'The new lay sister is talking in chapter.' A familiar voice came from behind them. The abbess pretended she hadn't heard, but her frown encompassed Janna and Agnes as well as Sister Martha.
As soon as chapter was over, Sister Anne beckoned Janna to her side. It was a real wrench for Janna to watch Agnes go and stand with the other lay sisters and wait to be told their orders for the day by Sister Grace. She'd never felt so close to anyone before. Now she suddenly realised just how much she'd lost as Agnes waggled her fingers behind her back to say farewell. It made Janna all the more determined to speak out on Agnes's behalf.
'Go and fetch your belongings from the lay sisters' dorter,' Sister Anne instructed. 'I'll wait for you here and then take you to the infirmary.'
'Yes, Sister. And thank you.' Janna looked at the elderly nun. 'I won't let you down, I promise.'
'I know that.' Sister Anne's eyes twinkled. 'Even confined as we are within the abbey walls, I had heard of your mother's skill from some of the villagers; heard too that her daughter had inherited her gift. While we won't have cause to use all of your mother's remedies here, I believe there is much we can teach each other.' Janna winced as she understood the nun's meaning, but she couldn't help feeling flattered when the nun continued, 'I've had my eye on you for a little while, child.'
'Do you need more than one pair of hands to help you, Sister? I've been teaching Sister Agnes about herbs and their healing properties. She is very keen to learn.' Janna spoke up quickly, anxious to fulfil her promise.
Sister Anne nodded thoughtfully. 'I will bear that in mind, but I've already been granted a boon in gaining your help and I can't ask for any more at present. Let's just see how we get on for the moment, shall we?'
Satisfied she'd done her best, and eager to get started, Janna turned and began to run towards the lay sisters' dorter. Her heavy habit constricted her movements. Recollecting where she was, she slowed at once to a hasty, but decorous, walk. Her heart sang with excitement. She was about to learn to live as she believed her mother had once lived, in a community of nuns. She would have the opportunity to question them all, just in case Eadgyth had spoken to any of them at any time about her past. Best of all, she might have the chance to learn to read and write. The secrets of her father's letter to her mother were at last within her grasp.
The first of Janna's disappointments came after dinner in the refectory. She'd washed her hands in one of the basins in the lavatorium, then filed in along with the other nuns, half-excited, half-fearful as she contemplated the tasks that lay ahead. She'd been placed beside the door, understanding she was among the lowest of the low as she looked up at the high table at the furthest end of the room where the abbess was seated under a great cross, flanked by several obedientiaries. She was about to start eating when the abbess's voice stayed her hand. Janna bowed her head and waited impatiently for grace to be said. She helped herself from a platter of vegetables and began to eat, picking up the food from her trencher of bread with her fingers. Almost at once she was interrupted by a novice on her right, who gave her a light tap on the arm to gain her attention. Janna looked at the novice's hand weaving through the air as if through water. Unsure what she was meant to do, she frowned in bewilderment. The novice repeated the action. Janna shrugged. Finally, with a smothered 'tsk' of impatience, the novice reached across and grabbed hold of a platter of mackerel. She placed it in front of her, and swam her hand through the air once more, then pointed at the fish. Janna nodded. It was all very confusing.
The novice helped herself to some fish and Janna took some too. It was delicious, but she hardly had time to take more than a few mouthfuls before the young oblate on her left began shaking her hand, holding three fingers together. Again Janna frowned, and finally the oblate reached across and took hold of a heavy salt cellar. Janna watched how sparingly she helped herself to the precious substance. When she set the salt cellar down, Janna took some for herself, keen to try what had always been too costly for her mother to afford. She dipped a portion of fish into the white crystals and tasted it, enjoying the extra piquancy and flavour. Bemused, she watched the silent pantomime continue as the nuns signed to each other their needs and passed dishes accordingly. She was beginning to understand how seriously the community took the Rule of Silence and how much she would miss Agnes's irreverent whispering.
Worse was to come. One of the nuns walked up to the lectern. Janna had the impression that she came reluctantly, for her footsteps slowed as she came closer. Her face was downcast so that she looked only at her feet and not where she was going. Consequently, she tripped and almost fell as she encountered the steps that led up to the lectern. Instinctively, she clutched the book she carried closer to her chest, much as a mother might hold a child after a safe rescue. She climbed the stairs and carefully opened the book.
