Unholy Murder: The Janna Chronicles 3

by Felicity Pulman

  Agnes made no reply. She kept walking, through the parlor, along the passage and out into the garden.

  Now was the time to repeat her conversation with Sister Anne, Janna thought. “If it’s the vow you have taken that keeps you here, there is a way out of it.” She began to relate the story of King Henry and the young woman he wanted to marry, speaking to Agnes’s back, for the lay sister would not stop to listen.

  “She was the empress’s mother.” Janna raised her voice to make her point. “And she also gave birth to a son. So the marriage was consummated, there were no holds to it.”

  Agnes made no comment. Instead, she got down on her knees and began jabbing hard into the earth with her fingers. She shoved the small plants into the holes and pressed them down with an angry, despairing urgency.

  Janna watched, frustrated by her inability to reach Agnes, and her friend’s inability to question the true reason for her rejection of the bailiff. She mourned the death of her friend’s hopes but suspected that Agnes’s despair ran much, much deeper—so deep that it might well last for a lifetime.

  Chapter 17

  Janna was in the infirmary with Sister Anne when an urgent summons came from the empress. A tiring woman brought it, a young, fresh-faced girl who seemed in awe of the infirmarian and discomforted by her surroundings. Her name was Margery, she said in answer to Sister Anne’s question, continuing in a rush: “My lady has such a bad headache she can scarce see from the pain of it. It has made her sick to her stomach, and she begs you for something to ease the hurting.” Her gaze rested on Janna for a moment before she looked quickly away.

  “What would you do to relieve my lady’s pain, Johanna?” Sister Anne constantly tested Janna in this way. Janna had first thought it an underhand trick on the infirmarian’s part to learn what she could, but had soon come to realize that she herself had learned far more from Sister Anne than anything she might have taught her in return. Now she answered readily.

  “Saxon leechcraft would claim that my lady suffers from aelfshot. A leech would call forth chants and charms to bless and empower a knife or something sharp to drill a hole into the bone of the skull to release the aelfshot and relieve the pain.” Ignoring Margery’s sharp intake of breath, Janna hurried on. “Others believe that pain comes from the devil, and that drilling a hole in the skull would similarly release the devil and cure the patient. But my mother did not—would not—use a knife, for she had no skill in cutting, or so she said. Instead, she relied on herbal mixtures and remedies to cure all ills. My mother used wood betony mixed with honey and vinegar for headaches and palpitations, for she believed it was good for the soul and the body, shielding the sufferer from night visitations, visions and dreams. She warned me to pick the herb only in August, and without iron, for it is very holy. My lady may also wear a part of the plant as an amulet for further protection.”

  “Very good,” Sister Anne said. “It is fortunate that we have it here dried and ready for use. And I will also make up a poultice of vervain with oil of roses and vinegar to help ease the pain.” She turned to Margery. “Pray tell your mistress that we shall bring the medicaments to her just as soon as they are ready.”

  Margery’s gaze rested on Janna once more before she bobbed a curtsy and left the room.

  In the infirmary kitchen, Sister Anne searched out the herbs and ingredients they would need. There was silence between them as they worked companionably side by side, for Janna was used to preparing poultices and potions and was able to anticipate the infirmarian’s needs. Once they were done, she was dismayed to find that Sister Anne intended to take the medicaments and minister to the empress herself; Janna was to be left behind. She was bursting with curiosity, longing to meet the woman who would become queen, the woman who had captured her imagination and respect. To strive when all seemed lost, and to win the crown as a reward! Janna took courage from the empress’s boldness and certainty of purpose, for she felt that her own cause seemed an echo of the empress’s struggle. She remembered, then, the scented salves and rinses she’d prepared, and reminded the infirmarian of them, hoping that this might be enough to ensure her attendance.

  And so it came about that Janna followed Sister Anne into the abbess’s lodge and made her obeisance to the empress. Again, she had the strange feeling that she’d seen her somewhere before, but she was unprepared for the sudden hiss of indrawn breath as the empress’s gaze rested on her face.

