Janna Mysteries 1 & 2 Bindup

by Felicity Pulman

  ‘Hardly the words to make me believe in your offer of a partnership, Master Fulk, but at least we now have the truth of the matter.’ Eadgyth pulled a mortar and pestle from the shelf, then carefully lifted down a small pair of scales. While she measured out and weighed the herbs, Janna tipped the cat off her lap and moved to hook a pan of water over the fire.

  The apothecary watched intently. ‘What herbs do you use, mistress?’ he asked, unable to contain his curiosity any longer.

  Eadgyth laughed and shook her head. ‘You will not learn my secrets, Master Fulk. You may have been trained in Oxford, but my knowledge comes from the lore of my ancestors, the leechcraft of the Saxons, which I have combined with the healing arts practised by Jews, Greeks and Arabs as well as by our Norman masters. I will not share a knowledge so hardly won.’

  ‘And where did you learn such mysteries?’ There was a small measure of respect now in Fulk’s tone.

  But Eadgyth compressed her lips and answered only: ‘My herbs will help my lady finish the birthing process and inhibit the bleeding, you have my word on it. I will also give her a mite of poppy syrup and some willowbark to reduce her fever. I presume you know of them, for they are common enough.’ As she spoke, she ground the herbs into a fine powder. ‘I shall add a little honey to sweeten the mixture, and some ale which will help my lady to relax. I shall also massage her back and her stomach to help her expel the remains of the afterbirth. You may go home to Wiltune, Master Fulk. I can help Dame Alice recover, I know it.’

  ‘She will only see you if she believes you respectable,’ Fulk warned.

  Eadgyth gave a contemptuous snort and continued about her business.

  ‘I’ll have to tell Dame Alice that you are in my employ and that I am training you,’ Fulk persisted.

  Eadgyth dropped the bowl of herbs and turned to face him. ‘Then you may take me to the manor and introduce me as your new partner,’ she said evenly. ‘You can also tell Dame Alice that, in the future, I shall be taking care of all the women who come to your shop, no matter what their troubles might be.’

  Not believing what she was hearing, Janna spun around from the fire to confront her mother. A level glance from fine grey eyes showed Janna that her mother was in deadly earnest. It seemed she was prepared to abandon Janna, and all those villagers who had come to rely on her help, in order to cut a fine figure at the apothecary’s shop in Wiltune. It was too much to bear. Pausing only to snatch up the flaming resin torch brought by the apothecary to light his path to their cottage, Janna raced out into the moonlit night and plunged into the forest.

  ANOTHER HIGH, WILD cry shattered the silence. Was the wolf alone? Hunger might make it bold, but she’d have a better chance of survival than if it was hunting as part of a pack. Janna stopped once more to listen. A secretive rustle, the hoot of an owl, then silence. Go on – or turn back? She tilted her head upwards, and the moonlight fell on her face like a blessing. ‘Keep me safe,’ she whispered, then hurriedly crossed herself, knowing she should more properly be asking God for help, or even St Edith, the young patron saint of nearby Wiltune Abbey. Yet she felt comforted as she held the torch a little higher and hurried on.

  The trail dwindled to little more than a thin depression of flattened leaves and grass. It was barely discernible among the shadows. Although Janna knew this part of the forest well, it looked quite different on this dark, shining night. She kept her head bent, looking for the signs that told her she was going the right way. She had walked this path only yesterday, hoping to snare a small something to add to the pot for their dinner, although she would have given the king’s forester a different answer if she’d been caught by him so close to the king’s hunting lodge.

  She had seen the wild strawberries growing amid a tangle of bindweed and the beautiful blue flowers whose shape gave deadly monkshood its common name and her mother the ingredients for an ointment to ease stiff and aching joints. Knowing the importance of her find, for it was still early in the season, Janna had told her mother, and Eagyth had vowed to visit the place, to dig up some strawberry plants and repot them in their own herb garden.

  ‘God’s bones!’ Janna muttered crossly now as she realised that, in her haste to leave the cottage, she’d also left behind a digging trowel and a bag to hold the plants. She would have to make do with picking only the berries that her mother needed to add to the concoction. She patted the woven purse that hung from her girdle. There was room enough. If she packed them in carefully it would suffice to carry the fruits home without squashing them.

