“Was the girl from Sire Hugh’s demesne, or did she live at Babestoche?” Janna cast her mind back to the time when, seeking refuge, she had passed herself off as a boy and labored on Hugh’s farm. She couldn’t think of anyone who would be so cruel as to woo and bed a girl and then drown her in a desperate effort to hide the evidence – anyone other than a man who was already wed.
“She came from Babestoche. But the accused visited Dame Alice’s demesne from time to time and he was seen with his arm around the girl shortly before she died.”
“Do you know the name of the accused?”
“His name is Godric. He is – or he was – Sire Hugh’s steward.”
“Godric? No!” Janna stared at Agnes in growing horror, sure she must have misheard. “That can’t be right!”
“Do you remember him?” Agnes looked a little puzzled. “I think he came to visit Sire Hugh while the lord was recuperating here in the infirmary.”
“Yes, I remember him. I know him well.” Janna could hardly think straight, she was so upset.
But Agnes was still following her own train of thought, her brow wrinkled into a frown of concern. “You do know…that is, have you heard that Sire Hugh is now wed?”
“Yes. Yes, I know all about it.”
“You’re not heartsick about it?”
“Heartsick?” Janna stared at Agnes.
“I-I thought you cared for him. I know he came to care for you while you looked after him.”
Janna blinked. It was true, yet so much had happened since that time, so much that had opened her mind to the secrets of her heart.
“No, I don’t care for Hugh.” She brushed off Agnes’s concerns. “I saw him wed in Winchestre, and I truly wish him great happiness. But it’s Godric I love, Agnes, although it’s taken me a long time to understand my own heart. I do not believe for one moment that he is responsible for this foul crime.”
“Then you must do all you can to prove it, for Robert of Babestoche is determined to hang him.”
“Hang him?” Janna’s face went white. “No!” Her mind spun with sickening fear. How could she find out the truth of the girl’s death before it was too late? If the girl had been murdered, Janna had a fair idea who was responsible – and who would be in a great hurry to cover his tracks by laying the blame on someone else.
“Will you help him?” Agnes asked anxiously. “Robert wanted to hang him immediately, but the abbess has ordered that proceedings be delayed until the matter is fully investigated and a report prepared.”
Janna nodded, panicking and frantic. “He cannot be hanged. I’ll do all I can to save him.” She must call on her father; they must leave immediately. Then she paused as she considered the reality of the situation. She could not tell him the real reason for her haste, for she needed to present Godric as a worthy suitor for her hand. Somehow she had to find a way to implicate Robert of Babestoche. He would not be able to act against Godric if he himself was facing a charge of murder: the murder of Janna’s mother and – if Janna could only prove her suspicions – the murder of this young girl who had died at his demesne.
“Was the young girl known to Dame Alice and Sire Robert?” she asked.
Agnes thought for a moment. “I believe she was a servant in the dame’s household. But I can’t be sure.”
So far as Janna was concerned, Robert’s guilt was now assured, but she knew also that it wouldn’t be long before he came up with “proof” enough to hang Godric in his stead. What she needed was time: time to ask questions about the girl’s death; time to prove Godric innocent.
As soon as her father was alone, she approached him with the request that they leave Wiltune at once. But John was determined that she must first meet the king, to sort out the matter of her inheritance and also her marriage. Although this was the last thing on Janna’s mind, and the last thing she wanted, she could not openly defy him. Nor would he countenance leaving until after the requiem mass was held in her mother’s honor. In truth, Janna would not have wanted to miss it. So, in spite of her anxiety, she put on a brave face and resigned herself to staying at the abbey for several more days.
Bearing in mind her father’s instruction to act as unlike the empress as possible, she donned her dowdiest gown and her meekest demeanor for her meeting with the king. They had only to walk as far as the newly enlarged gatehouse, for it was there that he was housed, along with his men. Richildis accompanied them, and pushed herself forward to stand beside her father as they waited for the king to receive them. Janna was happy to stay in the background; her stomach was roiling with unease although her father seemed calm enough.
King Stephen strode into the small chamber into which they’d been shown. To Janna’s horror, his brother Henry, Bishop of Winchestre, followed him. Dry mouthed, Janna stared at him. Her heart raced, her senses were in turmoil as memories of Ralph came rushing back. Although she’d met him before, albeit briefly, she wondered if he’d found out more about the travelers who had intercepted his message to his brother the king, and the young woman who had brought about the death of his spy. Had he guessed that she might also be behind the empress’s escape? Acutely aware of the danger she faced, she ducked her head and sank into a deep curtsy.
She sneaked a quick glance at the king. He too was surveying her with an appraising stare. As her father performed the introductions, the bishop’s glance sharpened. Janna waited for him to say something to his brother but he kept silent, hiding his thoughts behind a bland expression. She kept her eyes downcast, wishing she could disappear from their sight.
“I can see the family resemblance,” the king commented dryly. Janna passed a hand over her damp forehead and wiped it down her gown. It was a hot summer’s day. Hopefully the king would think she was merely warm; that this was not the sweat of fear. If he knew even half of what she’d done to thwart his campaign against the empress, he would have her placed in irons and imprisoned for a very long time.
