were not yet abed. Instead, they'd drawn benches near to the fire to better enjoy its warmth. Elyas's cry had stirred them all into peering over their shoulders to see who it was that came.
With their faces caught half in darkness, half in light, there was no reading their expressions. As Dickon crossed the hall behind her to join his comrades, Johanna scanned their backs, one gray tunic after another, seeking Watt from among them. He was missing.
"You shouldn't have let her in." Syward, one of the older men and the longest employed, whispered harshly. The fire's light made his cropped and grizzled hair glow white and traced black along the deep creases marking his face. "You heard what the master said about her."
If Dickon only shrugged, Syward's words set Johanna's nerves to jumping. Did this mean Katel had already begun her denouncement? If so, then there was no time to waste.
"Come Elyas," she said, keeping her voice low as the tense silence returned to the room, "show me where you found these gowns, but quietly so."
They crossed the hall to the corner where the dividing wall that split the room in twain met the outer stone wall. It was here that her mother's chests sat, just as they had from the first day they’d entered this house. Night cloaked the big wooden boxes. If it was too dark to see which one was green and which was brown and blue, the one bound in brass gave itself away, its metal trim catching the light from her lamp as she drew nearer.
As she passed it Johanna glanced at the bedchamber door. It was ajar. Once she'd set her bowl upon the brass-bound chest, she returned to carefully pull it a little more tightly into its frame.
"They were on the very bottom, mistress," Elyas whispered to her when she rejoined him. He was already kneeling before the green chest.
As he lifted the lid, Johanna lowered herself beside him to stare past the bowls and ewers the chest contained. She shook her head in disappointment. "Elyas, I can see the chest's bottom through these pieces. No one could have missed seeing that there were gowns in here."
"Nay, mistress," he insisted, "they were on the bottom that is under this bottom."
Johanna frowned at him. She knew this chest as well as she knew herself. "This chest has no false bottom."
The boy loosed a martyred sigh at discovering she was yet another disbeliever then reached in to lift out a bowl. "I will show you."
Not willing to risk that he knew what she did not, Johanna helped him empty the chest, taking care to see that she made no noise in setting aside the dishware. Curiosity brought the men to stand a respectful distance behind them. When all the crockery was out Elyas reached in and caught his small fingers around a tiny lip in the wood. The bottom of the chest shifted then came free.
As he brought up the thin sheet of wood, Johanna leaned over the box’s edge. The lamp's light speared into its murky depths, finding something smooth and almost white at the newly revealed base: parchment.
Both excitement and terror filled her as she reached in and lifted out the small stack of sheepskins. Setting them in her lap, she raised the first one into the light to see what lay upon it. A strong, even script, one she did not recognize, filled the page. "To my dearest love, Johanna," she murmured as she read aloud the starting line, but what followed it made her continue in silence.
Sickness grew, and she gave thanks that none of those behind her could read. This was supposed to be a love note from Rob to her, describing a recent tryst as one yet caught in the throes of adoration might do to his lady love. However, instead of scribing words of love, Katel had indulged himself in recreating every obscene and sinful act he could imagine.
The signature at its end was Robert of Lynn, proving Katel had known where Rob was, even if she hadn't. There was no seal, but then, what fool would affix a seal to a note that went to his married lover? The date set beneath Rob's forged name was ten years past.
Setting this one aside, she looked at the next missive. It was dated six months later, and the next was six months after that. All of these were periods of time when Katel was away on his fair circuit.
She skimmed them, one grotesque missive after the other then sighed in disappointment. Nowhere was the stolen wheat directly mentioned. Instead, the last note, dated just before she'd retired to the convent, talked about how the sale of something she held for Rob would generate great wealth. Since Rob was a grossier, and grain had been illegally sold in Stanrudde, the sheriff would not need to make a great leap in putting the two together.
Nor was there any mention of where the seed was located, only that she held something in store for Rob. As it was she who leased and collected the rents of the properties that would be her son's inheritance, it was an easy assumption that she had access to any and all of the buildings. Once again, the broad implication connected her to the stolen seed, even if the shire's lawman might need to make a long search before he found it.
Once again, Johanna stared at the filthy letters that lay in her lap. Her skin crawled. She looked to the hearth. If she still had no idea as to where the wheat was, she would see these things destroyed. Once they were gone, she'd restore the chest and the crockery, with Katel none the wiser.
Coming to her feet, she went to the hearth and shoved the whole mass of them onto the burning logs. For a moment, the flames spread away from their edges, as if even the fire was disgusted at having to consume such obscenities. The need to wash her hands grew. She rubbed them against her skirt, but her fingers still felt stained by the wickedness that had filled those parchments.
If Elyas thought nothing of joining her at the hearth, the menservants were not so bold. They stopped at the outer edge of the fire's light, curious, but not willing to intrude. Slowly, the flames caught hold of the parchments' edges and the reek of burning skin filled the air.
As Johanna watched the skin sear a set of lines leapt out at her from the topmost one: rigid with passion as I remember how pure your skin is, your breasts are as white as milk against the green moss that carpets our riverbank. As the willow branches close about us, I see again how you spread your thighs to me .