  “Who are you?” Matilda demanded, as Janna held out the rinses and lotions she’d prepared so carefully.

  “Her name is Johanna. She is a lay sister here at the abbey.” The abbess answered, not giving Janna a chance to say anything as she continued, “You may leave the chamber now, Sister Johanna.” It was an order, not a request, and Janna hastened to obey. She was greatly disappointed, but hardly surprised that the abbess was so quick to dismiss her, daughter of the disgraced wortwyf as she was. Did the abbess know her mother was once a nun? A moment’s reflection convinced Janna that she must have known, which made Abbess Hawise’s condemnation of Eadgyth more comprehensible.

  She paused outside the abbess’s lodge, wondering if she would ever have the chance to question the abbess, and became aware that she was not alone. Margery, the empress’s tiring woman, had followed her out. “Begging your pardon, Sister,” the girl whispered, “but are you kin to the empress?”

  Janna’s loud gurgle of laughter was quickly stifled, but she could not contain her surprise. “No, indeed!” she said. “Why do you ask?”

  “Your eyes.” Margery seemed somewhat flustered by Janna’s denial. “They put me in mind of the empress.”

  Janna hid a smile. An elusive memory teased her until she suddenly recalled St Edith’s fair and how she had looked at herself in the mirror seeking some resemblance to her father, or even to her mother. Her dark brown eyes! That was why the empress had seemed familiar. But Janna knew it was only an illusion. “Nay,” she said regretfully. “I am no kin to the empress. Far from it, in fact! I have no home, no family, and am entirely dependent on the abbey for food and shelter. I certainly have no land or wealth to call my own, nor do I have important relatives among the royal family.” She laughed at the very thought of it. “I wish I did!”

  “Perhaps your eyes catch our attention because your hair is Saxon gold, not dark like ours?” Margery observed.

  Janna’s hand went to her head. She realized that some hair had escaped her wimple once more, and hastily tucked it out of sight. Smiling to herself, she couldn’t help dreaming a moment of how things might be if only she could claim kinship to the future queen of England!

  Sister Anne bustled out. She frowned when she saw Janna still there. “You were told to return to the infirmary, Johanna,” she scolded.

  “’Tis my fault, Sister. I kept Sister Johanna talking.” Margery turned toward the abbess’s lodge. “God be with you this night,” she called over her shoulder.

  “It is my belief that anger and frustration are behind my lady’s headache.” Sister Anne relented enough to pass on the news as they made their way back to the infirmary.

  “Did the talks not go well?”

  “I think not. While the legation led by the king’s own brother, Henry, Bishop of Winchestre, have all sworn fealty to the empress, the archbishop has put off doing so until he’s visited the king in his prison and has obtained consent to act ‘as the difficulties of the time require.’ Which is a neat way of covering himself should the situation change.”

  “Can he delay everything in this way? His words must have greatly incurred the empress’s wrath.”

  “Not to mention bringing on a headache,” Sister Anne said wryly. “But yes, the archbishop is within his rights and the empress must know that. The king was recognized by the pope when he was crowned, you see. He is not dead now, merely imprisoned. While the other bishops may ignore the implications of anointing a queen while an anointed king still lives, the archbishop is cognizant that there is no precedent for this sort of thi
ng, and that he might well be acting against the pope’s wishes if he rushes to pledge fealty to the empress.”

  “No wonder the empress is wrathful.” Janna felt some impatience with the archbishop’s recalcitrance, even while acknowledging that she knew nothing of the ways of the church or of statecraft.

  “Wrathful is hardly the word for it. The empress is in a black rage, for the archbishop intends to take several bishops with him to visit the king, perhaps with the intention of changing their minds.”

  “Perhaps some syrup of poppies?” Janna ventured.

  Sister Anne smiled. “I’ve already thought of that. And I’ll take it to the empress myself. I know not why, Johanna, but your presence seemed to disturb her. She was very sharp with the abbess after you left the room.” Janna was impressed. It would take a lot of nerve, she thought, to be sharp with the abbess! “Will the empress stay long with us?” she asked, hoping there might be another chance to see her.

