Janna leaned forward, and the trial began.
Although the king sat in pride of place, it soon became obvious that the abbess was in charge, as her sergeant-at-arms came forward to present the cases against both Amy and Robert. At his appearance, Robert surged to his feet. “Miserere mei, Deus. Secundum misericordiam tuam – ” he began. Janna recognized the words of the psalm, often quoted by miscreants in an attempt to save their necks by pleading benefit of the clergy so that they could be tried in the more lenient clerical court instead. But it did him no good in this instance, for the abbess interrupted him.
“You showed little mercy for your victims when you preyed upon them. Do not presume to ask for God’s mercy in this court.” And she gestured for her sergeant-at-arms to proceed.
Janna was first to be called on to give evidence, which she did, beginning with her investigation into the death of Isabel, followed by Amy’s attempt to silence her. She was about to go on to tell the court about Mus, the assassin who, on Robert’s instructions, had tried several times to kill her, but was forestalled by the abbess, who thanked her and bade her take her seat. Janna wondered if those present knew of her past life, and whether it was her father’s wish that her employment at the tavern be kept secret. She sat down, regretting the lost opportunity to speak of Cecily’s liaison with Robert, and the death of her mother that had resulted from it.
Amy came next. She wasted no time in turning against her former lover, portraying herself as an innocent victim of his lust and an unwilling accomplice to his plans. It was not a convincing performance, and when Dame Alice took the stand the court’s sympathy immediately swung toward the betrayed wife. She held herself erect and gave her evidence against her husband and his past infidelities in a clear voice and without a quaver. Janna could only guess at the cost to the dame’s pride and to her heart, and admired her greatly for her courage. When Robert followed his wife, it was apparent to everyone that he had already been judged and found guilty.
It seemed that a verdict must surely follow, but then Janna’s father rose to his feet and asked for permission to address the court. Janna glanced at Cecily, knowing what was to come. Cecily knew it too, for she turned pale as whey. She and Godric were sitting together, and Janna watched as she leaned aside to murmur in his ear and he patted her hand in a comforting gesture. Even as he did so, he glanced across at Janna. She thought she read compassion rather than judgment in his expression, but she felt very uncomfortable nevertheless.
“I wish the court to be apprised of what else I know about the accused,” John began, and Janna sat back as the damning indictment unfolded. John’s voice faltered only once, as he spoke of the death of his beloved Sister Emanuelle: “My wife, whom you all knew as Eadgyth,” he said, with a fond glance at Janna. She understood what was behind his words. He was ensuring that everyone present knew that her father and mother had been wed, and that her birth was therefore legitimate.
Robert’s air of defiance had collapsed. Now he looked like a fox caught at bay by a pack of hounds, knowing that death was imminent and that it would be agonizing.
And then it was Janna’s turn once more to give evidence, this time implicating Cecily in the death of her mother. Janna could only guess how the young woman was feeling, and was sorry that she was forced to relive her shame in public. But there was comfort in finally setting the record straight. “Robert of Babestoche did not intend to kill my mother,” Janna concluded, “but he certainly intended to silence any who might bear witness against him.” She flashed a quick glance at Cecily and then hurried on, hoping to distract the court’s attention from the unhappy young woman with her further disclosures. “Once he realized his plan had failed, that my mother had died instead of his intended victim, and that I’d discovered the truth of the matter, he incited the villagers to burn down my home while I was still inside. It was only by the grace of God that I managed to escape. And, indeed, once the accused found out that I was still alive, he then sent Alan, known as Mus, his servant, after me on several other occasions, to silence me before I could give evidence against him.”
A faint gasp, quickly stifled, told Janna that the news had come as a shock to Dame Alice. Before she could continue with her testimony, the dame was on her feet and pointing a shaking finger at her husband. “I can vouch for part of that statement, my liege,” she spat. “I was unaware of the circumstances behind all the misfortunes that befell this young woman, but I do know that she speaks the truth of at least some of what has happened to her in the past.”
“I, too, am aware of at least one attack on Dame Johanna,” the abbess said coolly, without bothering to rise from her chair. “Fortunately she is a young woman of spirit, and she fought off her attacker with great courage.”
“I, too, can vouch for that, my lord, for I was a witness.”
Janna turned, surprised to see Will and Agnes among the throng. Agnes was pale, still recovering from the ordeal of childbirth. She clutched her child to her bosom as if it was a rare and precious object. If she was aware she was breaking convention or endangering her health by appearing in public so soon after giving birth, she gave little sign of it. She was supported by her husband on one side; Wat, eldest of the bailiff’s children, stood on the other. She faced the king, determined to put in a word for her friend.
“Let your husband speak for you,” the abbess reproved her sternly. And so Will stepped forward and gave evidence for both of them, for they had both been there, out in the fields, when the first attack had taken place. The bailiff might not have understood what lay behind it at the time, but by now he was obviously well briefed by his wife.