As it browned, those horrible words were scorched out of existence. Only when they were gone did the meaning behind the description penetrate past her horror. In each missive there had been talk of a riverbank, one where willows stood and moss carpeted the ground. The image of the bank she and Rob had once called their own woke, complete with willows and moss.
She frowned in thought. Was it possible Katel meant that same place? How? He could know nothing of their affection for it.
From deep in her memory came the recall of Katel and a maid coming to tryst upon that same stretch. Triumph rose with this inner picture. Katel had no idea of what she and Rob had done there, he was but placing the description of the bank in the missive to draw those he wished to lead in the right direction.
With a quick breath Johanna turned to stare in the general direction of Stanrudde's watergate. In that instant she knew where the seed was stored. Katel had put it in her father's first warehouse, the same building that now stood derelict and broken, so badly in need of work that she'd let it stand empty, thinking it too old to be worth repairing. She nigh on laughed out loud in her excitement. Now all she needed was a trustworthy messenger to bear the information to Mistress Alwyna.
She turned to look at the men behind her, only to again curse the hatred that had kept her blind for so long. As they were connected to Katel and Theobald, she'd had nothing to do with them. The only one she trusted wasn't here.
"Where is Watt this night?" she asked in the forlorn hope he would soon be returning. She kept her voice low against the possibility Katel was not as settled into slumber as she hoped.
It was Syward who answered her. "Gone mistress, with Theobald to Lynn."
"To Lynn?" she retorted with a start of fear. Her words echoed back to her in the quiet room. "Why do they go to Lynn?"
The man shrugged. “It has to do wit
h that Lynnsman they have over in the tower. Theobald is off to retrieve the man's ledgers for the council."
Johanna stared at him. That wasn't at all what Theobald did. He went to make certain that Rob's man never retrieved the evidence Rob needed to prove his innocence.
Triumph dissolved into new and desperate urgency. If that evidence did not come then all that stood between Rob and the gallows was if Mistress Alwyna removed that wheat from the warehouse. That was, if it truly was there.
Panic grew. If not Watt, then who? Again she scanned the men and, again, she rejected them. Even if they did not like their employer, they still served their bellies. She'd not trust them to do something for her when it might mean they'd jeopardize their position here.
She looked down at the boy beside her. Elyas was watching the flames gnaw at the skins, his nose pinched shut against the smell. Nay, not him, he was too young, but Wymar was not.
As she identified her messenger she needed to go to the kitchen that very moment. Johanna glanced to where the skins now writhed upon the flames. Not one scrap of these parchments could remain unconsumed for Katel to find. Her gaze darted to the emptied chest. She couldn't leave the chest open and unpacked. But restoring it would take time. Once again, she looked at the child.
To ease her panic, she would send him first, then follow in a few moments. She squatted down next to the lad. "Elyas," she said, keeping her voice low and catching his thin shoulders in her hands to give emphasis to what she would tell him. "Run you to Wymar, saying to him that I need his aid in a little boon."
He blinked at her, returning her gaze with his own solemn look. "What should he do for you?" he asked. With his fingers yet tight on his nose, his voice was stuffy.
"It is simple, but it must be done this very night. Wymar should go to Jehan the Wool Merchant's house and ask for that man's mother. He should say that he comes on my behalf then he must tell Mistress Alwyna that what she seeks she may find in the broken warehouse near the Watergate. Can you remember that?"
He nodded and released his hold on his nose. "What she seeks she may find in the broken warehouse near the Watergate," he repeated.
"Good lad," she said, turning him toward the door. She gave him a gentle shove to set him on his way. "Now run you and tell him what I said."
Elyas stopped and turned back to look at her, his hands now twisting in his tunic. "It is very dark, mistress. Wymar would be afraid." His own fear echoed in his words. "Must he go this night and by himself?"
It took every ounce of her will not to scream at him that he must run from the hall for her this instant. "Aye, this is most important," she told him, keeping her voice calm. Once again, she turned him toward the door, but instead of walking he pressed back against her hands.
With each breath the need to run grew in Johanna. Once again, she looked from hearth to chest. Panic soared ever higher. She was trapped here. He had to go.
"Go, Elyas," she urged him, her voice rising against her now frantic need to see this message on its way. "Go now, and swiftly so."
Shoe leather squeaked on wood as Syward turned, then strode for the hall's exit. The sound brought Johanna leaping to her feet, her heart in her throat. Although she could hardly believe that he might have overheard her, worry blossomed into rank fear. What if he had and now meant to betray her? Mary save her, but all of these men were witnesses to what she'd discovered about their employer.
It was terror that made her call out, "Where do you go?" to Syward.
"To the privy, mistress," the man snapped back in irritation.
Elyas raced after him. "I'll walk across the courtyard with you," he cried. "I do not like to be alone in the dark."
The bedchamber door crashed against the wall behind it, the sound reverberating throughout the room. "Well now, if it isn't my loving wife," Katel called out. However slurred his words, they were edged in steel. "Wherever have you been this day? How callous of you to keep me waiting."