  She was moving uphill into a dense grove of beech and oak. Great branches closed over her head, their leafy mantle blocking the moon’s light. The flare from the torch seemed bright in the darkness as, step by cautious step, she traced her way towards the small, fruiting plants.

  There was a rustle, the crunching of dry leaves and then, sudden and shocking, several sharp explosions of snapping twigs. They sounded alarmingly close. Fighting fear, Janna cast about for signs of the strawberries. With a gasp of relief, she saw the patch of blue flowers. Knowing she was near, for this was the only place she’d ever seen monkshood growing wild, she set the torch down, then fell to her knees to look for the sweet, wild strawberries. They were small, hidden among the leaves, but she was too impatient and too frightened to seek them out. Instead, she pulled them off in clumps, leaves and strawberries together, and stuffed them into her purse, desperate to be gone.

  She seized up the torch once more and sprang to her feet. Now the whole forest seemed loud with sounds: a hooting owl, squeaks, a snuffling grunt, crackling twigs, and a steady thumping that terrified Janna until she realised it was her own heartbeats reverberating in her chest. Yet there was something else, she realised, as her ears isolated and identified each sound. Something large was blundering through the forest without care or thought of danger. A grunting squeal confirmed Janna’s fear. A wild boar was coming her way. Should it find her in its path, it would attack her. She had no knife to defend herself; she had nothing but her wits – and a pair of swift feet. Without stopping to think where she was going, she began to run. With each flying step she imagined the huge beast charging behind her, closer, closer, spearing her with its sharp tusks, bringing her down, trampling over her. She lost all sense of direction as she ducked and weaved through the trees in a desperate effort to get away.

  She found herself in a hazel thicket. The trees grew close together, their thin branches interweaving into traps that caught and held her. She tried to zigzag around them. Tall weeds and dry leaves covered the ground, shrouding sharp flints and unexpected hollows. She had to slow down; it was too hard to keep her footing. Her cloak snagged on brambles and the sharp points of holly leaves as she blundered on. Her breath came in great sobbing gasps. She knew that she was utterly lost, but she dare not stop. She could hear the boar crashing through the undergrowth. It sounded much closer now; she must be running in circles. Fear surged through her body, urging her to a speed she couldn’t sustain. She tripped and fell. At once she staggered to her feet, but the stabbing pain in her side told her she could not go on. She looked about her, seeking safety in a tall tree.

  She stood in a small, moonlit clearing. There was nowhere to hide. She would have to face the boar, and fight for her survival. She could hear it coming towards her; she could even smell it now. Sobbing with fear, Janna snatched up a thin branch from the rotting remains of a fallen tree. She held her torch to the leaves and dry twigs at its tip. Her hand was shaking so badly she could hardly connect flame to tinder.

  A tinge of red, a thin wisp of smoke, and then the flame caught. As the boar hurtled into the clearing towards her, squealing with rage, Janna leapt aside and thrust the burning brand into its face. Responding to a fear more urgent than its need to attack, it skidded to a halt. It began to back away, keeping a wary distance between itself and the source of fire.

  Feeling somewhat comforted that her strategy had worked, Janna held aloft the flaming torch and the fiery b
ranch, one in each hand, and considered what to do next. Pointless to go on when every step might take her further from home – yet she couldn’t stand here all night either. If only she knew which way to go, the branch might burn long enough for her to reach safety. Undecided, she risked another glance upwards, wondering if she might tell her direction from the stars. But the moon’s radiant aura outshone even the brightest of them, while those few stars visible in the darkness above the trees beyond were too far and too scattered for Janna to make sense of them.

  Coming back to her present danger, she made a quick rush at the boar and shouted loudly, hoping that the noise and the fire might be enough to scare the beast away so that she could revert to her original plan of climbing a tree to seek refuge and direction. The boar gave an angry squeal and retreated a few steps, but its eyes stayed fixed on Janna.

