About Day of Judgment: The Janna Chronicles 6
Love, revenge, secrets – and murder – in a medieval kingdom at war.
Janna and her father are finally reconciled, but she realizes that she poses a threat to her father’s family when there’s an attempt on her life. Unwilling to name the culprit, but with a secret plan, Janna accompanies her father to Oxeneford where the Empress Matilda is under siege from King Stephen. Janna finally tells her father the truth about her mother’s death, trusting that he will help her bring the murderer to justice. To her dismay, her father asks the king to negotiate a prestigious marriage for her. When the man she truly loves is accused of murder, Janna has one last crime to solve – until the siege of Wiltune turns her life upside down and changes everything.
Contents
About Day of Judgment: The Janna Chronicles 6
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Epilogue
Glossary
Author’s Note
About Felicity Pulman
Also by Felicity Pulman
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The herb properties and herbal remedies detailed herein are based on ancient folk practice and should not under any circumstances be considered an actual remedy for any ailment or condition.
Prologue
“My lady, come quickly!”
Matilda, half dozing beside the fire, came to herself with a start at her tiring woman’s urgent tone. “What is it, Margery?”
“A messenger’s arrived with news that King Stephen has crossed the river along with his army. They’re laying siege to the town!” The tiring woman was already unfastening and throwing open the shutters.
Alarmed, the empress sprang to her feet and rushed to the window. Just one look was enough. She rubbed her arms in an effort to bring warmth, but her gesture was absent-minded, reflecting not the evening air but the chill that had settled upon her heart. What lay beyond the castle walls spelled her doom, she had no doubt of that. She rubbed her eyes then looked more carefully at the scene outside, wondering if, despite appearances, escape might still be possible.
Oxeneford Castle had been her refuge throughout most of the year. She had thought herself safe after her ignominious defeat and narrow escape from the bishop’s troops, and the queen’s, following the siege of Winchestre. Not that she’d been idle; quite the contrary. Determined to shore up support among those barons who wavered in their allegiance, and with lands that were in her gift to bestow, she’d spent most of this year of our Lord, 1142, buying their loyalty in a last desperate effort to wrest the crown from her cousin. And where were those barons, now that their presence had become crucial to her survival? Gone! Her half-brother Robert, leader of her army and her most loyal supporter, had charged them to stay and protect her, but, one by one, they had melted away like snow in spring, intent on securing their new properties and poaching what they could elsewhere. Their defection had left the empress almost unguarded and extremely vulnerable.
She should have foreseen that Stephen would seize his chance and act to silence her once and for all. As now he had. The red glow in the sky testified that Oxeneford was under siege, the smoky air a manifestation that the town had been set alight, while the activity outside the castle walls and moat confirmed that the king’s troops had converged on the castle and were already moving into position around it.
“What are we to do, my lady?” Margery’s anxious query was echoed in Matilda’s heart, which was heavy and full of foreboding. She had thought Oxeneford Castle impregnable – and so it was. But once the king’s troops had finished besieging the city, they would make an attempt on the castle. And then what?
Matilda knew, well enough, that if an army couldn’t get into a castle by force there were other tricks to try. All that was needed was cunning, and patience. She felt a faint flicker of hope. Stephen was not known for his patience, had more than once thrown away the promise of victory by leaving a siege too soon, lured away by a more promising conquest elsewhere.
But not this time – the prize was too great. Matilda gave a groan of despair, quickly stifled, for now was not the time for weakness. But she knew that the king would show no mercy once he had her in his grasp. She wished now that she’d been more kind to Stephen while she’d had him in captivity. Keeping him in irons was probably a great mistake, as was treating him like a common criminal. What revenge he would wreak on her, and on her supporters. Matilda knew it was only a matter of time before they ran out of supplies and starvation set in. It had happened once before, at Winchestre. Now it looked set to happen all over again.
“Earl Robert must surely come soon to your aid, my lady?” Margery asked hopefully. “And if your husband accompanies him, they’ll bring troops from Normandy and Anjou to join your supporters here in England. Combined, our army will be more than a match for the king.”
Matilda shook her head, bleakly dismissing the possibility. “I recently had word that the king has taken Wareham, and was busy laying siege to other ports. I sent word to my husband and half-brother, begging them not to delay, but the ports will be barred against them by now. They’ll find it difficult to land anywhere in England.”
It was Geoffrey’s fault that Robert wasn’t here to protect her, Matilda thought bitterly. Her fingers curled into fists at the memory of her husband’s insistence that Robert must first join him in Normandy to secure the region before he would bring troops over to England to support her bid for the crown. For some months Matilda had expected Robert’s return with Geoffrey, but every time her half-brother made plans to come home, her treacherous husband had found yet another pretext for keeping him in Normandy. And now it was too late, and she was trapped.