  “I think not. The legate has summoned a church council to be held in Winchestre in a few weeks’ time, and the empress means to attend and to make sure that Bishop Henry and the rest of the legation stay true to their promise of support. I heard her tell the abbess so when she asked that same question. And in truth I think the abbess feels some relief that they will be gone soon—not least about the money she will save if she doesn’t have all these extra mouths to feed!” Sister Anne cast a sidelong glance at Janna. “There is something else I heard, but for the moment it’s a secret.”

  Janna realized that the infirmarian was bursting to tell some exciting news. “I won’t breathe a word,” she promised, and crossed her hand over her heart. She’d seen several nuns make the gesture, and it seemed to convince Sister Anne.

  “The abbey is well rewarded for the trouble and expense the empress’s visit has caused.” Sister Anne paused to savor her news. It would pass around the abbey like wildfire in a wood once it was out.

  “How? In what way?”

  Sister Anne leant closer to Janna, although there was no-one nearby to overhear her words. “The empress has brought with her a sacred relic, the hand of St James the Apostle!” She drew back with a delighted smile, anticipating Janna’s expression of awe and pleasure. Instead, Janna pulled a wry face. Her experience with the pedlar at St Edith’s fair had taught her to be skeptical about such things.

  “I saw the reliquary myself!” Sister Anne declared, indignant that Janna should doubt such a holy object. “It was given to the empress as a marriage gift from her first husband, the emperor of Germany!”

  Janna raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

  “The empress brought it back to England after the emperor died. I’m not sure why she wasn’t allowed to keep it for herself, but she told the abbess that her father, King Henry, gave the sacred hand to Radinges Abbey.”

  “And how is it that the abbey has agreed to part with such a valuable relic?” In spite of her skepticism, Janna was becoming interested. She knew that such a thing would attract pilgrims from miles around, which in turn would generate a steady income for the abbey that housed it.

  “I suspect they did not part with it willingly but, as they are known to support the king’s cause, I can’t think the empress would be troubled by any objections they might make. I heard her tell the abbess that, although her father, the king, has been dead these past five years, the church to honor him is still under construction. She fears that the relic might not be safe there, and she wishes it housed close to the shrine of St Edith until such time as the building is completed.” Sister Anne beamed with joy at the thought of having such a desirable object in their keeping.

  “There’s to be a Dedication Mass tomorrow,” she told Janna. “Archbishop Theobald will dedicate the shrine to God in honor of St James, and the empress will attend. But I suspect that may be the last we’ll see of either of them.”

  *

  As Sister Anne had predicted, the empress left straight after the Dedication Mass, closely followed by the archbishop and his entourage. To everyone’s disappointment, the delicacies also disappeared from the dinner table, to be replaced by more usual Lenten fare: platters of cod, eels and vegetables. The convent settled down into its usual routine. And once again it was Sister Ursel’s turn to read at dinner.

  “Today’s Rule is titled: ‘Whether b-brethren who leave the m-monastery should be received again,’” she began. As the full import of the message became clear, Janna wished that Agnes was present.

  “‘If a b-brother who through his own fault leaves the monastery should w-wish to return, let him first p-promise full reparation for his having gone away…’”

  Janna listened intently, so that she could pass on St Benedict’s words to Agnes. It seemed that there was no bar to her going and she could even return twice, so long as she was prepared to “make reparation and to be received in the lowest place.” But Agnes was already in the lowest place, so that would make no difference. She could leave, and leave again, but if she left a third time she would not be received back into the abbey. Janna was convinced that if Agnes could only be persuaded to marry Will, she would not think of coming back, not even once—but how to get her to make that first step? After Agnes’s deliberate rejection of him during the empress’s visit, would Will be prepared to wait even longer?

