Day of Judgment: The Janna Chronicles 6

by Felicity Pulman

  Janna looked around for any sign of a garden, but Rosy was more practical. “The kitchen’s over there,” she said, tugging on Janna’s hand. “Let’s ask the cook where the garden is.”

  “We may need to go beyond the moat,” Janna said.

  But Rosy shook her head. “He’ll have his vegetables close at hand.”

  Janna acknowledged the sense of Rosy’s observation and said no more until they entered the large kitchen. It was hot and stuffy, the air carrying the rich scent of roasting meats and fish. Janna looked about for the cook, determined to question him before she went out on a quest that she knew might well prove futile at this time of the year. At the sight of the two girls, the bustle stopped and the noise ceased. Everyone turned to stare and Janna wondered if, yet again, she’d broken some unknown rule by coming in here. Too late to worry about that now, she thought, as her gaze flitted over the boy turning the spit in one of the huge fireplaces, past a man plucking a goose and a young boy dicing vegetables, searching for someone who looked to be overseeing this frenzy of activity.

  The decision was taken out of her hands when an older man waddled forward, wiping his hands down an apron to clean them and bobbing his head in obeisance as he came. “May I be of some assistance, my lady?” he asked.

  Janna hesitated, wondering how to phrase her question. “We very much enjoy the fare you provide for us,” she began. “But I wondered if there was some shortage of herbs and spices, for the food is so very…bland.” She could think of no way of phrasing her description other than “tasteless,” which sounded even worse.

  The man drew himself up, deeply offended. “I have express orders from Bishop Henry himself that the food must not be spiced. He has a weak stomach and is used to plain fare.”

  “But Bishop Henry is not presently in residence,” Janna pointed out. “Surely you can be a little more…adventurous with your seasoning in his absence?”

  The cook considered her request. “I suppose I might,” he said grudgingly, “if there were herbs and spices available to do so. But there are not. I’m afraid I cannot help you, my lady.” He gave her a triumphant smile and turned away, obviously pleased to have bested her.

  “You dismiss me too quickly,” Janna said sharply, unwilling to give up her quest just yet. “Show me where your kitchen garden is, if you please.”

  The cook’s eyes widened, but he did not dare to refuse her request. As Rosy had predicted, he led them to a garden close by. There was little growing there at this time of the year. Janna knew that just about everything, including herbs, vegetables and fruit, would have been picked and carefully dried or preserved with salt, vinegar or honey, depending on what sort of foodstuff it was. Nevertheless, she traversed the garden, looking for signs of any living thing that might add zest to their daily fare. Her sharp eyes noted a small patch set to one side. A cursory inspection revealed the wintry appearance of herbs, no doubt of use in medicaments if not to enhance the bishop’s meals.

  She leaned over for a more careful examination, followed by the obedient and now deeply curious Rosy.

  “What are you looking for, Johanna?”

  “Some herbs for the cook to use in the kitchen. That food is so tasteless I’m not surprised your sister won’t eat it.”

  “She won’t eat because Maman doesn’t like her to stuff herself,” Rosy said matter-of-factly. Janna was surprised how sharp she was, and felt some relief that the younger girl might not be so easily squashed as her elder sister.

  “If she doesn’t eat, she’ll become ill,” Janna said carefully. “Ah!” She pounced on a creeping plant with little leaves. With the small knife she carried in her purse, she carefully snipped off a few sprigs.

  “What’s that?” Rosy dropped to her knees to have a closer look.

  “It’s called thyme. I see we’re having goose tonight and this will help to flavor the sauce.” Janna kept searching along the length of the garden bed, seeking any plants that still survived the cold. “And some winter savory,” she said, nipping off several leaves. Rosy picked a leaf of her own, crushed it between her fingers and gave a tentative sniff. With a nervous glance at Janna, she put it in her mouth. Janna laughed as she quickly spat it out again. “It’s peppery,” she agreed. “Only a little is needed for a sauce. It’ll do nicely for the fish.”

  “How do you know about all these plants?”

