Fulk didn’t recognize her at first, and behaved with equal obsequiousness to both of them. A dawning awareness brought a frown to his face, but whatever he might have said was instantly repressed as he met the stern eye of Sister Anne. He and Janna both went along with the pretense that they’d had no previous dealings with each other, and so their transaction was conducted with courtesy on Fulk’s part, and secret glee on Janna’s.
Master Will waylaid them on their way back to the abbey. “May I have a quick word with your young apprentice, Sister?” he asked Sister Anne, who nodded and walked on. But Janna noted that the elderly nun kept close enough to overhear their conversation.
“Have you spoken to Sister Agnes?” he asked eagerly. Janna put a warning finger to her lips, and glanced at Sister Anne. “Does she look favorably on me and on my request?” he asked, in a lower tone.
Janna was at a loss to reply. Yes, she looks favorably on you, but no, she won’t think about marrying you, even though she wants to and it’s tearing her heart out? It was the truth, but it offered no answer and no comfort to the bailiff. “Yes, I have spoken to her,” she admitted at last.
Master Will’s eyes lit with hope. “And?” he asked eagerly.
“She is afraid, Master Will, afraid to leave the abbey. You must give her time.” Janna hoped she wasn’t raising his hopes unnecessarily.
“But I can’t see her! I can’t speak to her! How can I state my case, how can I woo her while she hides in the abbey?”
Janna shook her head. “Have patience,” she urged. “Perhaps if you seek her out at haymaking, or the next harvest?”
She hurried to catch up with Sister Anne. Together, they passed through the gate, which clanged shut behind them, closing out the world, closing them in. She wondered if Sister Anne would refer to the conversation she must have overheard, but the infirmarian said nothing, although she looked thoughtful when next she encountered Agnes.
They were working in the garden when Janna told Agnes of her meeting with Will. They were busy, for there was always much to do. Fruits and berries had been picked and laid up in store or preserved in syrup. With the days short and the weather growing ever more frosty, seeds had been collected and cuttings taken. It was time, now, to dig the ground over and make it ready for planting once spring warmed the earth once more.
Janna spoke low to Agnes so that others might not hear what she had to say. Agnes averted her face as she listened to Janna’s account. “It makes no matter what his wishes might be,” she said, although her voice trembled slightly, giving the lie to her words. “I will not renounce my vows, I will not leave the abbey.”
Janna sat back on her heels. She wondered what she could say that might change Agnes’s mind. Then she remembered something. After glancing around to check that no-one was watching, she raised the hem of her habit and groped underneath for her purse. “Look what I found in the forest one day,” she said, and drew out the small statue of the mother and her child. She handed it to Agnes.
Agnes’s expression softened as she cradled the figurine in the palm of her hand. “She looks so loving,” she murmured, as she gently traced the mother’s face with a grubby finger.
“You, too, could have a child of your own to love. And you told me yourself that the bailiff’s youngest has great need of a mother.”
“Don’t talk nonsense!” Agnes thrust the figurine into Janna’s hands. She surged to her feet and stamped off.
“I saw you with those children at harvest,” Janna called after her retreating back. “You have so much love to give, Agnes. Don’t waste it!”
Agnes made no reply, but hurried on. Janna sighed, conscious that she’d done her best but that her best wasn’t good enough. She picked up the sharp knife she’d brought out with her, and set about pruning some rose bushes, cutting their bare branches right back so that they looked like small brown skeletons. It calmed her to work in the garden. Being outdoors gave her an illusion of freedom, and she reveled in the hard labor that ensured she slept well at night. She felt as if she was part of the rhythm of nature, almost as if she was one of the shrubs she was pruning. Their stark, bare branches looked dead, belying the promise of the life within that, come spring, would burst forth into exuberant growth once more. Like the shrubs, she, too, was biding her time. For Janna was resigned, now, to staying at the abbey through the winter. She knew she would perish if she left, if she tried to survive in the forest on her own.