“I’ve been giving some thought to your request for a husband for your daughter.” The king addressed his remark to John. A cold dread settled on Janna, made worse when he continued, “There is a baron in my retinue whom I wish to reward. He is some years older than Johanna, with two children. His wife died three years ago while giving birth to their third child, who also died.”
Janna closed her eyes. She wondered if her father remembered her request that any prospective suitor must be young, handsome and rich. She wondered how she could get out of this arrangement, even if most of her criteria were met.
“His name is William of Marsford. He is of good birth, with some property to his name, and he has served me faithfully during these trying times against my cousin. Your half-sister, John.” The king’s gaze was still on Janna’s father as his tone had hardened.
John inclined his head. “We have other business to attend to before I can give time to seeing my daughter married, sire,” he said, “but I would like to know that the matter is settled. I have informed my daughter that I wish her to inherit all my property here in England on my death. I hope that meets with your consent?”
The king nodded. Greatly relieved, Janna stole a glance at the bishop, conscious of his critical stare. Unable to meet his eyes, she looked away.
“While I trust my daughter’s ability to manage my affairs here in England, I would also see her wed before she comes into her inheritance. As a wealthy heiress she will need the protection of a good husband. Is William of Marsford my daughter’s equal in this?”
“Indeed he is.”
“Then I’d like my daughter to meet her prospective husband as soon as possible, if that can be arranged.”
“You can meet William now, if you wish.” Not waiting for a reply, the king snapped his fingers and a minion hurried over to do his bidding. Janna waited in great trepidation. She knew, well enough, that unless she could secure her father’s agreement for the man of her choice, her future lay with the king’s choice instead. Which made her future bleak indeed, for so
far as her father was concerned, a landless serf could never match the favorite of a king.
“I mentioned, my liege, that I wish to make Johanna the heir of my properties here in England.” John pulled a sheet of parchment from his scrip and handed it to the king. “I’ve set down my thoughts on the matter, along with a full account of what I own. I’d be most grateful if you would hold this for safekeeping, for I intend to move my family back to Normandy once my affairs are settled here.”
Stephen took the parchment and quickly read it. His eyes narrowed as he looked at Janna. “Your fortune comes at a cost to others, it would seem,” he commented dryly.
“It is no more than her worth,” John said sharply.
Stephen grunted and handed the paper to his steward. “The matter of her marriage needs to be resolved first,” he said, and raised his hand to beckon the man whom he’d selected for Janna.
Her first glance at the figure silhouetted against the sunlight streaming through the window showed her suitor as a fine, upstanding man. But a closer inspection as he hurried forward to kneel before the king revealed a receding hairline and a small paunch. There was about him the faint odor of wet dog. Janna recoiled, then tried to cover the instinctive movement with a fit of coughing.
How could she bear it? It was a huge effort to stand calmly rather than racing out of the room to freedom. Trying to hide a shudder of distaste, she held out a hand, which was grasped and kissed.
“This is Johanna, daughter of John fitz Henry,” the king told the knight.
“Ma dame. Mon sieur.” He swept a bow, then straightened to survey Janna with bright, dark eyes. Struggling against despair, Janna sought to find something, anything, good about him. His voice was deep, pleasing to the ear. He smiled at her, a kindly smile, she thought, and she did her best to ignore a prominent snaggletooth as she returned the gesture. She wondered if he knew the king’s plans and thought perhaps he did not, for he seemed slightly puzzled as he waited for whatever was to follow.
“John fitz Henry is looking for a husband for his daughter,” the king enlightened him, and stood up. “I shall leave you all to become better acquainted,” he said, and strode from the room. The bishop subjected Janna to a last searching glance before he followed his brother. Janna wondered if, once outside, he would waste no time in making his suspicions known to the king, if indeed the king didn’t already harbor suspicions of his own.
She wished she could have the chance to talk to her father, to beg for release without William being present, but realized she had no choice but to go along with his plans, at least for the moment. In fact, once she’d moved past William’s somewhat unprepossessing physical appearance, she found him to be well-informed and with a dry sense of humor that once or twice had her laughing in spite of herself. Nevertheless, she longed for the ordeal to be over, and was immensely grateful when her father finally dismissed the baron from their presence without committing either of them to a second meeting.
“Not quite what I would have wished for you,” John commented, once the baron had left them. Janna could have wept with relief. She was about to speak of her true feelings when her father continued thoughtfully, “But he seems a good-hearted soul, and would treat you well, I believe. You could do worse, Johanna.”
“I could also do so much better!” Godric, oh Godric, she thought with despair.
“You must remember that I have a son who will inherit the bulk of my property, Johanna.” John shot her a sharp glance. “Even though you are my legitimate daughter and will inherit a sizable fortune, you cannot afford to be too particular. More importantly, you should remember that this man is in the king’s favor – and it’s the king’s favor you will need once I am back in Normandy.”
“I know what you say is true, sire, but I – ” Janna remembered Godric’s circumstances, and choked to a stop.
