Devilʼs Brew: The Janna Chronicles 5

by Felicity Pulman

  Opinion was greatly divided on the wisdom of this, with some believing he should change sides like all the other barons had done, while others praised him for his loyalty and courage. Another rumor began to circle in the tavern: that Stephen’s queen, on realizing that the earl was not open to bribes, had threatened to send him to imprisonment in Normandy. But in return, Robert had told her that her husband, the king, would spend the rest of his days in captivity in the wilds of Ireland.

  It seemed they’d reached a stalemate. As the weeks passed, the people of Winchestre waited to see what would happen next. Now that everything had settled down, travelers began to pass through Winchestre in greater numbers, bringing more news from outside. Janna kept her ears continually stretched for any news of Hugh, Godric or Ulf. She’d continued to comb the city, hoping to catch sight of them, but they seemed to have disappeared. She alternated between hope that they’d managed to escape, and despair that they had not.

  Meanwhile, there were new developments in the fight for the crown, news that set everyone aflutter, for it meant that royalty might come again to Winchestre. There were mixed feelings about it: excitement at seeing the royal family set against a deep and abiding resentment for the damage their armies had done. But the feelings of the townsfolk weren’t taken into account, for once it had become clear to the bishop that the earl’s loyalty could not be bought with promises, and that threats wouldn’t work either, new and elaborate negotiations for a prisoner exchange began, this time with the earl’s blessing.

  At last, and according to the agreed arrangements, the king was released from the castle keep at Bristou. From there he traveled to Winchestre, where the earl awaited him, leaving his wife and family as sureties for the earl’s release. Once the king arrived safely in Winchestre, the earl was freed. Leaving his son as surety for the return of the queen, the earl then set out for Bristou. And finally, when the queen and her companions were safely returned to Winchestre, the earl’s son was released to join his father.

  And so everyone went free at last, and it was as if the empress’s rise in fortune had never happened. The king’s barons once more swore their allegiance to him, and he celebrated the Christ Mass at Canterberie in fine style and with a crown on his head. Meanwhile, the empress and her entourage had set up their headquarters at Oxeneford Castle, and everyone wondered who would strike the next blow in the bid for the crown.

  All this was common conjecture in the tavern. Thanks to Sybil’s hoard of coins, and careful trading with traveling merchants and property owners far enough away to have escaped the worst of the siege, the tavern had come back into the business of serving ale and wine long before the alehouses in the high street, attracting customers who showed no signs of changing their allegiance once Hell, and later Paradise and Heaven, opened their doors for business. Janna took partial credit for the tavern’s continuing success. Before winter set in and it was too late to gather herbs, one of her tasks had been to walk out into the water meadows to cut herself another stout stirring stick of ash, and to gather a quantity of ash keys, sage, wild hops and other herbs for the gruit so that she could continue to make the ale to her mother’s old recipe.

  This she did with Sybil’s consent, persuaded as the taverner was by customers clamoring for the “new ale” they had tasted before the troubles began. Janna noticed the taverner kept an eagle eye on her preparations, obviously keen to find out the recipe so she could use it herself. But after Sybil’s kindness to her, Janna did not begrudge showing her how the gruit was made, explaining how adding honey would make the brew stronger, and wild hops and ash keys would help it stay fresh for longer.

  Once the danger was over, Elfric had returned, and he and Janna and Sybil continued to get in each other’s way in the brew house as they fought for use of the fire burning there. Meanwhile Sybil used her connections, as well as some of the coins she’d saved, to order a supply of wine from Normandy, and also to rebuild the kitchen along with a new bake house. She supervised the workmen and harried at their heels until it was done.

  As soon as the kitchen was in working order once more, Elfric lit the fire in the new hearth and set to creating pottages and stews, using whatever supplies Sybil had managed to save, buy or scrounge. The fare was not nearly as bountiful as before, and Janna suspected that as well as bartering, there was much gleaning in the wild going on, for food as well as for firewood. Some dishes had a distinctly unusual taste – dog, perhaps, or horse meat – disguised by a liberal seasoning of herbs and mustard, imported spices no longer being available. But so long as sufficient quantities of ale and wine were quaffed, the fare was also wolfed down with apparent relish. In these hard times, people were delighted to find food and drink to fill their bellies, even if they struggled to pay for it.

  It was a cruel winter, bitterly cold and with a constant driving rain, and Ossie nailed pieces of hide over the windows to keep out the drafts and the wet. The cresset lights that burned continually cast a glow around the tap room, creating a cosy snugness, although the air was tainted by their vapor and the smoke from the fire. Janna continued to keep a lookout for Godric and Hugh, and also for Ulf, but there was no sign of them. Not even the merchant or his companions came in. She was surprised, for the Bell and Bush was one of only a few places still serving wine, and she’d thought that might be enough to tempt the merchant to make peace with Sybil. She wondered if the taverner minded his absence, and if she still harbored a soft spot for him in spite of everything. The thought came to her that the merchant might have died during the siege, as so many townsfolk had done. Or he might have lost everything and no longer had the coin to pay for his ale, or wine, or even his leman. Many people were starving, scavenging for food, shelter and something to keep them warm in the bitter winter weather. Only those with a pressing need to travel took to the road; most stayed thankfully indoors, conserving their energy and what little goods they had.