*
The arrival of Odo’s lord along with a handful of witnesses was the first sign that the abbess had convened a special court to bring Odo to trial for the death of Anselm. Odo was still held captive at the abbey; it was said that the abbess resented paying for his upkeep and wanted the matter dealt with as quickly as possible.
To Janna’s dismay, these first visitors were quickly followed by another party: Dame Alice and her husband, Robert of Babestoche, along with Mus and several other villeins. None of them looked happy about being there. Her heart felt heavy, for she took no pleasure in seeing either Odo or Mus again, nor did she relish having to face them in court knowing that, even if she was allowed to speak, it would be her word against theirs. But her spirits lifted when Hugh and Godric arrived shortly afterward, accompanied by Cecily. She would not be short of friends if it came to speaking out against the pair.
The cases against the accused were heard within the confines of the abbey itself, in the chapter house, which was more used to hearing the tittle-tattle of the abbey than the serious crimes now being aired. Mus was brought in first, attended by Robert of Babestoche along with those others from his manor who had come to testify on his behalf. Looking them over, Janna wondered how many coins the witnesses had been paid to speak of the mouse’s good character, for she had no doubt they had all been handpicked with care by Robert and rewarded accordingly. She quaked as she met Robert’s malevolent stare. It was her word against his and that of his men.
To Janna’s dismay, the abbess was nowhere to be seen; the steward presided over the court. A roomful of men would not, perhaps, be sympathetic to a woman’s plight—particularly, Janna thought, when they heard how she’d managed to defend her honor! She needed a woman to speak up for her, someone highborn, whose opinion would be listened to and respected. Someone like the abbess—or Dame Alice. But the dame sat quietly on her own at one side of the chamber, looking as if she wanted no part in the proceedings. At least she was present, and would hear what Janna had to say. And, although she was bound by Cecily’s secret and could not give good reasons for Mus’s actions, nevertheless he would be judged accordingly.
Janna’s was encouraged by the presence of Will, the bailiff. She recognized several of the people with him, and realized they too would be called on to bear witness as to what had happened on that day. The bailiff knew the truth of the matter, and so did they. They would corroborate what she said, while the bailiff could also give evidence of his own: finding the length of cord in Mus’s scrip, ready to form a noose for her own neck.
Casting her glance further, Janna saw Hugh and Godric in the crowd. Cecily was with them. She looked serene, even happy. Janna was pleased that the tiring woman seemed to be over her disastrous relationship with Robert. They were looking her way, and she raised her hand to them and smiled, pretending a confidence she could not feel. Her heart hammered painfully; her breath came short. She longed for the ordeal to be over.
Although Robert and his villeins spoke in glowing terms of Mus’s character, to Janna’s great relief, Mus’s appeal met with little sympathy from the steward. Then it was Janna’s turn to bear witness. She defended her honor with vigor, backed by the word of the bailiff and his men, who produced damning evidence that Mus had asked after “the new sister called Johanna” as soon as he arrived, even before he’d met her out in the fields. Several pairs of sharp eyes had noticed how quickly he’d taken up position beside her while they were working, and Master Will’s description of the cord found in his scrip set the final seal on h
is guilt.
Janna stole a glance at Dame Alice. She was sitting back, looking thoughtful. The abbess had come in, and had taken a seat beside the dame, both of them onlookers of the unfolding drama. But when Robert offered to pay amercement for Mus’s release, Dame Alice spoke up at last.
“I will not have that man in my employ any longer,” she said firmly, “and I will not have him set free to prey on this unfortunate young woman or, indeed, on any other. Take him to the castle at Sarisberie. He can stay in the dungeon until such time as he ceases to be a menace to our community.”
From the dame’s tone, it was clear that she believed that the time would come only when Mus was dead. Janna was jubilant, until it occurred to her that Robert might well find some way to pay the money for Mus’s release without Dame Alice being aware of it. She reminded herself to stay on guard and her fear increased for, as Mus was dragged out of the chapter house by the guards, he spoke to her.
