Blood Oath: The Janna Chronicles 1

by Felicity Pulman

  “I asked you to wait for me until my business with the priest was done so that I might escort you back to the manor,” he said courteously.

  “I…I thought a walk in the fresh air might revive my spirits, sire.”

  “But you are still ailing. Why do you not rest?” There was sympathy in Hugh’s eyes as he surveyed the tiring woman.

  “I had long enough to rest yesterday morning.” Cecily looked down at her muddy shoes rather than meet his eye.

  “Yet you did not rest,” Hugh observed drily. “Dame Alice said you were gone from the manor all morning. She’s worried about you, particularly as you looked so ill on your return. When she realized you had come out again today, she sent this palfrey to me with a messenger. She has asked me to ride home with you.”

  “Dame Alice is kind to think of me.” Cecily looked stricken. Her face was so white, Janna thought she might swoon.

  Hugh led the palfrey to a post nearby. Janna tried to suppress a flash of jealousy as she noticed the care he took while helping Cecily to mount. Did his hand linger unnecessarily on the lady’s waist? He held the leading rein all the while, gentling the palfrey so that it would not startle and upset Cecily. Their journey back to the manor would be slow and decorous, utterly unlike the wild ride Janna had shared with the groom. She felt a flash of resentment over the lack of respect shown to her, but knew, had she been given a mount of her own, she would not have been able to ride it. She and the groom had been racing against time. When death awaited there were far more urgent considerations than the chance exposure of a lady’s ankle or leg.

  A lady! Janna made a disgusted noise in her throat. Truly she was reaching far above herself with these thoughts. All the same, she found it hard to smother a pang of envy as she watched how solicitously Hugh settled the young woman into the saddle.

  “God be with you, Johanna,” he said, and mounted his own horse. Slowly, they rode away.

  Janna stayed still, watching them depart, her head crammed with questions. Cecily’s description of her mother’s symptoms had dispelled any doubts as to the poison her mother had ingested. Aconite was fast-acting. Janna knew that from what her mother had told her when warning her about the properties of various poisonous plants. So whatever Cecily believed, her mother must have had some refreshment on her arrival at the manor as well as the water she had accepted.

  A thought stopped Janna: If her mother had taken only a little of the aconite in something well flavored, there might not have been enough in the taste to warn her, while a tiny amount of poison might take some hours to wreak its damage. If that was so, Eadgyth could have taken the poison even before she arrived at the manor house. Who then might have given it to her?

  Janna frowned as she sifted through various possibilities. It was true Eadgyth had exposed Fulk as a charlatan and that he would have access to monkshood, but Janna now knew her mother was treated with suspicion by more people than the apothecary. She would have to cast her net more widely to encompass everyone her mother might have met on that last fateful morning of her life. She would start with her mother’s mysterious visitor. Who was she? Certainly not one of the villagers. A lady, her mother had said. Up until yesterday they’d known no-one like that.

  Janna stood stock-still, pondering who she might be. The woman visiting her mother had insisted on secrecy. Cecily had just revealed that she knew it was a long walk from their cot to Babestoche Manor, and also that Eadgyth’s skill with women’s troubles was known to the household. More, it seemed that she’d tried to fool everyone at the manor into thinking she was resting when, in fact, she’d gone out without telling anyone. If Cecily had visited her mother yesterday morning in a desperate attempt to get out of trouble, it could explain why, in return, she’d tried to look after Eadgyth in the last moments of her suffering, and why she’d come out to see her buried today. It would also explain why she looked so distressed and ill.

  Janna decided she must find out from Cecily if she, or anyone else, had shared food or a drink with her mother. Someone must know something, and Janna vowed she would not rest until she had discovered it.

  She set off to climb the downs toward the forest and home, but a hoarse shout stopped her before she’d taken more than a few steps. Turning, she found herself confronted by the miller’s wife. Hilde’s face was flushed dark red; her eyes were bright with anger as she waddled up to Janna.

  “Whore!” she spat. “Ill-gotten harlot! Taking a man to your bed even while your mother was breathing her last!”

