Stolen Child: The Janna Chronicles 2

by Felicity Pulman

  “But what about that wound on his forehead? Could he have been hit over the head and then pushed?”

  “Why should anyone want to do that?” Godric squatted beside Janna, who had her arm around Hamo now and was helping him to sit up. “What’s going on? Why are you asking me these questions?”

  “I can’t tell you.” Janna wasn’t done yet. She had one final question, but she dreaded hearing the answer. “Did you notice any rue nearby? I mean a posy picked, not rue growing wild?”

  “No. But I wasn’t looking for anything like that. I didn’t have time.” Godric lifted a questioning eyebrow. “Why should a posy of rue be lying about?”

  “It’s for regret. Repentance.”

  “I wish you’d explain yourself, Janna.” Godric lifted the boy into his arms once more. “But I know that you don’t care to explain anything to me, anything at all.” He strode off in the direction of the manor house, leaving Janna to scurry after him.

  A great cry went up as they came inside the gate. It was clear Cecily had confessed to losing Hamo, for everyone came running from all directions to welcome them back. Hugh was at the forefront of the crowd. As Godric tried to pass Hamo over into his cousin’s arms, Hamo wriggled free. “I can walk by myself,” he announced with great dignity, and looked about for the mangy dog that had followed them in.

  “What happened, Hamo?” Hugh asked the question that Janna most feared.

  “Nothing.” The boy looked up, all injured innocence now.

  “Tell me!” Hugh folded his arms and waited, hiding his concern with an appearance of exasperation.

  “I-I went looking for Bones.” Hamo reached out to pat the dog, but it bared its teeth and whined softly. Hamo backed off.

  “I’m afraid the dog followed me when I left the manor, sire,” Godric admitted.

  Hamo shot him a grateful glance. “I saw Godric walking to the river. He didn’t know I was following him,” he added, determined that Godric shouldn’t get any blame for what had happened. “When I got there I couldn’t see him, or Bones, but I guessed he would go downriver so that’s where I went. But Godric must have gone the other way.”

  Janna waited somewhat anxiously for Hugh to ask why Godric had gone up the river at all instead of crossing the ford and heading for home. Fortunately, Hugh was more interested in Hamo than in Godric. “What happened to you? Why are you so wet?”

  Hamo shrugged. “I followed the path of the river a little way. I was thirsty, and I wondered if Bones was thirsty too, if he’d gone for a drink and maybe fallen in. I couldn’t see through all the reeds so I came closer to the edge to have a look and have a drink, but then I slipped and fell.” He touched the gash across his forehead, and winced when he saw the blood on his fingers. “I suppose I must have hit my head.”

  It was possible Hamo’s admission gave his dignity even more of a battering than his head and clothes had taken in the river, Janna thought. She let out a gusty breath as his words sank in. An accident, no more than that.

  “Godric saved me.” Hamo looked at Janna. “And so did—”

  “John,” Janna said firmly, before Hamo could say her name in front of everyone.

  “And you have my gratitude and thanks.” Hugh gave Janna a searching glance before taking Hamo by the hand. “A hot bath for you, young man. Mistress Cecily!” He beckoned her forward, and turned to Godric. “I’d like a word with you too,” he said, and hurried off. Godric exchanged an anxious glance with Cecily as they followed Hugh.

  “I’ll make up an ointment to put on the young lord’s cuts and bruises,” Janna called after them. Cecily lifted her hand to show that she’d heard, and kept on after Hugh. Ignored and forgotten, the dog trailed them up the stairs and into the hall. The crowd began to disperse, the two visitors among them. Janna watched them leave. She wondered who they were and why they were visiting the manor. One was finely dressed, his tunic richly embroidered and his boots made of good leather, although scratched and stained with mud and muck. The journey through the forest had left its mark. His companion was more plainly dressed, and walked a pace or two behind his master. She looked about for Edwin to ask him who the lordling was. He was always quick to hear tattle from the kitchen staff. There was no sign of him, but Gytha was still lingering. As she caught Janna’s glance, she came over to her.

  “That boy will be in trouble for running away,” she observed, and wrinkled her nose. “I hope he doesn’t expect us to find shelter for that smelly, flea-bitten bag of bones he’s found.”