  “My mother was a healer. She taught me all about different plants and herbs and how they could make people well again. She also knew what to use to flavor food and ale, and other helpful things like that.”

  “She used to heal people and make them well?” Rosy’s eyes grew round with wonder.

  “Yes.” Janna felt proud of her mother and of the skills that had been passed on to her. “She knew the different properties of plants and how each might be used to heal the sick people who came to her for help. But we were very poor; sometimes we didn’t have much to eat, so we’d gather food in the wild. She knew which plants were edible, and what herbs we should add to make the pottage more tasty.”

  “Why were you poor? Why didn’t you have enough to eat?” Rosy’s questions served to illustrate the huge gulf between their circumstances, a gulf Janna was reluctant to explain. But the child was waiting for an answer.

  “I didn’t live in a big house like the bishop’s palace,” Janna said quietly. “My mother and I lived alone in a small cot close to a forest. We had no money, and very little land. We survived as best we could, and the villagers gave us food and – and other things in return for the help my mother gave them, and the medicaments she made to ease their ills.” To forestall any further questions, for so many painful memories already besieged her, Janna said quickly, “My mother told me a lot of other things about herbs too. Do you know that you can put thyme in your pillow so that you don’t have nightmares?”

  “I never have nightmares.”

  Rosy was lucky, Janna thought. “It’s also said that there’s always a scent of thyme wherever a murder has been committed. But it’s also an emblem of courage and it’s supposed to cure shyness.” Rosy wouldn’t need it for that purpose either! She smiled. “Something even more important,” she said solemnly, “it’s the favorite flower of the fairies. If you give them flowers of thyme they might show themselves to you.”

  Rosy held out her hand to take a sprig from Janna. “I’m going to try even if it doesn’t have any flowers,” she said. Clutching the stem with its small leaves close to her chest, she asked, “Will you teach me about herbs and healing things, Johanna?”

  Janna smiled down at her. “Of course I will,” she said, pleased that she seemed to have a new ally. She moved on slowly, pointing out what she could to Rosy. “If we’re still here next spring, I’ll be able to show you a lot more,” she promised. “There’ll be all sorts of new things growing by then, but now they’re sleeping under the earth.”

  Rosy cocked her head to one side to consider this, and nodded. “They’re alive, like us, and we need to sleep too,” she said. “But Janna, we won’t be here in the spring. Papa has promised that we shall celebrate the Christ mass in our new home, for he hopes it will be ready for us to move in by then.”

  “Our new home here? Or over the sea?” Janna asked, instantly alarmed.

  “Here, silly!” Rosy laughed at her expression. “Maman wishes we could return to Normandy now. I heard her ask Papa, but he won’t leave until he is sure the new house is finished properly, and the new steward knows enough to look after his affairs. He said he’d been burned by his last steward, but I think he meant to say his house was burned down, don’t you?”

  Janna nodded, although privately she understood exactly what her father meant. She knew his previous steward had been lazy and had probably also been careless in his administration of her father’s affairs, even if he hadn’t been actively corrupt. Certainly he was a coward, for all members of the household had fled Winchestre even before the troubles started, leaving her father’s property unprotected thr
oughout the siege. She suspected part of her father’s promise of the manor was to ensure that she would be here to keep an eye on the new steward.

  “Come with me, Rosy,” she said at last, after she rose to her feet and brushed herself down. “Come and help me tell the cook how to make a tasty sauce for the goose!”

  *

  “Aah!” Blanche’s shrill scream broke the silence that had prevailed around the dining table as the family savored the fare set in front of them. “Poison!” She clasped her chest in a dramatic fashion. “We’ve all been poisoned!” She snatched up a goblet of wine and drained it, set it down on the linen tablecloth, and sank back into her chair with a deep groan.

  Janna looked at her stepmother for explanation, for it seemed that Blanche’s accusation had been aimed directly at her. Until then, they’d all been enjoying the goose. Even Richildis, Janna was pleased to see, had been persuaded to have a few slices of breast meat with some sauce, while Blanche’s whippet, Fleur, had been gorging itself on helpings dropped from her trencher.