  She sought Agnes out after chapter the next day, to tell her about the reading. It struck her, as she related its import, that she’d had no difficulty in listening to Ursel, for the sister had hardly stuttered at all. In fact, Ursel had a new confidence, a lightness and spring in her step that spoke of her joy in her work at the abbey. It was interesting, Janna thought, what a difference it made if you could only believe in yourself. And Ursel was doubly blessed, for she also believed in God, and now had faith in her worthiness to worship Him.

  But if Sister Ursel had sprung to life like a new shoot in spring, Agnes, by contrast, seemed to be withering into winter. Janna looked at her friend, trying to reconcile Agnes’s once cheerful disposition and humorous observations with the downcast demeanor and the cloak of despair that now set her apart from the others. “It’s not too late. Send Will a message somehow,” she urged. “Tell him you’ve changed your mind.”

  “But I haven’t.” Agnes turned on her heel and hurried out to the garden.

  Most of the lay sisters were busy there now, for as well as planting new herbs and vegetables there was flax to sow for the fibers that would provide linen for new habits, tow wicks for lamps and oil from the seeds. There was an extra urgency about their tasks as they took advantage of a mild spring day. Janna shrugged and decided to move on to the physic garden, for there was much work to be done there, too. There was no point in discussing the matter further, not when her friend was so blind to the truth, and so determined not to change her mind.

  To her surprise, Agnes followed her and crouched beside her to help plant out some new seedlings. “Do you really think it’s too late for me?” she whispered.

  Janna looked at her, noticing the red eyes, the shine of tears on a hastily wiped cheek. “I don’t know,” she said honestly.

  “If I could only be sure of the right thing to do. If only there was a sign!” Agnes clasped her hands tight together, as if unconsciously praying for the way to be shown to her.

  “It’s something you have to decide—not God.” Janna tried to soften her words with a smile. “You surely care for Master Will, for I have seen in the past how you’ve talked to him and about him. He is a kind man, and he will care for you, I am sure of that. The question you really have to ask yourself is: Are you brave enough to leave the abbey and live in the outside world, live as Will’s wife and the mother of his children? You will have to share the marriage bed, which might result in a child of your own one day, or even more than one.”

  A rosy blush heated Agnes’s face. “I would love to have a child of my own, but it’s the thought of lying with a man, being intimate, that worries me,” she confessed. She heaved a despairing sigh. “I�
��m afraid, Janna. I’m afraid of how it will be when Will sees me, sees the full extent of my injury. What if he spurns me, turns from me in utter disgust? If I leave the abbey but he won’t live with me as my husband, where will I go, what will I do?”

  “According to St Benedict’s own Rule, you can come back to the abbey.” Janna caught Agnes’s hands between her own. “But that won’t happen. It won’t! He loves you. Despite the scarring on your face, he thinks you are as beautiful as the lilies, remember?”

  Agnes glanced toward the imposing buildings that were her home, and at the walls that surrounded the convent and kept them in, and her face pinched tight. “Master Will has had my answer. He will not ask again, you said so yourself. And even if he did, how can I answer him when I’m so unsure of him, and so unsure of myself?” She jumped up, found a spade, and dug it savagely into the earth, wincing as the shock jarred her scarred shoulder. “He’ll find someone else. He will not wait. ’Tis better so.”

  Janna took a breath, ready to argue, but then thought twice about it. She had interfered enough already, she’d done enough damage. The wheel would turn as fate decreed. The sudden image of Godric and Cecily laughing together came into her mind, accompanied by a shaft of pain so great that she doubled over, gasping for breath. That situation, too, was beyond her control. She would just have to make the best of it. She would continue with her quest; she would make a new life for herself in Winchestre or wherever else her search for her father might take her, and she would forget them. She straightened and reached out blindly for another seedling to plant. “God’s bones, look at this!” Agnes had thrown down the spade and moved away. Now she beckoned Janna over to inspect some new parsley plants which had been reduced to just a few sparse stalks.

  “Hares, deer, coneys from the king’s warren?” Janna looked around for a possible culprit.