Damn Geoffrey! And damn her father too. She had raged against marrying the young Geoffrey of Anjou but her father had been implacable, seeing the joining of England with Normandy and Anjou as a mighty alliance against France. All very well for her father, but Matilda was the one who’d had to put up with Geoffrey’s juvenile ways, and his womanizing. Right from the start, her marriage had brought her nothing but heartache and trouble, for all that they’d made three sons together.
Matilda’s mouth softened into a proud smile as she thought of her eldest son, named after his grandfather, Henry. So strong and fearless; so bright – and so used to getting his own way! Even though he was only nine, he already had the makings of a king. It was this promise she’d been using to buy the support of the barons: that she would take the reins only until Henry was old enough to rule in his own right. Matilda’s hands clenched tighter as the reality of her situation became blindingly clear. Unless she could find a way out of this coil, her son would never be king. Like his mother, he would be denied the throne that was his by birthright. And if Stephen had anything to do with it, she’d never see Henry again. Not if she was kept imprisoned, sent into exile…Her heart cracked at the thought.
No use looking to Geoffrey for help, even though his son’s future was also in jeopardy. No use holding out hope that Robert might save her either. Matilda closed the shutters with a decisive bang, blocking out the smoke and the sight of the burning town.
She sank back into her seat, fighting the anger and despair that threatened to engulf her. Unaccustomed tears came into her eyes but she dashed them away. She could not allow herself the luxury of tears – not now, not when there was so much at stake.
“Is there anyone else you could call on, my lady?”
There was the ever-faithful Brian fitz Count, but Matilda really needed someone with a connection to Normandy, someone able to take an urgent message to Robert. Someone she could trust not to betray her to Stephen.
A brief reckoning of those barons whom Robert had left with her but who had subsequently crept off home was enough to convince her that she could not look for help from any of them. In truth, they might already have turned to Stephen and be negotiating with him for land and favors. There was no-one with the authority to do what was necessary.
Matilda sat up straight, trying to recollect one of the rumors she had heard. Another of her half-brothers had recently arrived in England, one of her father’s many bastards. John? John lived in Normandy, but apparently he had come to England to oversee the rebuilding of his house in Winchestre. She hadn’t seen him since childhood. Would John support her against the king and his brother Henry, Bishop of Winchestre, given that the bishop’s own firebrands had burned his property to the ground?
The brief lift in her spirits was quickly dashed as she recalled what else her informant had told her: that her half-brother was currently residing with the bishop at Wolvesey Palace, along with his wife and children. Matilda narrowed her eyes as she tried to recall some scandal attached to that. Something about an unknown daughter from a previous marriage who had appeared from nowhere, and announced herself to John.
She brushed the thought of it aside. Her life, and the safety of her retinue, was at stake. She had more to worry about than raking up old tittle-tattle that had nothing to do with the more important question: Would John help her? It was just possible that he was staying with his cousin, the bishop, simply because there was nowhere else for him to stay. Henry’s firebrands had laid waste to much of the town, including the royal castle. How could she find out where John’s loyalty lay, and whether he was willing to take her side? Having made his home in Normandy, he could be a great asset to her cause, for he would surely want to ally himself with her husband, who was gradually bringing all Normandy under his aegis, with Robert’s help. More, John would know who might or might not be trusted there. He would also know the best and quickest way to get word to Robert and Geoffrey.
“It’s possible there may be someone,” she said slowly. “A slight chance, no more.” She smiled at her tiring woman, hoping to bolster her own flagging spirits. “The problem is how to get a message out of the castle and through the king’s lines.”
“I know someone who might be able to do that, my lady.” Margery hesitated. “I know how a message might be passed.”
“Oh?” Matilda inclined her head.
Margery shifted nervously. “One of the grooms has a leman living outside the castle. He sometimes visits her at night. After curfew.” She didn’t have to say any more for Matilda to understand her. There were guards on duty night and day, both to authorize anyone leaving the castle and also to prevent any unwelcome intruders. After curfew there was no movement between castle and town, by order of the empress, to ensure her safety and that of her entourage.
“There is a need to act quickly, my lady, while most of the king’s troops are still occupied with besieging the town. If you will but write a message, I will ask the groom if he can find a way past the king’s guard. He is faithful to you, my lady, I know it. It is just that he…he…”
Matilda nodded. She understood the groom’s dilemma, even while she seethed that he had disobeyed her orders so openly. Yet he might also be her salvation, if her gamble on a half-brother’s loyalty paid off.
She had to take the chance, for she was trapped. She faced starvation or surrender. For herself, she would starve rather than give in to her cousin. But that meant all those held captive in the castle would also starve – and she could not have their deaths on her conscience. That left surrender. But not yet, Matilda thought bleakly, as she sent her tiring woman to find parchment, quill and ink. She stared into the fire, conjuring up old memories of her half-brother. She remembered that she had liked John all those years ago; he had been kind to her. And she’d admired his courage when, on one occasion, Stephen had challenged him to a race and he had fallen from his horse during the course of it. He’d hurt his arm – she seemed to recall that he might even have broken it – but he’d got back on his horse and finished the race, albeit well behind his older cousin. And now she was about to put her safety into his hands.
