*
She rose early, for she wanted Sybil still to be asleep when she came into her room. It was a horrible trick to play on the taverner, but worth it if it produced the truth. She knocked softly on the tavern door, putting her fingers to her lips when Ossie opened it. She tiptoed quietly up the stairs and into Sybil’s chamber, and hid out of sight behind a large chest while she waited for the taverner to awaken.
A heavy sigh and a creaking of the wooden bed frame as Sybil struggled to sit up warned Janna that it was time to put her idea to the test. She peered cautiously around the chest and was gratified to find that Sybil wasn’t looking at her. The taverner had swung her feet to the floor, and was facing away from Janna. It seemed that she was going to try, once again, to rise from her bed. Although fearing that she would put the taverner’s well-being at risk if her trick succeeded, Janna tiptoed out of hiding and cleared her throat. Hating the action, for she’d never done such a thing in her life before, she cleared her throat and spat on the floor.
Sybil screamed and whirled around to confront the sound. She launched herself at Janna, fists flailing in a desperate attempt to fight her off.
“No! No, mistress, no!” Horrified, Janna tried to protect herself. Through the sound of Sybil’s shrieks she heard a heavy pounding as Ossie galloped upstairs.
“You…you…” Sybil lashed out, hardly able to speak for terror.
“Stop it! It’s me. Janna. I’m not going to hurt you, I promise!”
Ossie burst through the door. He skidded to a halt and blinked as he tried to make sense of the scene. Then he launched himself at Sybil and dragged her off Janna. He wrapped his arms around the taverner and placed her on the bed, keeping a firm grip on her all the while. Sybil shrieked curses at Janna as she struggled to free herself.
“It wasn’t me who attacked you!” Janna spoke slowly and clearly, trying to reach Sybil through her panic; trying to reassure her that she wasn’t responsible for the assault, only for the sound that had triggered Sybil’s memory. “It was Alan,” she said. “He cleared his throat outside the brew house, and then he spat on the ground. He’s always doing that. That was the noise you heard just before he hit you, wasn’t it?”
Still quaking with fear, Sybil nodded dumbly. Janna was appalled that she’d caused such horror, yet she was triumphant too. “I’m so sorry,” she apologized. “It was a guess, but I didn’t know how else to test what I was thinking.”
Sybil swallowed hard. “You could have just asked,” she said in a hard voice. “You didn’t have to go frightening me to death.”
“It was your death Alan was after,” Janna reminded her. “If I’d asked you, you might not have remembered. You might not have wanted to believe it, even if you did remember. But it seems to me there’s no room to doubt it now.”
Sybil tightened her lips, but gave a grudging nod.
“And there’s something else you need to know about too,” Janna said gently, hating to be the bearer of more bad news. It was hurtful enough that Sybil had found out the truth about a man she must have once loved and trusted. While she might not have had much love for Ebba and Wat, she had employed them and done right by them, and now she would have to find out how shamefully they had repaid her.
“You should hear this too, Ossie,” she said, and nodded at the big man to stay. She began, then, to explain who was behind the recent problems at the tavern, and the reasoning behind their actions, finishing with the wasted ale from the night before. As she spoke, Sybil’s face changed from the blanched white of fear to a deep flush of rage.
“I’ll kill him!” she said fiercely, when Janna had finished setting out all the proof she and Ulf had gathered. “As for that wretched potboy and his slut of a sister – ” She broke off, too choked with rage to continue.
“You can surely bear witness against them instead?” Janna thought there’d been far too much violence already. She remembered Ulf’s offer to help her take care of Mus, and smothered a grin. No doubt that same faceless “someone” would be available to take care of Alan as well – but she wasn’t about to mention it. “Wat might be persuaded to tell the truth, and I’ll certainly tell all I know,” she said instead. “And so will Ulf. You remember Ulf, with the big dog? He’ll also tell what he knows, ’cause he helped me uncover what’s really been going on here.”