  Janna hid a smile. She was quite sure that Hamo had every intention of keeping his pet. She was also sure that the boy would prove more than a match for Gytha when it came to getting his own way. “We have visitors, I see,” she said.

  “Master Siward and his manservant. They go to the great fair to buy and to sell for their lord, but one of their horses is lame so they must break their journey here for a spell.”

  “Have they traveled far?”

  “They come from somewhere in the west.” Gytha yawned, then brightened as a more interesting subject came into her mind. “Master Siward paid me a great deal of attention when I served the wine and cakes. I do believe my lord Hugh was quite put out by his interest.” She gave a self-satisfied giggle.

  Janna turned away, telling herself that jealousy was useless. If Hugh wanted a dalliance with Gytha he certainly didn’t need her permission.

  She remembered her promise to Cecily, and went to the kitchen garden. Pangs of hunger reminded her that she’d dropped the sack containing her dinner while she’d tried to revive Hamo. Should she go after it? She sighted the angle of the sun slanting across the downs. No, it would take too long. She would just have to go hungry. The thought contributed to Janna’s misery as she bent to pluck the herbs she needed for the healing ointment. She was on her way to the kitchen when Godric found her.

  “I was going to leave without seeing you again,” he said curtly, “but I thought you should know, Janna, that your running away has brought ill to my family, to the manor and to the village. I told a lie to Dame Alice and my liege lord, Robert of Babestoche. I told them that you were dead.”

  Janna cast a quick glance around, making sure that no-one could hear their conversation. “I know, Godric, and I am grateful to you, more grateful than I can say.”

  “But I have been sore punished for the lie.” Godric spoke over her thanks. “The priest has claimed mortuary from me, payment I cannot afford, and—”

  “But why? Why claim mortuary from you?”

  “Because I said that I had buried you in the forest, and because he claims that we were betrothed. He has taken my best goat in payment, even though the abbess has asked nothing from me. Nor has Dame Alice or anyone else. I told the priest he was mistaken about us, but he will not believe me.” There was such a depth of bitterness in Godric’s voice that Janna couldn’t bear it.

  “I’m so sorry.” She put her hand on Godric’s arm, but he shook it off and pulled away from her.

  “That’s not the worst of it,” he said. “My mother took ill and died. There was no one to physick her as your mother did the last time she had an attack and couldn’t breathe properly. By running away, you’ve left the village without a healer, Janna.”

  “I—but they drove me out!” Janna spluttered. Surely Godric knew that the villagers wanted her dead, and that she’d had no choice but to flee?

  “Everyone mourns your death.” He spoke sincerely.

  “Everyone?” Janna’s voice raised in anger. “The villagers set fire to my cottage, Godric, while I was still inside. They wanted to destroy me as well as my home. That’s why I ran away. And that’s why I didn’t dare show myself even to you!”

  He glanced sharply at her. “You should have trusted me.”

  Janna knew that he was right, but still she tried to justify her actions. “I had to go! It wasn’t safe for me to stay. I thought if I—That is, I didn’t want—”

  “To see me. I know. You’ve made that cl
ear several times already.” Godric’s mouth clamped down in a tight, hard line. Without bidding her farewell, he turned and strode toward the gate of the manor.

  “I’m sorry about your mother, Godric. I’m so sorry,” Janna called after him. But he walked on, not acknowledging that he’d heard her words, or that he’d forgiven her.

  *

  There was still no sign of Edwin when at last, weary and hungry, Janna went to her bed. She told herself that Edwin was free to come and go about the manor as he pleased, but concern that he might know more about the so-called accidents than he’d admitted kept her troubled and wakeful. She hoped he would return soon, for the events of the day had hardened her determination to flee the manor as soon as possible. So much had happened to add to her unease. She wished she could explain her behavior to Hugh as well as to Godric; she wished they could better understand why she’d acted as she had. “It’s not fair!” she whispered rebelliously as she turned and turned again, trying to get comfortable on the scratchy pallet. Restless, and impatient for action, she lay and listened to the night noises, the snarks and snorts and mumbles of the sleepers. She had planned to leave the manor this very night, but in the absence of Edwin she was undecided. Should she go without him?