  ‘Help!’ she called, but without much hope. The royal forest of Gravelinges belonged to King Stephen, but he seldom used his hunting lodge for, in this year of our lord 1140, he was busy defending his kingdom against its rightful heir, his cousin Matilda. Few other than the king were allowed into the forest, and no-one was likely to be around at this time of night, at least not legally. Poachers risked death if they were caught, although hunger sometimes drove them into the forest. Those who sought to escape the king’s justice might also hide themselves here. Janna was filled with new fear. A boar, an outlaw, or the king’s forester? None would show her mercy.

  Without warning, the boar suddenly charged at Janna. ‘Help!’ she screamed as she tried to leap out of its way. Its bristles grazed her as it passed; its rank smell filled her nostrils. She whirled to face it, circling the flaming torches in a wide arc in the hope of frightening it.

  Was that a faint cry? Janna listened intently. Should she shout again? The boar had turned, ready to charge once more. Its eyes glowed bright in the silvery moonlight.

  ‘Help!’ Janna didn’t care who heard her now, so long as someone did.

  ‘Who goes there?’

  ‘Janna! I’m being attacked by a wild boar.’ Her voice shrilled upwards with fear.

  ‘Janna! Keep calling so that I may find you.’

  A man’s voice. It sounded familiar. ‘I’m here, I’m here in a clearing,’ she shouted. ‘Please, please hurry!’ The boar hunched up its bulk in front of Janna. Its dark form blended against the undergrowth at the edge of the clearing so she could see only its eyes, but she could sense its rage at being thwarted, sense that it was gathering power to launch itself at her once more. ‘Begone!’ she yelled, thrusting the burning brands towards it.

  With an enraged squeal, it rushed at her. She tried to leap aside, but its shoulder caught her. Knocked off-balance, Janna staggered and fell. ‘Help!’ she screamed.

  A man burst out from the darkness of the forest. He paused to get his bearings. It seemed to Janna that the moment stretched to an eternity. Why didn’t he come after the boar; why didn’t he help her? Terrified, she lay helpless among the grass and weeds, waiting for the boar to trample and gore her to death.

  She could hear its angry squeals as it turned, hear the crunch and crackle of leaves and twigs under its feet. Suddenly it erupted into the moonlit clearing. It was coming at her, coming at speed. She heard a grunting cough. The boar staggered, but its momentum carried it on towards her. Janna shrank back in a last desperate effort to keep out of its way. It kept on coming, closer and closer, but she could see now that something was desperately wrong. As it reached her, it skewed sideways then tottered and crashed to the ground. Speechless, Janna’s gaze moved from it to the man racing towards her. He was coiling a sling as he came. Janna noticed the glint of a blade as he fumbled at his belt.

  Realising at last that she was safe, Janna picked up her fallen torch and scrambled to her feet. The man’s voice had sounded familiar. Who was he? She held the torch aloft so that she could see the face of her saviour.

  GODRIC! A GREAT smile spread over Janna’s face as she recognised him. She was so happy to see him, she could have kissed him. But she had no chance to embarrass either herself or him, for he’d made straight for the fallen animal. He kicked it, and the boar shifted and tried to struggle to its feet.

  ‘Don’t!’ Janna reached out a hand to stop him. Although upset and hurting, she knew that the creature had acted only according to the rules of nature, obeying its instinct for survival. She shuddered as she looked down at the great hairy beast.

  ‘It’s a wild pig, not a relative.’ Godric leaned over the boar. His arm rose and, with a swift movement, he slit its throat. Blood spurted. Janna jerked back with a cry of horror.

  Godric wiped his knife clean on a patch of moss, then sheathed it at his waist. ‘I had no true aim in the dark,’ he explained. ‘I had to see if I’d killed it or if it was still conscious. It was lucky I managed to strike it hard enough to stop its charge.’

  ‘You didn’t have to kill it!’

  ‘Yes, I did. It was ready to get up and go for us again. My knife would have been no defence against it at all.’

  Speechless with shock, Janna could only nod in understanding.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Godric placed a steadying arm around her shoulders.

  ‘It knocked my breath from my body, but it didn’t hurt me.’ She leaned against him briefly, grateful for his warmth, his solid comfort. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘You’ve saved my life tonight.’

  ‘What are you doing out in the forest so late?’ he asked.