  “What?” Janna felt like she had been slapped.

  “I suppose you thought you were safe to do as you pleased, with your mother out of the way dispensing her potions and poisons up at the manor?”

  “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Janna didn’t know how to defend herself against Hilde’s wrath, but she couldn’t let the smear against her mother’s name go unchallenged. “My mother was working no poison up at the manor. She was helping to save the life of Dame Alice and her newborn son.”

  “Then how did she come to poison herself at the same time?” Hilde’s eyes twinkled bright with malicious glee.

  “She did not poison herself. She did not!”

  But Hilde was no longer listening. She began to scratch at the rash of sores on her arm, unaware that she was drawing blood. “You leave my husband alone!” she spat. “He told me he was going out to check his eel traps last night and he didn’t come home. I know he was with you and I’m warning you, you will join your mother in her grave if he visits you again.”

  “But…but I haven’t seen your husband!” Janna remembered the scene at the mill, the scene the miller’s wife had witnessed. “Well, I saw him when I went to fetch the bag of flour, but his actions were none of my doing.”

  “I don’t believe a word of it! I saw you talking to him, leading him on. You invited him to come to you in the night, did you not?”

  “No!” Janna was disgusted by the very thought of it. “If he was gone from your bed, mistress, I assure you he was not in mine! You must look elsewhere for someone to blame for his roving ways. Perhaps, indeed, you should ask your husband for an explanation!”

  Hilde’s hand, bloodied from scratching at her arm, moved down to her bulging stomach. She touched its rounded contours with soft fingers. Janna felt a twinge of pity, until she caught Hilde’s expression. Stony and unforgiving, her glance raked over Janna.

  “I saw you in his arms. I saw you kiss him!”

  “He kissed me—and I kicked him in the bollocks in return!” Janna felt sick, poisoned by the woman’s suspicion.

  Hilde looked momentarily nonplussed. Then she gave a snort of disbelief. “I am warning you, miss. Do not entice my husband to your bed again.” She pulled a small knife from the purse at her girdle, and brandished it in Janna’s face. The blade glinted bright in the sunlight. “Tempt him again and it’ll be your turn to feel how sharp this is!”

  Janna blinked. Before she could respond, Hilde had shouldered her aside and lumbered back down the lane. Janna looked after her, shocked and upset by the unexpected confrontation. That the woman was unbalanced was obvious, yet her mother had told her it was not unknown for pregnant women to become unsettled and to take odd fancies. It was certainly true that the miller gave Hilde good cause to worry and fret. She resolved to keep out of Hilde’s way in future.

  As Janna walked on, she made an effort to dispel her disquiet by thinking back to the conversations she’d had with Aldith, Cecily and Hugh. Aldith had told her something of her father, but nothing that had shed any light on who had killed her mother. True, she had warned Janna about Fulk, but Janna already had her own suspicions about him. Posturing turnip head that he was, even Fulk would know about the poisonous properties of aconite. Everyone knew, although they might call the plant by another name.

  Janna considered the midwife’s position. She held a grudge against Eadgyth, that much had become clear. She also had much to gain from her death. Could the midwife b
e as blameless as she appeared? Janna had been so intent on learning what Aldith knew about her father that she’d neglected to question her about her own movements on the day of Eadgyth’s death. At the very least, she should find out when Aldith had last seen her mother.

  As Janna began to climb the grassy downs, she stared up at the great blue canopy over her head. God’s realm, where truth and justice must surely prevail. It was comforting to think that someone watched over her, that someone cared what happened to her. She had a Father in heaven. She might also have a father right here on earth.

  It was like an itch that wouldn’t go away, this mystery of her father. To know so little was frustrating beyond belief. Yet already she knew far more than she’d ever known before. Why had her mother been so secretive? Because she felt shame? Because she could not bear to talk about the man she loved? Would her mother have honored her promise to tell Janna the truth, or had she learned more from Aldith than her mother might ever have confessed? The questions kept coming, questions without answer. She could not set her thoughts free.