Sybil pulled a face. Her hands plucked restlessly at a loose thread in the woven bed covering as she thought through her options. “There’s been precious little law and order around here since the troubles last year,” she said bitterly. “The castellan’s gone. He’s also the shire reeve, but he’s fled the castle along with the empress and her troops, so there’s no-one who’ll listen to my plea. Besides, why would anyone take a taverner’s word against that of a merchant, and a man at that?”
“I would,” Ossie said unexpectedly. “If you like, I c’n teach ’im a lesson ’e won’t fergit in an ’urry.”
Janna closed her eyes and groaned inwardly. Was Ossie the “someone” Ulf had in mind when he’d made his offer? She glanced at Sybil and saw that the taverner was watching him with a calculating gleam in her eyes.
“Just a warning. No rough stuff,” she said. “Not yet anyway. Tell him I know what he’s done, and he’s to stay out of my way in future or there’ll be a price to pay.”
Ossie nodded.
“Tell him I also know about his leman and her brother. Tell him you’ll be watching him closely. Any more trouble here, or if I hear even a whisper against me, or the Bell and Bush – ”
“Or me,” Janna put in quickly, still smarting after Ebba’s calumny.
“Or any of us, I’ll blacken his name from one end of Winchestre to the other and beyond. I know how he’s cut corners, the shady deals he’s done in the past. I can tell stories against him that will ensure no-one will trade with him by the time I’ve finished. I’ll petition the king to have him put down. I’ll go right to the top if I have to. Just you tell him that!”
Ossie nodded again. It seemed that the pair had a deal. Janna was content with the plan, for it seemed likely to have an effective outcome. What Sybil had said was true: there had been a general breakdown of law and order since the siege. The shire reeve of Hampshire and castellan of Winchestre Castle, William Pont de l’Arche, hadn’t been seen since he’d supported the wrong side and earned the wrath of the king; there was no point appealing to him. But tavern talk claimed that lawlessness was everywhere, for the barons and lords who in the past would keep order and try criminals in their own manor courts were now far too busy seizing land and castles from each other to worry about justice within their own demesnes. Even the barons that the earl had left to protect the empress at Oxeneford were apparently deserting her to defend their own interests. None would concern himself with a petty squabble of this nature, not when there was so much else at stake.
Even Sybil’s threat to go to the king, while a recognized route to justice, was unlikely to be carried through by the taverner. Although the king was always the last recourse in any dispute, Sybil would know that he’d have far more important things on his mind. But her threat to blacken the merchant’s good name might be enough to keep Alan from trying any further tricks to get his hands on the tavern, especially with Ossie standing over him and uttering threats.
She smiled at Sybil, pleased to note the fresh color in her cheeks and the brightness of her eyes. “Do you feel well enough to get up this morn?” she asked.
“I do so,” Sybil said grimly. “That hellspawn has fired my blood and put courage into me. He will not threaten my tavern ever again. Although…” She broke off and frowned. “Even if we brew enough new ale to float a ship, we’ll be chasing after customers soon enough. It’ll hardly be worth keeping our door open.”
“But…why?” Janna couldn’t believe it, not after what they’d all just been through. “The customers have started to come back to us now. Really, mistress, the tavern’s doing quite well again.”
Sybil gave an
impatient sigh. “Easy to see you haven’t been here while the fair’s on,” she said. “It’s the rule that every business in Winchestre has to close – all except taverns and alehouses,” she continued, as she noted Janna’s puzzled expression. “All other trading takes place up St Giles Hill. So although we’re allowed to stay open, that’s where all our customers will be.”
“Then why don’t we set up a booth at the fair?” Janna suggested eagerly. ‘It will show that we’re still open for business.’ All at once and with no effort on her part, it seemed that she might have the chance to put her plan to sell medicaments and lotions into action.
Sybil tipped her head on one side, considering her question. “We haven’t in the past. I can’t both brew and serve ale in the tavern and be up on the hill to sell it at the same time.”
“But you could brew the ale and keep the tavern open, and Ossie could cart barrels of ale up the hill for me to sell at the fair,” Janna suggested. “I don’t mind keeping a booth up there, if you’d like me to.” She crossed her fingers behind her back, hoping that Sybil would agree.