  Yes, she thought, and half rose from her bed. She subsided again as more careful thought advised against it. While she wanted most desperately to run away from Hugh, caution told her that she would do better to wait until Edwin could go with her. Alone, she was vulnerable, even if she was dressed as a boy. Edwin’s presence, and their fabricated family history, would protect them both.

  Janna passed an uneasy night. The faint light of early dawn found her wakeful and still undecided. She quickly rose, scrubbed at her face with her hands and smoothed back her hair, feeling again its silky growth. She slipped quietly from her bed and pulled her knife from its sheath. She tested its edge against a handful of hair, and frowned. She remembered then the great whetstone outside the blacksmith’s shop, left in position for the villeins to sharpen their scythes while haymaking. It was still early; there was time.

  She was bent over the whetstone when Bertha walked past, carrying a small sack. Janna greeted her cheerfully. Bertha stopped short, looking startled.

  “What are you doing out here so early, John?” she asked, not returning Janna’s greeting.

  “Sharpening my knife.” Janna wondered if she could take advantage of Bertha’s good nature. “Are you any good at cutting hair, mistress? Will you cut mine?”

  Bertha’s attention came full onto Janna then. She hesitated. “Does it have to be done now?”

  Janna nodded. “Yes, if you please, mistress.” She didn’t want to delay, and the alternative was to cut her hair herself. She knew she’d make an awful job of it.

  Bertha sighed. She dropped the sack she was carrying and held out her hand for Janna’s knife, while Janna sat on the stone block within easy reach of Bertha’s hands.

  “How does your family, mistress?” she asked, to make conversation while Bertha set about hacking at her hair. She tried not to wince as snippets fell about her feet, curled like small golden snails.

  “What?”

  “Your family. Are they well?” Janna wondered what preoccupied Bertha, and why she was abroad so early. The sun had not yet arisen. Mist shrouded the cots and turned trees into many-armed ghosts in the pearly light.

  “Yes, my family are well, thank you. And you? Are you well?”

  “Yes, I thank you.” There seemed no more to say on that topic. What else could they talk about to pass the time? Janna’s thoughts turned to the missing Edwin. “I wonder if you’ve seen my brother at all, mistress? He was not in his bed last night, and I’m wondering what has become of him?”

  “Edwin?” The knife slipped in Bertha’s hand, nicking Janna’s scalp. Janna stifled a cry. She shifted uneasily on her stone seat, wondering at Bertha’s clumsiness. “No, I haven’t seen him,” Bertha snapped. “Why should you think I have?”

  “No reason,” Janna said hastily. “I’m concerned about him, that’s all.”

  “I expect he’ll turn up soon enough. There!” Bertha slapped Janna’s shoulders, sending bits of hair scattering in all directions. “You look like a boy again, John.”

  What did Bertha mean by that last remark, Janna wondered. Had her disguise worn thin, or had Edwin told Bertha the truth about both of them? Was that why she seemed so anxious for Janna to be gone? No. Janna dismissed the notion. Edwin’s truth was too dangerous to be told. She was just imagining the worst.

  “Thank you, mistress,” she said. As she walked past the last of the little cottages toward the manor, she looked back, curious to see where Bertha was bound, but the carpenter’s daughter had already vanished.

  Hunger drove Janna on to the manor’s kitchen, along with the hope that she might find Edwin there, ravenous after his night out and ready to break his fast. She had to jump sideways to avoid the sharp teeth of Bones, who was tethered nearby, before she could enter.

  “So there you are,” Mistress Tova greeted her. “And where is your brother?”

  “I know not, mistress. I thought he might be here, having something to eat.”

  “I haven’t seen him since yesterday afternoon.” The cook poked her long nose into the air, and sniffed.

  Janna tried to hide her disquiet by stuffing a hunk of bread into her mouth and chewing vigorously, before washing down the mouthful with a gulp of ale. Once her appetite was satisfied, however, she took the chance to question the rest of the kitchen staff. To her alarm, no-one had seen Edwin.