  Sad that she’d never been given the chance to know her father, or even to understand her mother, Janna entered her empty, silent home.

  There were still vegetables left from the night before, the dinner her mother never came home to eat. Although tempted to throw them out, Janna put them in the pot, then hung it over the fire to heat for her dinner later. They were far too good to give to the goats. Instead, she cut some nettles and brambles from the edge of the forest, and grabbed up a handful of grain for the hens. “Nellie! Gruff!” she called, and the goats bleated and ambled toward her, ready to be milked and fed. The hens came running too. Janna waited until they were all busy eating before she produced an extra morsel for Laet, who always came last in the race for food. “It’s a hard life,” she told the small, scrawny hen. “You’ve got to fight if you want to survive.” It was advice she herself should heed, she thought, as she trudged back to the cottage to fetch a pail.

  The row of bee skeps under their woven covers brought a pang of remorse as Janna recollected how she’d stomped past them before, and had even tried to smack down a passing bee. Now she stopped beside them to make amends. “I need to tell you what’s happened.”

  There was a relief in talking about it, she found. The bees were coming back to the hive; their murmurous buzzing soothed Janna as she poured out her misery. “I’ve sworn an oath,” she confided. “I shall not rest until I find out where the poison came from and I’ve brought the person responsible to justice.”

  She needed first to work out who would want her mother dead, and who’d had the opportunity to translate desire into action. If she could fathom that, it should lead her to the identity of the killer. “I’m sure it’s Fulk,” she told the bees. “He has the knowledge, and I know he hated and resented my mother. I just need to find out if or when he had the chance to act against her. But Cecily hasn’t told me all she knows. I shall talk to her again, even threaten her with telling her secret, if necessary.” The bees hummed quietly about her. “There’s also Aldith,” Janna continued. “She’ll know about monkshood. I like her, but my mother’s death will certainly be to her benefit. I must find out when they last met.”

  The priest, Janna thought suddenly. He, too, had been at the manor house. He, too, wished her mother ill. Could a priest know such hatred that he would break God’s law and kill someone he thought of as evil, even if it was done in the name of Christ? It was a disturbing thought, made more pressing by Janna’s sudden memory of the market place in Wiltune. She’d seen the priest swooping about like the carrion crow he was. Had he been listening when the merchant spoke of the healing effects of his rubbing oil? As a priest, he would have an understanding of Latin and so would be able to identify the plant in question. By the end of the merchant’s sales pitch, he would also know how dangerous it was. If he could overcome his scruples, he certainly had the knowledge and possibly also the opportunity to act. “I also need to question the priest,” she told the bees.

  Once inside, after milking the goats, she put the hot vegetables onto a griddle cake, and sat down to eat. There was no Alfred to share her meal this night. Janna felt immensely sad and immensely lonely as she took off her kirtle and lay down on the pallet to sleep. She missed the presence of her mother beside her, and the warm bulk of Alfred at her feet. Tears pricked her eyes, and she gave a forlorn sniffle. Knowing she had a plan for action brought her some comfort, and helped to settle the questions that tumbled endlessly through her mind. Instead of lying awake all night, as she had supposed she would, exhaustion claimed her and she fell into a deep and healing sleep.

  Chapter 9

  Janna woke late the next morning to find the sun already high in the sky. Her long sleep had refreshed her, so that although she felt lonely as she went about her morning chores, she also saw that this was how things were going to be from now on, and that, in time, she would get used to it.

  She found herself humming the tune she’d heard her mother singing, and stopped. For some reason she felt as if it were forbidden, even though Eadgyth was not there to censure her.

  She walked outside with an armful of feed for the animals. Their pen was getting somewhat smelly, she noted, as she looked about at the mounds of excrement. She dumped the greens in a corner to entice the goats and hens out of her way then, with a sigh, she took up a spade to shovel the mundungus out and over the garden.