“No matter how long it takes, I’ll find you when I get out,” he hissed. A finger sliced across his throat accompanied his words.
Janna shuddered. She thought of reporting the incident to the steward, but he was already engaged in summoning those involved in the case against Odo. She met the cold stare of Robert of Babestoche, and shuddered anew. While she stayed within the abbey confines she was safe, but she would always be a threat to him. She must never forget that.
As it turned out, Janna played only a small part in giving evidence in the case against Odo. His lord, as well as villeins from his manor, spoke on his behalf, seeming at a loss to understand why someone who had shown no signs of violent behavior in the past should have been driven to commit such a desperate deed. Emma was called next, to tell what she knew. So were Peter Thatcher and Hugh. Although all were careful not to raise the fact that Hugh had been wounded by Odo, albeit on Anselm’s instructions, the matter came to light as further damning evidence against the villein.
Finally, Janna was called. She found it difficult to look at Odo as she answered the steward’s questions. She knew the villein was headed for the gallows and that nothing she said or withheld could make any difference to the sentence that would be passed on him, yet she had never seen a man condemned to death before, and it troubled her greatly. She was almost sure Odo had not plotted to murder Anselm, that the act had been a momentary madness, an angry reaction to being cheated out of what he considered to be rightfully his. In truth, Janna believed that Anselm’s behavior had contributed in large part to his death—but the steward did not see it that way and Odo was duly sentenced to be hanged.
Janna’s spirits were leaden as she watched the villein being dragged away. Before she had a chance to escape back to the infirmary, Hugh walked over to her, flanked by Emma and Peter. Emma pressed a small purse, bulging with coins, into Janna’s hands.
“We wanted to thank you again.”
Startled, Janna looked down at the purse. It was drawn tight with a string, and smelled of new leather.
“It’s the money won by Anselm at the cockfights,” Emma whispered. “I want you to have it. If not for you, Peter could have been standing there, facing the death sentence.” She looked white and strained. Her brother’s death and Odo’s trial had taken their toll.
Peter stepped up and put his arm around Emma to give her strength. “My thanks to you too, mistress, er…Sister Johanna,” he hastily corrected himself.
“That was well done, Johanna, and you are safe now.” Hugh looked her straight in the eye. “Tell me, have you tired of holy orders yet? Are you ready to come home with me?”
Janna heard an exclamation, quickly choked off. Godric had joined them, along with Cecily. What was he thinking? What was Hugh thinking? She could feel the heat mount in a wave through her body; she was sure her face had turned scarlet.
“No, my lord, but I thank you for your offer,” she murmured, and tucked the purse deep into the sleeve of her habit.
“Be sure you will always have a home at my manor. You may come whenever you wish.” Hugh’s reassurance settled Janna’s doubts about his intentions, but left her spirits even lower. A home, no more than that, was on offer. And a home was something she valued, almost above everything—but preferably a home of her own, living with a man whom she loved. Nevertheless, she would not close off her options for the sake of misplaced pride, for she had no knowledge of what the future might hold for her.
“Thank you, my lord, but I am content to remain here for the moment.” She stole a glance at Godric. Was that disappointment she could read on his face? Or was he not thinking of her at all, standing as he was with Cecily by his side? The tiring woman was smiling; she seemed content. And why not, with someone as strong and steady as Godric in her life?
Janna hastily pushed the thought aside and turned to Emma. “Thank you,” she said, indicating the purse in her sleeve. “Be sure I shall put the coins to good use.”
Emma smiled, seeming pleased that the ordeal was over, and all debts paid. “We have a long journey home, and it is too late to leave now,” she said. “Do you think the abbey can provide us with accommodation for the night?”