Matilda knew she had no other choice but to trust him to get word to Robert and to carry out Robert’s instructions. If a miracle was possible, then she would pray for it, pray with all her heart and soul.
Chapter 1
“We should return to the palace, my lady. It’s almost time for dinner.” The young groom’s tentative suggestion was born out by the sound of bells from the cathedral. With a regretful sigh, Janna turned her mount in the direction of the town and her new, if temporary home: Wolvesey Palace, residence of Henry of Blois, Bishop of Winchestre and brother of King Stephen.
Riding was only one of the new skills Janna was trying to master. As her fear of horses had subsided, she’d come to enjoy the freedom of riding out with the bishop’s new groom and her two half-sisters and half-brother. Her father’s gift of a beautiful bay palfrey had helped her to gain confidence, as had the careful tuition of Thomas, the groom. But, more than anything, Janna cherished her time out on the downs as a chance to escape the close and hostile scrutiny of her new stepmother.
As they began the journey homeward, Janna watched Richildis, Rosy and Giles riding ahead of her. As usual, they were ignoring her presence, though they seemed to have little liking for the company of each other either. Giles, the second born, was always intent on proving his superior skills and speed. Of course, it helped that he’d been in the saddle since he was old enough to learn how to ride, whereas Janna still had the uncomfortable notion that if her horse went too fast she would slide right off its back. It also helped that Giles was fearless. His latest game was to use his skill to unnerve and unsettle her, his tactic being to speed on ahead, whirl abruptly, and then thunder back to the riding party, frightening everyone as he sped straight at them. The fact that he tried to unseat Janna by brushing too close as he swept past hadn’t escaped Janna’s notice, or the groom’s either. But neither said anything, for it was already well established that, in his mother’s eyes, Giles could do no wrong, and that any attempt to curb his behavior would result in trouble – although never for him. Even his sisters had learned not to say anything against him, perhaps in relief that he now left them alone and tormented Janna instead.
Janna’s gaze rested thoughtfully on Richildis, eldest of her father’s children with her stepmother, Blanche. Even though Richildis treated her with cold disdain, she found it in her heart to feel pity for the girl who was thirteen summers and growing out of childishness into maturity, growing up beautiful, much to her mother’s dismay. Janna wondered if part of Blanche’s hostility toward her daughter was because she resembled her father’s side of the family, just as Janna herself did. True, Richildis had the dark hair of the Normans, while Janna had inherited her mother’s fair tresses, but in fact Richildis was closer in looks to Janna than to her own younger sister, Rosy.
Blanche’s acid tongue wagged constantly about Janna’s lack of a suitable husband, comparing her dismal prospects with those awaiting her own daughters. “Eat your food like a lady, don’t gorge like a peasant, Richildis,” she’d sneer, with a meaningful look in Janna’s direction. “You don’t want to end up unloved and unwed like your half-sister.”
Janna kept her own thoughts on the matter to herself. She had no desire to take a husband of her father’s choosing, but she knew it would be folly even to mention the name of the man she loved. So she kept quiet in the face of Blanche’s taunts, letting them pass over her head while trying not to let them ruffle her heart. Meanwhile, she watched Richildis at mealtimes, and saw how the girl had begun to pick at her food, or push
her plate away, all the while watching her mother in hope of praise for her dainty appetite. But Blanche’s attention was usually focused on the little whippet that was her constant companion, tempting him with morsels from her trencher or, alternatively, offering her son the choicest portions from the serving platter, “so that you might grow up big and strong, like your father.” If she noticed her unfortunate daughter at all, it was only to purse her mouth and tut her disapproval. And yet Richildis followed her everywhere, doing whatever she could to win her mother’s praise and trying to mimic her in every regard. Only when out riding was she free from her mother’s influence.
But the fresh air and exercise weren’t doing her much good, Janna reflected, as she noted how pale the girl was, and how listlessly she sat upon her mount. Partly as an effort to befriend Richildis, and partly because she was worried about her, Janna had tried to compliment her on her looks, and for her accomplishments, but Richildis had made it clear she set no value on Janna’s opinion, so after a while Janna had stopped trying.
Her frown of concern relaxed into a smile as her gaze rested on Rosy, who was riding slightly ahead of her sister on her fat little pony. Her real name was Rohesia. She was the only one of her father’s children to show any friendliness toward Janna, and then only if the other members of the family weren’t around to witness it. She was a chubby, merry child, full of enthusiasm and high spirits. Janna wondered how long it would be before Blanche managed to squash the life out of her youngest child as well. At the thought, Janna sat straighter in the saddle and made a silent vow. Blanche could do what she would, try whatever tricks she could, but Janna would not allow herself to be intimidated by her stepmother. She knew Blanche wouldn’t relent. Her hatred and fear of this cuckoo in her nest was manifest in her every word and deed, even if she kept it well hidden when Janna’s father was around.
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