  “Dirt and disease go together,” Eadgyth had said, when Janna had once questioned why their animals were not brought into the cottage at night for safety, as was common practice. “The fence protects the animals; that is why I made it: to close them in. And their waste can be spread among the plants to help them grow, instead of fouling the rushes on our floor and making us both ill.” The sound of Eadgyth’s voice in her mind brought tears once more. Janna blinked hard, and kept on digging.

  Once done, she came back into the cottage and washed her hands. She would have to do the work of two if she wanted to survive. She would need goods to trade for other necessities as well as for some of the foodstuffs that she was unable to provide for herself. Even with her mother by her side, they had often gone hungry. Janna felt a twisting knot of fear in her stomach. She had the coins from her sales at Wiltune market, but there were no lotions or potions left to sell; she would have to create more. In addition, she needed to think about Aldith’s offer, although she would not commit herself to anything until she could be sure of the midwife’s innocence. And in the meantime she should put the word about that she was able to physic the villagers just as her mother had always done.

  It wasn’t quite true, and Janna felt a flash of anger toward her mother. Then she shrugged. It was the way it was, and she would just have to make the best of it. She had her mother’s knowledge. It was only a matter of time before she gained her experience.

  The sound of galloping hooves alerted Janna to a horseman approaching the cottage. She opened the door and stepped out into the sunlight, recognizing the big black destrier and its rider.

  “Johanna.”

  “Sire.” She smiled up at Hugh and bobbed a small curtsy. He led a palfrey on a rein behind him, the same palfrey he’d brought for Cecily to ride.

  “I am pleased to find you at home,” he said, and hurriedly dismounted. “Dame Alice is distraught. The baby has taken a turn for the worse and is like to die at any moment. Robert has sent for the priest, but Alice won’t give up the babe, not yet. She begs you to come with me and do what you may to save him.” Even as he spoke, he planted his hands around Janna’s waist, ready to hoist her on to the palfrey’s back.

  Janna panicked. “I-I can’t…I don’t know how to ride,” she stammered.

  “I should have thought of that.” Hugh kept his hand on Janna’s waist as he pulled the destrier to him. “You can ride with me.” Before Janna had time to protest, he hoisted her up. She landed awkwardly, her legs straddling the beast’s back.

  She felt a flash of res
entment that she had no say in the matter, that in spite of all the tasks she must do to ensure her survival, she was expected instantly to abandon them and do as she was bid. Her protest was silenced by the urgency of Hugh’s message.

  “What ails the infant?” she asked instead, trying all the while to pull down her kirtle. Once again it had bunched up over her knees. She was aware of Hugh’s appreciative glance at her legs as she tried in vain to cover them. In spite of the gravity of the situation, Hugh’s eyes twinkled as he watched her endeavors.

  “I know not. Dame Alice trusted your mother’s knowledge, and hopes that she has taught you enough to save the child.” He quickly tied the palfrey to a nearby tree, then pulled himself up in front of her. He turned the destrier and kicked it into a gallop.

  As the full enormity of Hugh’s words sank in, Janna subsided into a frightened silence. She was expected to save the baby’s life, but she no longer had her mother’s knowledge and expertise to draw on. If the child died, she alone would be held responsible.

  This last thought tightened her grip on Hugh. Sensing the pressure, and perhaps seeking to reassure her, he turned his head to speak to her over his shoulder. “The baby has been baptized, and the priest now counsels Dame Alice that it will be God’s will if the child should die. But Alice won’t hear of it. She has had such ill luck since the birth of her first little boy. She had thought, having brought this child to term and borne him alive, that he would thrive. Will you be able to save him, Johanna?”

  “No! I don’t know how!” It was a cry from the heart, but even as she uttered her fear aloud, Janna knew that she could not give up so easily, not if she meant to honor her mother’s name. Besides, if she could save the child, surely it would still the clattering tongues that spoke of poison and devils and such. “But I’ll try. I’ll do my best!” she said loudly, to contradict her denial. And then, as honesty prevailed, she muttered, “But only if I can tell for myself what is wrong with him.” She tried to collect her frightened thoughts. Should she ask Hugh to turn around and go back to the cottage? What might she need to save the baby’s life?