“I’ll take you to the guest house.” Anxious to break the tension of their meeting and her disquieting speculation about Godric and Cecily, Janna beckoned the group to follow her to the outer courtyard. Having shown them where the guest house was situated, she sketched a hasty farewell and hurried off to find the guest mistress to deal with their needs. With that task accomplished, she was desperate to find a quiet place where she might gain some privacy; she needed time to come to terms with Mus’s threat and Odo’s fate, and to sort through her own muddled emotions regarding Hugh and Godric. She made straight for the herbarium, conscious that she was running away, but thinking it the wisest thing to do.
“God’s great cathedral,” her mother had said of nature, and that was where she needed to be right now. But her trial was not quite over.
“Sister Johanna!” The abbess’s voice halted Janna’s footsteps. Reluctantly, she turned, and was surprised to see Dame Alice by the abbess’s side.
“Mother Abbess. Dame Alice.” She bobbed her knee in reverence.
“I am troubled, Johanna,” Dame Alice said, “for I am at a loss to understand why my husband seems so set against you now. After what I heard today, I feel sure that the man they call Mus was acting on his instructions. Is—or was—there some liaison between the two of you that I should know about?” “No, my lady.” Janna was horrified that the dame should think such a thing of her. Yet she could not speak the truth, could not betray Cecily’s secret. She wished Cecily was here to speak for herself, but knew that the tiring woman would never find the courage to confess her liaison with Robert, or its dreadful outcome. She faced Dame Alice and the abbess, and read the doubt and distrust in their expressions. “Perhaps if you asked Lord Robert for an explanation? Perhaps he…?”
The dame’s lips compressed into a thin line, telling Janna that she’d probably already tried that, and had got nowhere. Janna knew she stood condemned, both by her own silence as well as Robert’s. She bitterly resented their judgment, but knew she was powerless to reclaim her good name without blackening another. Her anguish was slightly eased by the thought that, in the face of her and Cecily’s continuing silence about his responsibility for the death of her mother, Robert must surely believe himself safe at last. Which must mean that Janna herself was safe.
“You may go about your work.” The abbess’s cold tone dismissed Janna from their presence. With downcast eyes, she bobbed her head and fled. But it was quite some time before the memory of the trial, and the hurtful condemnation that followed it, began to fade.
Chapter 14
Over the following weeks Janna found ease working in the garden, and in the round of daily chores that were in her care. In addition, she had come to enter fully into the life of the convent, attending Masses as well as the regular offices that divided the nuns’ days and nights. She appreciated the grandeur of the ch
urch and had grown to love the musical chants. Although her life was regulated by the constant pealing of bells, she had become used to them. She enjoyed the calm, unhurried pace of the abbey and the comfort of her surroundings, especially when she compared her life now to what she’d once known.
Resigned to living within the abbey confines for the while, she envied the nuns their acceptance of God’s presence in their lives, their certainty about themselves and the vows they had taken, although she could not share their faith. Nor could she accept wholeheartedly all that she was told. But she found some of her questions were frowned upon and so instead, she searched her own heart for the truth.
She celebrated the Christ Mass and all the festivities with a glad heart, for she loved the story of how Joseph and Mary had trudged to Bethlehem while Mary was great with child, and how the baby Jesus was born in a manger. And if she compared the story to her own mother’s travels, and the abbess’s grudging provision of a safe haven, she was wise enough to keep her thoughts to herself.
Those days were joyous indeed, with extra provisions and delicacies in the refectory, and extra leisure time to talk, read and even to play games of skittles in the cloister garth while making the most of the few hours of pale wintry sun. With shorter days and long cold nights, the nuns and lay sisters were kept busy indoors, spinning wool and weaving homespun cloth to make the habits and tunics they wore, or stitching and mending garments in need of repair. Every evening the convent gathered in the calefactorium, where a fire was kept burning constantly throughout the winter and the nuns were allowed to talk. It was their last chance to warm themselves before going up to bed in their freezing dorter.
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