  ‘Gathering strawberries.’ Janna touched the purse hanging from her belt. She’d fallen backwards. Hopefully the fruit hadn’t been crushed when she fell. ‘What about you? Why are you here?’

  ‘Unlike you, I have permission from both my lord Robert and the abbess to come into the forest.’ His laughing eyes belied his tone of reproof.

  ‘How so?’ Janna asked, intrigued that a common villein like Godric, tied as he was to the lord of Babestoche Manor, should be given the freedom to roam about in a royal hunting forest.

  ‘I’ve been leading lost souls.’ Seeing Janna’s frown of puzzlement, Godric grinned. ‘Today I escorted a group of pilgrims from Wiltune Abbey on their way to Glastingberie,’ he explained. ‘There’s an ancient road built by the Romans that crosses the full length of the forest from east to west, but it’s visible only to those who know that it’s there. If the forester is about some other business, I am often asked to lead travellers through the forest to save them from getting lost.’

  ‘How do you know about the Roman road?’ Janna asked curiously.

  ‘My forefathers were huntsmen here at the time of the Saxons. Their knowledge has been passed down from father to son, through many generations. So shall I pass on the knowledge to my sons, and I’ll show them too, when it’s time.’ Godric nodded to himself, confirming his intention.

  ‘So you acted as a guide today. What about tonight?’ Janna searched the surrounding forest for signs of the pilgrims, but could see no-one.

  Godric laughed. ‘I’m still on my way home, should ill luck bring the forester my way.’

  ‘The knife is for your protection, of course.’ Janna indicated the sheath hanging from his belt.

  ‘Of course. He gestured around the forest. ‘I might meet outlaws, wolves, wild boar or even young damsels in need of protection.’

  ‘You might also have to protect yourself against a savage rabbit or two,’ Janna ventured.

  Godric’s mouth twitched. ‘That’s certainly possible.’

  He must have abandoned his catch to come to her rescue, Janna thought, feeling sorry that he’d lost his dinner on her account. She stared down at the beast that had so frightened her. Its legs were coated black with mud and dung, and so was its nose from a lifetime of rooting about for its food. It stank, and yet Janna couldn’t help feeling a pang of pity – and then fear as she realised the consequences of their night’s work.

  ‘What are we going to do with it?’ she asked, pointing at the dead boar.

  ‘
I can think of several things.’ Godric licked his lips in hungry anticipation. ‘Collops of bacon. Chops. A leg roasted on a spit …’

  ‘Have you taken leave of your wits?’ Suddenly becoming conscious of the noise they were making and the need for secrecy, Janna lowered her voice as she continued. ‘The forester will be told you’ve been in Gravelinges today. You’d be caught with blood on your hands, and brought before the forest court. You could lose your hands, your eyes, possibly even your life! You know how harsh the laws are. Oh, Godric, I fear that I have put you in far more danger than I ever was.’

  Godric frowned. ‘Then we’ll leave the body here for the creatures of the forest to pick the flesh off its bones,’ he said regretfully, after a moment’s reflection.

  ‘We can’t,’ Janna contradicted firmly. ‘If the forester comes this way and spies it, he’ll suspect you, he’ll make you the scapegoat. We have to bury the boar, Godric. We can’t trust the forest to keep our secret safe.’

  ‘I’d much rather eat it than bury it,’ Godric grumbled.

  ‘Eat it, and we could be burying you!’ Janna retorted.

  Godric heaved a sigh, and bent to take hold of the beast’s front legs. He began to drag it towards an overgrown thicket. ‘I have only my knife to dig with,’ he said, looking over his shoulder at Janna. ‘We need to find a place where the soil is moist and the growth thick enough to hide the evidence.’

  Janna nodded in understanding. Lifting her torch higher to cast a better light, she led Godric into the darkness under the trees.

  She knelt beside him and helped him dig the grave, using a stout stick and her bare hands as tools. A silence fell between them as they concentrated on their task, yet Janna was acutely conscious of his presence beside her. She recalled her mother’s teasing words, and her cheeks burned. If Godric had taken a fancy to her, it would be true to say that she had also found him worth looking at. She stole a quick glance. How old was Godric? Seventeen, maybe eighteen. Not much older than her, anyway.