  “Poison, my dear?” John paused in the act of cutting another portion of goose. “But this is delicious.”

  “It’s poisoned,” Blanche said hoarsely. “Rohesia told me you’ve been searching out plants in the kitchen garden, and now I know why.” She pointed an accusing finger at Janna. “You’re not content with inheriting the manor here in Winchestre, are you? You want all of your father’s estates in Normandy too. And with us out of the way, that’s what you’ll get!”

  “That’s enough, Blanche!” John said sharply.

  “What’s this, then?” Blanche pointed at the flecks of thyme in the sauce.

  “It’s a sauce with herbs in it,” Janna said calmly. “I gave the cook instructions on how to make it, but there’s nothing in it of concern, my lady. It’s just a regular sauce, but with the addition of thyme and a few other herbs to add flavor.”

  “Thyme?” Blanche’s mouth pulled down in distaste. “Is that poisonous?”

  “Johanna says you can smell thyme at the scene of a murder,” Rosy said, proudly showing off her new knowledge.

  Blanche drew in a sharp breath. “I can smell it now,” she said, with a loud sniff.

  “And it’ll help you to see fairies,” Rosy added in the silence that followed Blanche’s pronouncement. But her mother paid no attention. She was glaring at Janna.

  “It’s a herb used to savor a dish, that’s all,” Janna said, thinking it was probably useless to try to defend herself when Blanche had already made up her mind.

  “Johanna’s mother was very skilled in the use of herbs,” John said mildly. “She has passed on her knowledge to her daughter, it seems. However, Johanna, I would prefer it if you did not confer with the servants or meddle with domestic affairs in the bishop’s kitchen. It’s not seemly.”

  Stung, but unable to defend herself further, Janna said nothing.

  Blanche shot her a triumphant glance. “I’ll be watching you very carefully in the future,” she promised, and with exaggerated care she scraped the sauce off her goose. She turned to her daughter. “Don’t eat any more, Richildis, you’ve had quite enough.”

  Seething, but giving every appearance of enjoyment, Janna smothered a piece of goose with sauce and ate it. If she’d had her way, she thought sullenly, the family might actually have relished their food for a change. She cheered up slightly as she recalled the other herbs she’d given the cook, with instructions for their use. Unless someone told him different – which was unlikely, given that no-one knew about it – further meals might also taste better. Hopefully the cook himself might be inspired to extend his culinary arts.

  “May I have some more goose?” she asked, determined to prove to the family that there was nothing wrong with the sauce which she then poured over it. To her dismay she noted that Richildis had obeyed her mother and pushed her trencher to one side, the goose barely touched, although the girl had seemed to be enjoying the meal before Blanche’s intervention. While her father had noticed some of what was happening within his family, he remained blind to other, equally pressing problems. Perhaps she should try to open his eyes even wider? She drew a breath and prayed for courage, for she knew how deeply her stepmother would resent her interference in this.

  “You haven’t eaten properly for days, Richildis,” she said. “Please, don’t heed your mother’s warning. The goose really is delicious, and it’s quite sound, I promise you.”

  “She eats more than enough for a young lady in her position,” Blanche said sharply. “It’s only peasants who gorge themselves,” she added, with a meaningful stare at Janna’s heaped trencher.

  Janna thought back to the great hardship and terrible hunger people had suffered after the destruction of Winchestre during the siege. She was about to retaliate, but her father got in first.

  “Why are you not eating your meal, Richildis?”

  “She’s already had quite enough!” Blanche’s tone was higher than usual, strident in her effort to put Janna in the wrong. “You have mistaken my concern for my daughter, Johanna.”

  Janna, in the act of taking a sip of wine from her goblet, almost choked. “I know you have your daughter’s best interests at heart, my lady,” she said, carefully replacing the goblet. “As who would not? Richildis is beautiful, but she is far too thin and she’s also lacking in strength.”

  “What nonsense is this?” John seized his daughter’s hand and looked searchingly into her face. “It’s true,” he said worriedly. “What ails you, daughter, that you will not eat?”