  After the siege, and perhaps in atonement for the damage his firebrands had done to the city, the bishop had summoned a synod with the purpose of trying to alleviate the misery of his people. It was decreed that a plow should have the same privilege of sanctuary as churches, and that anyone attacking those engaged in agricultural labor would be excommunicated. But it was too late; the marauders had not left even the wherewithal to plow the land and sow seed for the coming year. While men could queue for the dole at the Hospital of St Cross and receive at least one meal a day sufficient to feed themselves and their families, many others went hungry. It was some comfort to Janna to know that Sybil did what she could, doling out leftover scraps and sometimes even good food, if there was any to spare, to those desperate women and children who came begging for help.

  Numbers visiting the tavern dwindled, as did Sybil’s hoard of coins. But the fire continued to burn bright, offering warmth and shelter and the illusion of peace and comfort. At Janna’s suggestion, but only after a long argument, Sybil lowered the price of a mug of ale to persuade customers away from the alehouses and into the tavern. While this swelled the number of their patrons, it did nothing to increase Sybil’s popularity along the high street.

  Janna worried continually about Godric and Hugh. Had they got away to safety, or had they been captured along with the Earl of Gloucestre and his party? She knew well that neither was wealthy enough to be worth a ransom, especially not Godric. But Hugh’s aunt might be prepared to pay the price for them. Or Hugh’s betrothed? But Eleanor’s father disapproved of the match; he would be in no hurry to hand over good silver for an unwanted son-in-law and his companion. Janna was haunted by the thought that Godric and Hugh, and also Ulf, had been slaughtered along the road, like so many others who’d been caught in the trap.

  Occasionally, when she had some free time, she visited the ruins where once her father’s house had stood, hoping that she might find him there, but she always returned discouraged and disheartened by his seeming indifference to the state of his property. Common sense said that her father wouldn’t le
t his estate stand in ruins indefinitely, that either he would come himself or appoint someone to come in his place. But how long would it take? And what if no-one ever came? She greatly missed Ulf’s cheerful presence, and wished he was there to give her some advice, for he knew well the ways of the world and its people and she was sure he would know what to do for the best.

  *

  As the iron-hard earth of winter at last yielded to soft spring rain and new growth, the hides were taken down from the windows to let in pale sunlight, and Sybil declared that the tavern needed a good spring cleaning. Janna soon discovered that this was hard work, for it meant a fresh whitewash for the walls and a change of rushes for the floor, but at last the doors of the tavern were opened wide and welcoming. With a new brew of ale ready for serving, Janna fixed a green bush outside and rang the bell. She paused a few moments on the doorstep, savoring the sunlight, fancying she could feel its slight warmth through the fabric of her tunic. She tipped her face up and closed her eyes, feeling the touch of the sun on her face like a blessing. On a day like today, all things seemed possible.

  She ventured further to look up and down the high street. All around the city now were signs of rejuvenation. A few people were out and about for, with the gradual rebuilding of the town, traders and townsfolk alike had begun to visit once more the shops and pentices that were springing up along the street, and the markets that were again finding goods to trade. With coins in their purses, they visited the tavern as well. Although a ready source of credit and money supply had dried up when the Jews had fled their burning homes, some had now begun to trickle back and had started to build up their businesses. Their presence gave confidence to a town badly in need of a belief in itself. Everywhere Janna looked, she could see signs that people were ready to put the past behind them and get on with their lives. Even nature was in tune with the town’s regeneration, she thought, as she noticed the daffodils that had thrust their golden heads through a small patch of straggly grass. She felt a lifting of her spirits and smiled at them, taking courage from their shining faces. She went inside, through the tavern, and out to the brew house in the yard to fill pitchers and get everything ready for the day’s trading.

  It seemed to Janna that even the tavern’s customers were happier, thanks to the change of season. Instead of complaining about the empress and the king, lamenting what had passed and fearing what might happen in the future, they spoke of what had been accomplished since the siege, and what more they hoped to achieve. There was laughter and good-humored bantering, and Janna found herself smiling as she served them all in turn.

  But she was lonely, so lonely. In spite of her belief that she would never see him again, thoughts of Godric haunted her. Janna prayed that they’d followed Hugh’s advice to her and had made it safely home, even if it meant that Godric and Cecily would now be wed, and possibly Hugh as well. But what most exercised her mind were thoughts of her father. She’d begun to despair that he would ever come to Winchestre, yet every time her thoughts turned to Normandy, her courage failed her. First she would have to journey south to a port, and find a ship to take her across the sea. How would she pay for such a thing? And once she arrived there, what then? She had only the vaguest notion of where Normandy was, or how big an area she would have to search. She knew only that her father lived there, but not where his home might be.

  Sybil was waiting for her in the brew house. “You’ve worked hard over the past months, Janna.” The taverner dipped in the pocket sewn into her apron and pulled out two silver pennies. “I told you I couldn’t pay you a wage when you came back, but you deserve a reward now. It’s partly thanks to you that the tavern is as popular as it is.” A gleam of satisfaction brightened Sybil’s face as she continued, “We’ve gained quite a few customers from Hell, Heaven and Paradise!” She held the coins out to Janna. “Keep them safe and trust no-one.”