  “Run away and left you to face Serlo alone, most like. I always knew he was no good.” The cook dusted her floured hands down her apron. “Just wonder what he’s taken with him,” she said darkly.

  “Nothing! He’s as honest as I am!” Even as Janna leaped to Edwin’s defense she remembered how he’d tried to steal her purse. She also remembered all the lies she and Edwin had told. “Master Serlo has probably found work for him to do elsewhere about the manor that’s keeping him busy,” she said, conscious of the rising tide of heat that colored her face with shame. Yet she had to defend Edwin, and herself, lest the burning of the haystack was laid upon their shoulders, along with all the other recent disasters.

  Mistress Tova sniffed again. “Master Serlo will keep watch over your brother after this. He won’t be able to cause any more trouble, not while the reeve has him in sight.” Janna knew what she was thinking, what everyone was probably thinking. She was about to tell the cook off for spreading malicious lies, but stopped herself just in time. Her hasty words had caused her trouble in the past; she was learning from bitter experience to put a guard on her tongue, and to think before she spoke.

  “Master Serlo is a good reeve,” she said instead. “And a good catch for any girl—even if Mistress Gytha doesn’t want him for a husband,” she added, hoping to divert the cook from her suspicions.

  The cook shot her a sharp glance. Janna tried to look demure, but her eyes twinkled with mischief. “’Tis true,” Mistress Tova said grudgingly. “My lord certainly knows Serlo’s worth, for he treats him well. Serlo has a good-sized cottage, and he was given the gore acres to cultivate for himself. I’ve seen the cartloads of goods that Serlo takes to the big fairs, his own bounty as well as my lord’s, and good quality, all of it. Fetches a good price too, I’ll be bound.” The cook tapped a bony finger against her long nose. “There’ll be no shortage of pretty girls waiting in line once he decides to take a wife. Of course, he’d marry Gytha tomorrow, if she would only have him. I’ve told her she could do a lot worse for herself than marry Serlo, for once young Hamo comes of age…” She shrugged thin shoulders, leaving unspoken her wish that her daughter would secure her future with the reeve rather than trying to seduce the reeve’s master who, at the end of the day, would be left with nothing.

  Janna wondered whether to encourage the cook to urge her daughter to see sense, but decided it was wiser to keep out of their affair
s. Instead, she thanked the woman for the sack of food she’d provided, and asked after Hamo.

  “Staying in his bed today at Mistress Cecily’s insistence, but there’s nothing wrong with his appetite.”

  The cook’s words set Janna’s mind at rest; Hamo was none the worse for his ducking. She remembered the tethered dog beside the kitchen door. “And Bones?” she asked. “What is to become of the dog?”

  The cook scowled. “I’m to feed it and give it water.”

  Janna saw a bright eye peer hopefully around the doorway at them. “If the young lord is to keep his pet, then I’d like to put some medicament on its paws,” she said. “Hopefully, the cur’s temper will improve once it is out of pain.”

  “Get the skivvy to muzzle it,” the cook advised. “It’ll have a piece of your breeches, otherwise.”

  Janna laughed. “I know all about that,” she said cheerfully, and put down the sack of food while she went to pluck some herbs. Her hands stank from the juice of ragwort as she brewed a lotion with sanicle to put on the dog’s paws. Conscious that time was passing, but feeling slightly abashed that she was getting out of the difficult part of the treatment, she gave some of the astringent mixture to the skivvy with instructions to first cleanse the dog’s paws and then wrap them tight to protect them from becoming dirty and infected once more.

  “Keep Bones tied up and out of trouble,” she said, adding, “and ask someone to hold the dog’s mouth shut so he won’t bite you.” Ignoring the skivvy’s horrified expression, she gathered up a fresh paste of healing herbs for the big black destrier that awaited her in the stable. She was pleased to find no sign of Hugh inside, while his mount seemed much better. She summoned the surly stable lad to hold up the hoof while she unwound the bandage to check. The wound was healing nicely, and she felt a sense of satisfaction as she washed it with lotion and applied the new paste. Human or animal, it mattered not who or what she treated so long as she could heal them, she thought, as she bound up the horse’s hoof once more.