Stanrudde
Mid-August, 1180
As the day was too hot for a brisk walk, Johanna and Helewise took their time returning from the tailor's shop. There was naught but silence between them. This was fine with Johanna, as her thoughts were on the riverbank and last night's meeting with Rob.
She again congratulated herself at her cleverness in managing to slip away undetected. This time it had only cost her a handful of ribbons to convince the maid who tended Papa throughout the night to say nothing of her absence. Since the girl was just dense and romantic enough to believe her mistress had indeed gone to pray for her betrothed's health, there was little chance she'd spill what she knew.
The question was, would the twit accept the lie twice? Mother of God, but she must. Only the promise of meeting Rob later this evening had made the tailor's poking and prodding endurable.
As the thought of marrying Katel filled Johanna, so did the prospect of having to lay beneath him as a wife did with her husband. When she did this with Rob it brought her great joy, but the very concept that she might have to do the same with Katel made her skin crawl. She narrowed her eyes in determination. There had to be a way to slip out this night; she and Rob had plans to make if she was to escape the fate her father willed on her. Aye, and after they made their plans, Rob would hold her.
It was this Johanna needed even more than his passion. Only when Rob's arms were around her did she feel as if she'd survive. With every passing moment her life crumbled around her, all that was familiar and precious slipping beyond her reach.
If it was not bad enough that her father was dying, Tom the Lackwit had passed last week, departing gently for the afterlife as he slept. Against his son's death, Philip announced that he would retire, going to end his days with a married daughter. Considering his age, this was to be expected but Helewise's abandonment was not. Of late, the housekeeper had spoken often of her village, where she and Aleric had been raised. Even if she didn't say as much, Johanna knew that both the housekeeper and her brother meant to leave when Katel became the master.
Loneliness thrust through her, followed by a touch of anger. Everyone so disliked Katel they would not stay, but no one seemed to appreciate how they all abandoned her to face him alone. Traitors, all of them!
As they entered the gate Johanna saw Master Colin standing in the forebuilding's shadow. Her heart rose to her throat at the deep lines that scored into his face. It was sadness that was eating through his skin as if to lay its mark upon his bones. He hadn't looked like this since his wife's death. With a wordless cry, she hurried across the courtyard to stop before him.
"How is Papa?" she demanded.
"Resting," he replied, his voice husky as if tears filled his chest.
"What is it, Master Colin?" Helewise asked as she came to a halt beside them.
"I fear I am mourning the ending of my life in this world," he replied and tried to smile. There was no answering light in his dark eyes. "This surprises me as I had not expected to do so."
"You've decided then?" Helewise's voice was unusually gentle. "The abbot has agreed to take you?"
"Aye. Once Walter passes, there is no one left to hold me on this side of the abbey's walls." This time when he smiled, it was in wry amusement. "The tonsure will be a blessing in disguise, I think me, as it means I'll have that much less hair to comb."
Johanna caught her breath as she understood Master Colin meant to take his vows. Here was another precious person who was abandoning her when she most needed him. Her loneliness grew larger than any anger. If not for Rob's vow to never leave, she would have wept. There'd soon be no one left within these walls who cared for her.
"Helewise," Master Colin said as he caught the woman's arm, "will you come aid me? It's time I sorted through my Kat's belongings."
"I should see to the master first," the housekeeper protested, but Master Colin was already leading her away from the forebuilding and back toward the gate.
"He was fine a few moments ago. Johanna can tend to him by herself f
or the little while I'll keep you away. You will, won't you, lass?" he called over his shoulder to her, but gave her no time to protest or agree as he bore the housekeeper ever nearer the gate.
"Come, I pray you. There's not much to look at, but touching what is hers makes me ache all over again."
Johanna watched them leave the courtyard, then turned to stare at the door in the forebuilding Although she never shirked sitting at Papa's bedside, her heart quailed at the thought of approaching her sire. It frightened her to look upon him, for each time she did it was a reminder that he was leaving her. Although the adult she wished she was tried to accept this, the child within her ever cried out angrily refusing to let him go.
With a sigh she squared her shoulders and entered the door, climbing the stairs to the hall. It was blessedly cool inside, easing her overheated skin. As she reached the wooden dividing wall that cleaved the one long room into hall and bedchamber she stopped to look at her mother's chests and smiled. With Helewise preoccupied by both Papa's health and plans for a wedding that must not happen, the maids were letting their chores slide. All three coffers wore a light coat of dust.
Once, these chests, along with the linens and serving items they contained, had been her only wealth. Even if that were no longer true, Johanna yet thought of them as her property—hers, and hers alone. It was against her pride of ownership that she used her finger to trace the letters "Joh" atop the green one, "anna's" on the brown-and-blue one, then squeezed "dowry" between the brass bands on the rusty-colored one. Wiping her fingers against her skirt in satisfaction, she passed from hall to bedchamber.
Master Colin had closed the shutters before he left the room, rendering the sleeping chamber dim and stuffy. She strode to her sire's bedside. Papa lay very still. A start of fear hit her, and she checked to see if his chest was rising and falling. Only when she was certain he yet lived did she breathe again, then quietly pulled the bed's draperies shut around him.
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