“I’ve never taken a stall at the fair before,” Sybil said doubtfully. “I never trusted that Ebba enough to leave her here on her own.”
“But you can trust me. You said so!” Janna greatly feared that Sybil would only agree if their roles could be reversed. When first devising her plan, she’d resigned herself to only being able to snatch stolen moments at the fair. Now she felt she couldn’t bear to be stuck at the tavern while all of Winchestre and beyond were out enjoying themselves.
“True.” Sybil’s mouth curved up in an unwilling smile. “And you’ve worked hard to keep the tavern open while I’ve been upstairs. I owe you for that.”
“We could take turns at the stall if you’d like to see the fair too?” Janna hoped her offer might tempt Sybil to agree with her.
Sybil gave a small huff of amusement. “I can see you won’t rest until you’ve persuaded me to your way of thinking, miss. And if we call our stall the Bell and Bush it will bring the tavern to the notice of everyone up at the fair. Especially if we give them directions to the tavern while we serve them.” She nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, I’m willing to trust you, Janna. This year we shall see if having a stall at the fair is worth our while.”
“Thank you!” Janna could hardly restrain herself from dancing a little jig.
“Make sure you don’t let me down!” But Sybil was smiling as she added, “I’ll see about getting the permit then, shall I? And you, Ossie, you go and fetch water enough to keep all Winchestre afloat.”
Chapter 14
Excited and happy, Janna glanced wide-eyed around the fairground. She had been to St Edith’s fair at Wiltune in the past, but this was like nothing she’d ever seen before. There was almost a small village set up atop St Giles Hill, with Bishop Henry’s pavilion dominating the surrounding stalls and lines of timber selds, long narrow buildings divided into separate booths, which were opening to trade.
Some merchants had set up their wares and organized their stalls in advance, those who had rented places large and secure enough to lock up overnight or with space enough for either themselves or a night watchman to be left on guard. Others had come in at dawn, carting their goods and produce on wagons pulled by horse or by oxen. They were now busy positioning trestles and benches in the most advantageous positions they could find, setting up canvas awnings to protect their goods from the weather, and arranging their displays to tempt passing fairgoers.
Packmen carried their wares on their backs, or pushed barrows or handcarts, or festooned their packs over donkey or carthorse. Those without sufficient coins to rent a stall or booth found an open space between to spread out their wares on a trestle covered with a woven cloth. A noisy quarrel had broken out between two traders over a position. Merchants shouted at journeymen and apprentices, and chivvied them along, while the clang of hammers rang through the air as last-minute adjustments were made. Animals and birds for sale or slaughter added their cries to the general cacophony, while their waste contributed to the pungent miasma that must only grow worse in the heat of the days ahead.
Like all the other traders at the fair, the group from the tavern had entered one of the two gates that gave access through the palisade that surrounded St Giles Hill. They had paid the toll on their barrels of ale as they passed through, along with the rent for the stall they would erect. Janna had come with Ossie and Sybil on the cart, which was laden with supplies that they hoped would be sufficient to quench the thirst of the fairgoers. Unknown to Sybil, Janna had secreted a box of her own on the cart. She’d made sure to stash it out of sight, for the taverner had insisted on locking the tavern doors and coming too. “Just to make sure our stall is in the best position, Janna, and to help you set up,” she’d said.
Janna had made no demur, not wanting to deprive Sybil of experiencing the fair, so long as she was prepared to leave Janna in charge at the end of it and not send her back to the town to serve ale in her place. In fact, she was happy enough to have Sybil’s company for now that she was here she found it quite overwhelming.
It seemed that everyone was making up for the lost profits of the canceled fair the year before. Every available space was taken, and brisk bartering and trading began as soon as the fair was declared open by the Bishop of Winchestre. The roads leading from the town to the fair were becoming increasingly clogged as townsfolk and visitors alike streamed along them, eager to find bargains or stock their households with those luxury goods that didn’t often come their way. For the moment the Bell and Bush stall was quiet, as were other ale stalls in their designated area. People were far more interested in discovering what was on sale than in slaking their thirst.