  Janna thanked her and pocketed them in her own apron. She hid a wry smile as she remembered the wealth she had once possessed, yet she had earned these coins by her own endeavors and they were doubly precious because of it. And as she pocketed them, the idea that had been lurking at the back of her mind suddenly became a distinct possibility: she could make and sell some of the creams and medicaments her mother taught her for now she had the means to purchase the extra ingredients she would need. Her work at the tavern had only ever been to keep her alive while she searched for her father, and the sale of her potions would help provide her with the means to travel to Normandy, if that was necessary.

  *

  As a first step, she took an inventory of the small patch of garden she now used as her own. She’d already planted a number of healing herbs, but she was determined to add to her collection so that she could also concoct the scented creams and lotions she’d once made for sale in the market place at Wiltune. Janna resolved to walk the lanes and water meadows once more, to take cuttings or else uproot and bring back some sweetly scented flowering plants. Roses and meadowsweet, violets and lavender too, if she could find some. It occurred to her that some of the plants in her father’s garden might have survived the ravages of the firestorm. She would investigate the garden next time she went to inspect the site, and would salvage what she could.

  As spring rolled on, and the days grew longer and warmer, Janna’s small garden became ripe for plunder; it was time to start putting her plan into practice. To this end, she visited the apothecary to spend the coins Sybil had given her on beeswax, olive oil, and other items necessary for her preparations. She knew that once she set out on this course, she was committing herself to staying on in Winchestre, but if her venture succeeded, it would bring in coins enough to travel in comfort and safety at a later date – if her father had still not come. Meanwhile, she listened to the talk in the tavern. According to the travelers who passed through, the empress and her supporters were now holed up in Oxeneford and promising the earth, sky, sun and stars to any who would turn to their cause. It was enough to set the barons squabbling as each fought to gain more while protecting what he already had. Janna was particularly pleased when one traveler reported that the empress’s fortunes had taken an upward turn – it seemed that the king had traveled north to subdue several disturbances and been taken ill at Northampton. Subsequent rumors said that he was near death.

  There was also talk that, with the king out of the way, the Earl of Gloucestre had gone over to Anjou to ask Matilda’s husband, Count Geoffrey, for his support in a final siege against the king’s army. News came that he’d been delayed there, fighting alongside Geoffrey to help him secure Normandy. Rather than risk the barons’ wrath by once again promoting herself to the throne, the empress was now promising that, if they would only support her, she would rule in the name of her eldest son, Henry, until he came of age. The next rumors to circulate said the king had recovered and was raising a large army to prevent the earl’s return.

  Janna listened to the rumors and continued to worry about her father’s absence, visiting his estate whenever she could take leave from the tavern, in the hope of finding him or his steward there. She also kept a keen eye on the new shoots growing in his garden. Those she knew would be of use were harvested and carefully replanted in the tavern’s kitchen garden. But the house itself was still a ruined heap, although the pile of rubble was fast growing smaller as anything of use was stolen to rebuild properties elsewhere. All over Winchestre, buildings were rising from the ashes. The old palace in the center of the town was one site that had seen no reconstruction. The bishop’s men were reputed to be scavenging there, and using that material to fortify and enlarge the bishop’s palace at Wolvesey, with the excuse that the palace had been cramped too tight and close to the cathedral, and therefore was not worth rebuilding.

  A greater scandal centered around the burning of Hyde Abbey, for which the bishop was also held to blame. A fabulous gold cross covered in precious jewels, donated to the abbey by King Cnut himself, had collapsed and melted among the burning ruins. On the bis
hop’s order, it had been salvaged and stripped. It was said that more than five hundred marks of silver had been recovered and thirty of gold, which were used to pay off those who had fought on the bishop’s behalf during the siege, although the more cynical claimed that most of the proceeds had probably found their way into the bishop’s own bulging coffers.

  But at least part of his wealth was being put to good use, for both Hyde Abbey and St Mary’s Nunnaminster were being rebuilt. Apparently the bishop was anxious to make amends for the damage done to these holy places by his firebrands. The London militia and the queen’s mercenaries took the blame for everything else, for they had swept through Winchestre like a plague of rats, leaving terror and destruction in their wake. Horrifying tales of torture and death were still being whispered in taverns and alehouses, the stories accompanied by curses and tears. Buildings might be renewed, but shattered lives and broken hearts took much, much longer.

  Janna took note of the changes as she hurried through the streets of Winchestre, passing masons, sawyers, carpenters, joiners, plasterers, smiths, coopers, carriers, thatchers, painters, craftsmen, and laborers alike, all of them busy about the task of rebuilding a once great town. The market close to the cathedral cemetery was trading again, as was a smaller market close to the north wall. Her father’s estate was one of only a few sites that still lay idle. She wondered if her father had been caught up in the troubles in Normandy. She wondered if he’d decided to abandon his estate in England for all time. She wondered if he was already dead.

  *