'H-h-h-hence . . . Hence th-the L-Lord s-says . . . in the . . . the G-Gospel, "Who . . . whoever l-listens . . ."'
Janna looked down at the trencher of bread in front of her, no longer able to watch. She couldn't bear to hear the tortured sounds, and tried to close her ears to them, and her mind to the nun's humiliation. She'd read the shame and desperation in the nun's eyes as her mouth strained to utter whole words and managed only the smallest part of them.
She remembered the nun. It was Sister Ursel, owner of the mouse called Chester. She wondered if the mouse was keeping company with the nun up at the lectern, and risked a glance upwards.
'"I . . . will l-liken him to a w-w-wise m . . . m . . ."' Janna stuffed a piece of fish in her mouth and chewed vigorously, anything to take her mind off what was happening. The other nuns seemed unconcerned, were obviously quite used to this appalling travesty of speech. They waggled or shook their fingers, stroked their wrists and noses, or their stomach, squeezed their ear lobes and knocked their index fingers together. Janna watched, and tried to make sense of it all.
The meal, and the reading, progressed. Janna couldn't wait to leave the refectory, and restrained herself with impatience while the abbess recited a last prayer before they were all free to go.
She went at once to the infirmary, and found Sister Anne awaiting her there. The nun had already introduced her to the patients, one with severe toothache and another with a stomachache, plus several ancient nuns who were now permanent residents in the infirmary, being too crippled or infirm to manage the stairs to the dorter or attend services in the church through the day and night.
'Here's a soothing balm,' the infirmarian told Janna. 'I'd like you to give Sister Angelica's back a good rub, for it troubles her greatly.'
Janna looked at the greasy substance. She took a deep breath, knowing she must speak the truth for the infirmarian would find out soon enough. 'I . . . my task was to make up the salves and decoctions. It was my mother who always ministered to the sick.' Try as she would, Janna could not keep an old resentment from souring her voice. She had begged Eadgyth to give her more responsibility, but her mother had always refused, saying that there would be time enough for that later. But later had never come, and Janna was well aware of the vast gap in her experience that would have stood her in such good stead now.
'Did your mother teach you about the humours of the body, how they comprise blood, phlegm, red and black bile? Did she tell you what to do if the humours are not in balance?' Sister Anne queried.
'No, she did not,' Janna admitted. She'd believed her mother had known everything, was startled to find that was not so.
'She did not tell you that the body may be warm and dry, warm and moist, cold and dry or cold and moist?'
Mute with shame, Janna shook her head.
'Did she mention the body's relationship to the four elements: earth, air, fire and water?'
'No.' Janna's confidence had evaporated. She felt extremely stupid.
'The art of healing does not rest only on knowing about herbs and their properties. Our knowledge is based also on medical practice passed down to us by the ancient Greeks, Romans and Persians.'<
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'Oh.' Janna waited, in distress, for Sister Anne to banish her from the infirmary now that she had learned the full extent of her ignorance.
'Your mother was known to be a skilled healer, and knowledgeable in the leechcraft practised by the Saxons,' Sister Anne observed, adding kindly, 'It could be that she was aware of the gaps in her knowledge, and feared them, and that was why she took upon herself the responsibilities of her healing practice and would not share them with you – lest you took the blame for her lack of understanding should something go wrong.'
Janna was silent. Sister Anne's words made sense. They certainly helped to explain Eadgyth's continued resistance to Janna's pleas. The last shreds of her resentment towards her mother slipped away.
'I feel sure there is much you can teach me, Johanna, for I know little of leechcraft but you obviously watched your mother carefully and learned from her all that you could.'
'Yes, Sister, I did.' Janna's hopes began to rise once more.
'Then massage Sister Angelica's back. I shall watch what you do, and instruct you as you go.' Sister Anne gave a wry smile. 'Besides, I have no choice in the matter,' she said, and held up her bandaged hand.
Janna helped the ancient nun disrobe and picked up the pot of ointment, thrilled to be given the opportunity she had always longed for.
She wondered if conversation was allowed during treatment, and decided to risk it. Her quest was too urgent for delay. 'May I speak, Sister Anne?'