“You need time to get used to the idea,” John said kindly. “While you think about it, will you come with me to where your mother was buried? The abbess is sending some men with a cart and I’ve decided to accompany them, to make sure your mother’s remains are treated with respect. It would help if you could show us exactly where she lies.”
Janna nodded. “I planted some rosemary on her grave, as a token that I would remember her always and that I would avenge her death,” she said, feeling a bitter jubilation at the thought of finally bringing Robert of Babestoche to justice.
“And so you have, and so you will.” Janna looked up to meet his steady gaze. “You’re an astonishing young woman,” he told her, and she flushed with pleasure at his compliment.
“Papa says the man I’m to marry is young and handsome – and rich,” Richildis whispered behind John’s back as they made their way across the courtyard. “Papa might flatter you with pretty words, but you’ll be stuck with that fat old man while I’m the one who will have a happy life with the man of my dreams.”
Janna ignored her, too sick at heart to respond. With all her heart she wanted to leave Wiltune and fly to Godric’s side. She couldn’t care less what her half-sister thought. But she needed her father, and for that reason alone she was prepared to offer her obedience to his wishes.
*
Janna and her father rode beside the horse and cart to Berford, going straight to the wasteland of unhallowed ground adjacent to the small church where Eadgyth had been buried. To Janna’s surprise, the area around the rosemary bush she’d planted on her mother’s grave had been fenced with small sharpened stakes which now were covered with a tangle of sweet-smelling honeysuckle. Someone must be tending the grave on a regular basis, for the enclosure was neat and tidy, unlike the surrounding wasteland. Godric? She could think of no-one else who cared enough to carry out this small service for her and her mother, and her heart swelled with love and gratitude.
The rosemary bush had flourished, and she picked several sprigs from it to plant at the site of her mother’s new grave. She and her father stood witness to the gravediggers as they dug down until they reached the rough shroud that contained her mother’s body. Janna turned aside, fighting tears and an overwhelming desire to run so that she would not have to look on her mother’s pitiful remains. But the muddy shroud was immediately placed into a stout, lead-lined coffin and all was hidden from sight.
Eadgyth’s coffin was placed in the chapel on their return, and Janna and her father kept vigil overnight. In the morning of the following day, the coffin was removed to a site carefully chosen by Janna, where splashes of sunlight pebbled the green grass through the boughs of a leafy oak. There Eagyth’s body was interred once more, with the priest intoning the funeral rites in front of a large crowd of mourners that included all members of the abbey as well as the king and his entourage. The coffin was lowered into the ground and John threw onto it the first clod of earth. As he did so, he began to weep.
Richildis drew apart in a gesture of distaste, but Janna tucked her arm through her father’s. She had grieved for her mother at the time of her death, and her heart again was full of sorrow, but she felt also a sense of satisfaction that she had managed to fulfill the promise she had made so long ago. She threw the next clod of earth onto the coffin, after which the gravediggers took over the task. Once they were done, Janna planted the sprigs of rosemary at the head and foot of the grave, pushing them deep into the damp, loose soil while she murmured her own prayers.
The requiem mass, said for the repose of Eadgyth’s soul, followed the burial. Sister Ursel had told Janna what to expect, but Janna drew also on her tuition in the language of the church so that she could translate the proceedings into words that made sense to her. Requiem aeternam: the plea for mercy and eternal rest, a solemn, reflective refrain. Dies irae, the day of wrath and judgment, followed by a plea for forgiveness and salvation. Janna felt peace settle in her heart as the words of comfort sang softly in her ear. For years she’d tormented herself with the memory of the last bitter words she’d exchanged with her mother, an argument she’d had no time to repair bef
ore her mother’s death. The knowledge that forgiveness was possible was a balm to her soul, as was the realization that, although Eadgyth may have turned her back on the church, this at last was the church’s acknowledgment of her mother’s worth.
Tears dripped down her cheeks as she listened to the last words of the mass: Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, dona eis requiem sempiternam; Lux aeterna luceat eis, Domine. Lamb of God, who takest away the sins of the world, grant them eternal rest; may eternal light shine upon them, oh Lord.
And upon us all, Janna prayed, as the mass came to an end. She sneaked a look at her father, who knelt beside her on the cold stone flagging. Whatever differences lay between them, whatever difficulties still lay ahead of them, they would always be joined by love for each other, and by the strong bond of the woman who had loved them both.
*
Janna was on fire with anxiety, desperate to leave for Babestoche, but there was still the matter of Richildis to sort out when they visited her in the infirmary to say goodbye. With all her heart, Janna hoped that they could leave her behind at the abbey, but Richildis clung to her father and begged to be allowed to come with them.
“Sister Anne believes your health will be better served if you stay here for a time,” her father told her, putting the onus of the decision onto the infirmarian.
Richildis immediately began to sob bitterly. “You don’t love me,” she screeched. “If you did, you’d take me with you.”
“Richildis!” John sat down next to his daughter and put his arms around her, while casting a worried glance at Janna over her head. “I want only what’s best for you, you know that.”
Day of Judgment: The Janna Chronicles 6 Page 14