  “I…I…” Tears came into Richildis’s eyes as she glanced in appeal at her mother. “Maman says I will not find a husband if I am greedy.”

  “Your marriage is already arranged, and it will take place,” John assured her. “You will be wed just as soon as we return to Normandy.” He scooped up some goose and held it to Richildis’s mouth as if she was still a child. “Eat,” he urged softly. “It is true that you are far too pale and thin. I want to see some roses back in your cheeks, my dear.”

  With a worried glance at her mother, Richildis obediently opened her mouth to the spoonful. She chewed, and swallowed. John immediately offered her another mouthful and, like a little bird, she took it. Janna watched, noting with delight the dark flush of fury on Blanche’s face as John put down the spoon and Richildis picked it up and refilled it. Under her father’s watchful eye, Richildis finished what was on her trencher and he nodded with satisfaction.

  “Let us have no more of this silliness,” he said severely, and looked directly at his wife. “Richildis will be in your care while I am in Oxeneford, my dear, and I charge you to make sure our daughter continues to take proper nourishment.”

  There were so many ways to say “my dear.” Janna was convinced that if her father had ever addressed her mother in such a fashion he would have sounded as if he actually meant it. She glanced around the dining table, and sighed. Her interference had not helped her mission to be welcome in this family. John’s announcement had served to harden their prejudice against her, while Blanche would never forgive her for drawing his attention to Richildis. Even Giles had made his hostility plain, bumping against her and giving her ankle a hard kick under the table in revenge for the lecture he’d obviously received from his irate father. They hated her, that much was clear. And given the depths of their hatred, perhaps she should be on her guard in case there was retribution to follow.

  Chapter 2

  Janna found there was little time to brood, for the days were taken up with visits from John’s bailiffs, whose reports both impressed and alarmed her. Her father had more properties and greater wealth than she could have imagined. To her surprise, she found herself feeling some sympathy for John’s family, cut off so unexpectedly from a goodly portion of what they had expected to inherit. Nevertheless, she was touched by her father’s generosity and determined to keep a careful watch, even though he’d made it clear that the steward would be in charge. “I want you to know everythi
ng about my affairs in England,” he told her. “You have sharp eyes and a keen mind, and I know that you will bring any irregularities to my attention.”

  As she could not speak of what was in her heart, Janna had decided to put the prospect of a husband behind her for the moment and concentrate instead on impressing her father both with her knowledge and her willingness to put it to good use. And so, together, they read the bailiffs’ accounts and discussed what else might be put in place for the future. John told her of the markets at home and over the sea, with interjections from the new steward, who was eager to learn and anxious to prove his worth.

  The man was a marked improvement on the previous steward, although Janna would withhold judgment until she had seen how he managed affairs once the new manor was rebuilt and her father returned to Normandy. Meanwhile, she welcomed the opportunities her father gave her to consult on the design of the house and, at her insistence, on the garden that would be established there. Thanks to her father’s unexpected announcement, a plan had begun to form in her mind. She had long thought of putting the knowledge she had learned from her mother and Sister Anne to good use. Her father’s manor house would be the ideal premises for a hospitium where anyone might seek treatment. The prospect gave her great delight. But it was a plan for the future, for Janna was ever conscious that, first, she had a promise to fulfill: her promise to avenge her mother’s death. As she and her father drew ever closer, she decided she would raise the matter on his return from Oxeneford. By then it would be almost time to celebrate the Christ mass, but after that surely he would agree to go with her to Wiltune, to clear her mother’s name and bring her mother’s killer to justice. And, if the nuns at Ambresberie had been unable to carry out their promise to have her mother reburied in consecrated ground, or had been thwarted by the abbess, then she would ask her father to arrange that too. She was in her father’s favor now, and she hoped he would trust her enough to take her word for all that had happened. Of course, it would also help if she could persuade Cecily to tell the truth. That would decide the matter beyond any doubt. But Cecily had never spoken of her fall from grace, and it was unlikely now that she ever would, not if she hoped to find a good husband. Nor would she want to jeopardize her position in Hugh’s employ.