The nun nodded. 'Talking is allowed in the infirmary, although I don't encourage idle chatter,' she added severely. 'What do you wish to know?'
'I am most grateful for your trust in me, Sister Anne.' Janna thought it best to flatter the old nun before asking for a favour. 'You'll find me a willing worker and a keen student, for I wish to know everything I may about healing the sick. Everything!'
'I shall do all I can to help you, Johanna.' Sister Anne leaned forward. She tapped Janna's hand. 'A little higher,' she said. 'Use your thumbs, and move in circles around Sister Angelica's back.'
'My greatest wish is to learn my letters,' Janna continued, following the nun's instructions as she spoke. 'I will willingly tell you all that I've learned from my mother, and help you in every way I can, if you could also teach me how to read and write.' She held her breath. Her hands moved in a slow rotation.
Sister Anne frowned. 'I didn't realise we were going to bargain over this, Johanna. When I asked for your help I expected a free exchange of information, for the joy of doing the Lord's work, as well as helping the sick and needy.'
'Yes! Yes, of course!' Janna was horrified her words had been misunderstood. 'I beg your pardon, Sister. Of course I will tell you all I know. I . . . I was just speaking what was in my heart, telling you my dearest wish in the hope that you may help me.'
'I would if I could.' Sister Anne gave a rueful laugh. 'But I am not so very skilled in letters, child. What I know of medicine and healing was told to me by my predecessor here, just as I will now pass on that knowledge to you. Those sisters who can read and write have duties elsewhere to occupy their time. The chantress and Sister Grace are our teachers, but . . .' She shook her head. 'They teach the oblates, postulants and novices, those who have come to the abbey with a dower. And the greatest part of their instruction is in the forms of the offices and the rules and customs of our house. They also give lessons to those children whose parents wish them to learn their numbers and letters, but the abbey is paid a fee for that instruction.' Sister Anne's meaning was plain, and Janna's high hopes evaporated like dew in the summer sun. 'Besides, I have need of you here,' Sister Anne continued. 'St Edith's fair is less than two weeks away, and there is much to prepare before then.'
It was a bitter blow to Janna's hopes. She knew of nowhere else, other than the abbey, where she might learn to read and write, yet it seemed those skills would be denied her. But there was one more thing that she might learn. 'Did you ever meet my mother, Sister Anne?' she asked eagerly, only to have her hopes dashed again.
'No, I did not. I heard how she had come to the abbey asking for help. That was shortly after our beloved abbess died and Sister Hawise was elevated to take her place.'
Janna noticed how tart the infirmarian's voice became at the mention of the abbess. She continued to massage industriously. Beneath her supple fingers, muscles eased and softened, and the old nun gave a murmuring sigh of relief.
'Do you know of anyone in the abbey who might have spoken to my mother or know anything of her circumstances?' Janna persisted, still not willing to accept defeat.
'No, I do not.' Sister Anne looked in puzzlement at Janna. 'Why do you ask? Is it important?'
'It's very important! You see, I know nothing about my mother, where she came from or what she did before she came here. She told me nothing about her past, but I . . . I have reason to believe she may once have been a nun, perhaps even an infirmarian like you.'
'Why did you not question her?'
'I did! She would not answer me, at least not until just before she died. She was going to tell me, she said, who my father was, for I don't even know that!' Janna's face flushed hot with shame at the admission. She pressed down too hard, and the old nun groaned in protest.
'Be more gentle!' Sister Anne remonstrated. 'Old skin is thin and old bones brittle, remember that.'
'I'm sorry. I'm sorry I hurt you, Sister Angelica.'
'It's all right, child. Your touch gives me relief and I am grateful for it.' The sharp, clear tone reminded Janna that there was another witness to her shameful admission. She blushed anew.
Sister Anne stayed silent for a few moments. 'I can think of no-one who knew your mother, or who spoke to her when she came here, but that need not stop you asking questions when talking is permitted, Johanna.'
'Thank you, Sister. I'll do that.' The conversation was over, all opportunities closed. Janna knew a bleak despair as she continued to carefully massage the old nun's back.