Sybil nudged Janna, who stood lost in a dream of wonder as she gazed about. “Go on, then, go and have a quick look around. We’re all set and ready now, so I’ll stay up here and serve any customers that come. Just for a short while, mind. Ossie’s taking the cart down and he’ll open up the tavern for me. Make sure you’re back soon.”
“I won’t be long,” Janna promised, and left before Sybil thought better of her generous offer.
She hadn’t been up St Giles Hill before, and she gazed at the town from its height, thinking that this must be how birds saw the buildings and the humans who inhabited them; small and unimportant as ants they looked, and yet the people had left their mark. The crooked high street ran down the center of the town, with the West Gate at the other end barely visible in the distance. Nearer to hand, on her left, were the high towers of the bishop’s palace and the Hospital of St Cross. She could see the new building of St Mary’s Nunnaminster rising from the ashes just inside the East Gate, and if she squinted her eyes, she thought she could even make out the Bell and Bush.
She turned her back on the town and began to roam up and down the lanes between the selds, keeping company with barons, lords and ladies, all dressed in the highest and brightest of fashion, but also rubbing shoulders with merchants, traders, whores, pickpockets, thieves and charlatans. No matter their status or how they were dressed, all wore the same expression of eager anticipation as they wandered about, looking at the goods on display. Janna was sure their expressions were mirrored on her own face, for she’d never seen such a vast and rich array in all her life.
Ulf had told her that merchants and craftsmen came together to sell their wares, and now she wandered past rows of stalls selling cheeses, vegetables and fruits, sweet candies and honey; her mouth watered as she eyed the confectionery. Fullers and dyers were there, displaying their brightly dyed and woven cloth. Wool merchants shouted out the merits of their produce: bales of greasy wool, and colorful dyed skeins of it, as well as fine woolen cloth of the highest quality. There were hay and corn merchants, and sellers of firewood and charcoal. Janna hastened quickly past them all, being more interested in the stalls of the craftsmen. There she lingered, admiring the fine jewelry and shining tableware of the gold and silversmiths and the good
s produced by saddle, sword and shield makers. Potters displayed everything from common dishes to the finest tableware fit for a king. There were ribbons and laces, knives and candles, boots and shoes, belts and gloves, and fine parchment, but there were also serviceable goods: farming tools, cart wheels and kitchen implements. The smithy had a forge opened at the end of one lane to shoe horses, and to sharpen knives and weapons. But knife grinders also roamed about, offering their services to all they encountered.
She came to the rows of stalls frequented by foreign merchants and listened, fascinated, to a babble of voices in languages she could not fathom. She noted that a lot of the trading was done through pointing and pantomime, with finger counting to indicate prices and notched sticks to denote sales. She recognized the Norman tongue being spoken by vintners selling fine wines, but merchants from across the sea were also selling spices, soft furs and brilliantly colored silks, painted and lustrous pottery, items made of precious glass or finely carved ivory, and glowing tapestries depicting all manner of scenes, from biblical stories to beautiful meadows starred with flowers, birds and animals.
A shrill whistling and chattering attracted her attention; it came from several cages of bright birds splashed in colors of scarlet, green, blue and orange. Janna hurried over to inspect them. A dark man in a long cotton tunic materialized at her side, perhaps to make sure she didn’t let the birds fly free. She smiled at him and slowly moved from cage to cage, admiring the shimmering colors of the birds’ feathers. The merchant followed close to her elbow, and looked disappointed when she was tempted away by a cage of monkeys further down the track. There were falcons and hawks for sale, as well as ferrets. In a small clearing, a moth-eaten bear was being put through its paces by its trainer. They were surrounded by a ring of nudging, giggling children trying to pluck up the nerve to get close enough to poke the animal. Janna stopped for a while to watch, feeling pity for the captive.
Devilʼs Brew: The Janna Chronicles 5 Page 23