SIX
THE DAYS RUSHED by, crammed with various activities. If Janna wasn't ministering to the sick under the watchful eye of Sister Anne, she was out gathering herbs and preparing healing salves and decoctions for sale at the fair. In spite of her disappointment over her failure to learn to read, she was happy to be busy and greatly looking forward to the fair, for she was hoping she might get leave to attend with Sister Anne. People were travelling to Wiltune from all around the country, and the guest houses of the abbey, both for pilgrims and poor travellers as well as for the well-to-do, were already full, as were the stables. Every day there was a hustle and bustle in the courtyard as traders came in to pay their respects to the abbess, and their tolls and fees to her steward.
Whenever she was outside in the cloister or in the garden, Janna could hear the faint sound of hammering from the marketmede as booths and stalls were constructed for merchants to display their wares. The travellers who had so frightened her outlaw companion, Edwin, would be there to buy and to sell. Janna hoped, with all her heart, that Edwin had managed to stay hidden from their sight for all this time. He would have help in that from his sweetheart, Bertha, and probably from Hugh too, for Hugh understood Edwin's situation and his need to stay safely out of their sight.
A sudden thought set Janna's heart racing. It was quite possible, nay, even probable, that Hugh, and maybe Godric too, would also attend the fair. Now that the cheating reeve was dead and his horde of purloined goods discovered, there would be an abundance of produce from Hugh's manor farm to sell. The thought made Janna even more determined to seek leave to attend the fair.
She remembered the attempt on her life and felt suddenly cold. She might feel trapped inside the abbey, but its walls kept her safe. Her spirits revived somewhat as she began to rationalise the attack. After what had happened, Dame Alice must surely be keeping a watchful eye over Robert and his servants, while Robert would know by now that she was keeping silent about his role in her mother's death, and therefore was no threat to him. Not yet, at least
, Janna amended grimly, knowing that bringing Robert to account for the death of her mother was the main part of her search for her unknown father.
A further thought lifted her spirits. The attack had happened weeks ago. Dame Alice and her husband were probably safely home on their own manor by now. Their steward might attend the fair, to buy and sell on their behalf, but it was most unlikely that they themselves would come.
The day in memory of St Edith's death dawned sunny, as hot and bright as a summer's day. Inside the abbey, all had been made clean and sparkling in honour of their dead patron saint. The church was resplendent, being decorated with flowers and produce as thanksgiving for a harvest safely in and as a benediction to St Edith. Half-asleep as she was, Janna's nostrils were overwhelmed with the scent of the flowers, fruit, nuts, herbs and spices heaped at the altar and around St Edith's shrine in its own small chapel. She took her place at the back of the choir stalls, and peered down the nave, searching for Agnes. She'd hardly had a chance to talk to her friend in the intervening weeks; making up creams and potions for the fair had kept her too busy. The only time they could snatch a few words was when Agnes came for a new supply of ointment, for Janna had taken over its preparation, adding lavender and sunturners to Sister Anne's usual mix in the hope that they might ease the tight scars.
Janna hadn't forgotten her promise to Agnes, but her entreaties to Sister Anne had not met with any success. She determined that, if she was given leave to go to the fair, she would try to ensure that Agnes came too. Meanwhile, she half-listened as the Mass continued. Agnes had taught her all she knew, so Janna could follow some of the chants, but she still did not join in, although she loved to listen to the sound of the nuns' voices and the music they made. She was coming to know them now, and it amused her to watch them sing for she thought their characters could be read in their faces and the language of their bodies.
The sister who leaned forward, almost bouncing on her toes as she threw her heart and soul into glorious song, was just as enthusiastic and whole-hearted over everything else she did about the abbey. The nun who sang with hands folded and mouth pursed small, as if begrudging her time and the use to which it was being put, made sure that her disapproval touched everything to which she set her hand. A large nun sitting in the front row of the choir always opened her mouth just a little too early and finished with an extra trill that kept her singing on after the others were silent. As she had the loudest voice, the disharmony was often painful, just as her insistence on always coming first and being the best caused some heartache and muttering among her sisters in their daily lives. There were nuns who sang with serenity and joy, secure in the knowledge that God listened and was pleased. Others sang with unclear words and uncertain notes, reflecting perhaps their own lack of vocation and certainty. Janna, to her intense chagrin, had found she was unable to sing at all.
Lilies for Love Page 8