“So you have proved more than a match for an armed assassin? It seems you are brave as well as resourceful,” the king interrupted. Janna was only too aware of the guilty color staining her face as she recalled her adventures in Oxeneford. She was sure the king had received a full report of the chase after the so-called empress before she seemingly vanished into thin air. How much did he know? How much did he suspect? She forced her attention back to the matter at hand, in time to hear the abbess pronounce the verdict against Robert: he was to hang for his crimes. Amy was convicted and would spend several years in prison, but at least she had escaped with her life.
And then it was all over, and they were free to go. Janna felt a surge of mixed feelings as she left the chapter house. She’d done all she’d set out to do: she’d avenged her mother’s death, set the record straight, and her mother had been given a proper, Christian burial. And Godric had been publicly exonerated of all blame for Isabel’s death. But instead of feeling triumphant, she felt instead as if she’d been ripped in two, as if only half of her was walking out of the chapter house.
The other half was with Godric. She watched him with Cecily. He had a steadying hand under the girl’s arm, supporting her as they emerged into the harsh sunlight of high summer. Janna joined the crowd as everyone traversed the quiet cloister and entered into the yard of the guest quarters. But she couldn’t help glancing back over her shoulder, each glimpse reinforcing anew, and with the sharp sting of an arrow, Godric’s care and concern for Cecily. She knew Godric wasn’t in love with Cecily, that he was merely being kind to a woman in distress, just as he’d once been kind to Isabel. Nevertheless, it hurt Janna that she was not able to take comfort from Godric herself when she needed him so desperately.
She stopped in the yard, yearning for a word with him, or even a look to acknowledge her presence. As she watched, an older man stepped forward to speak to Cecily. At once, Godric moved back as if to give the man all the space he needed to make his presence felt. Janna’s interest quickened. Was this Hugh’s new reeve? What was his interest in Cecily? The two conversed for a few moments, their words too quiet for Janna to hear, and then Cecily shook her head and the older man walked on. Cecily and Godric were left alone once more.
She ventured a smile, hoping even now that it might be possible to speak to him. But he merely bobbed his head to her
and walked away, dragging Cecily away with him. Janna saw that he was aiming for Hugh, who stood with his arm around his aunt, apparently consoling her. Janna felt a stab of remorse. While she’d achieved what she’d set out to do, her ambition had come at great cost to several people, not least the dame herself. Did they all hate her for it?
She tried to console herself with the thought that all might yet turn out well. Freed of Robert, it was possible that Dame Alice might find happiness with a kindly man who would love and cherish her as her first husband had never done. And freed of her secrets at last, Cecily might also find happiness, perhaps with the older man, if not Godric. They both had some prospect of happiness in the future. Janna sighed as the image of William came into her mind. For her, and for Godric, there seemed to be no way out.
“Your young man seems more interested in the dame’s companion than in you,” her father observed as he came to Janna’s side, closely followed by Richildis. The girl’s sullen expression lifted into a smirk of triumph as she followed John’s gaze.
“He would wed me tomorrow if you would only give your permission, Papa.” It was her last chance to speak out, and Janna seized it. “You see now that he’s been found innocent of any crime, and you’ve seen the esteem in which his liege lord holds him. He’s a good man, Papa. He’s the finest man I know!” In her agitation, Janna took her father’s hand and clasped it tight. “You recognized my mother’s worth when you met her, and you married for love. Please, please, give thought to my happiness and let me do the same.”
John stayed silent, gazing thoughtfully at the group clustered around Dame Alice. Then he sighed and shook his head. “It won’t do, Johanna. I’m sorry, but it just won’t do.”
“Please!” Janna’s desperate appeal rang out above the buzz of conversation in the yard. Several people turned to stare. John gripped her arm and forced her to walk on with him.
“Tomorrow we shall leave for Winchestre,” he said firmly. “It is too late to pack up and go today, but I would like you to be ready by first light tomorrow, Johanna. We have delayed here long enough, I think.”
Defeated, Janna let herself be dragged along by her father. It occurred to her that her father’s new testament had not yet been acknowledged by the king. Janna wondered if her father deemed it more expedient to leave matters until the king’s suspicions had time to die down, and felt a slight easing of anxiety. Anything that meant a delay in her betrothal and marriage was more than welcome.
“Why does she have to come back with us?” Richildis whined. “I thought she was going to stay in Wiltune and marry that smelly old man.”
“Earl William is not a smelly old man,” John contradicted sharply. “Curb your tongue, Richildis. It ill becomes you to speak like a common fishwife.”
Richildis shot a glance of pure venom at Janna. “Why don’t you let her stay and marry that peasant, then?” she said sulkily.
“That’s enough!” John subjected his daughter to an icy glare before striding off. Janna wondered at Richildis’s stupidity. If what the girl most wanted was to win her father’s affection, she was certainly going about it the wrong way. But she said nothing, for she knew her half-sister would not listen anyway.
She was about to follow her father, to start packing up her things, when a thought stopped her. This might be her only opportunity to say goodbye to Godric, for unless he would run away with her, she would probably never see him again. The prospect of life without Godric wrung her heart; she could not bear to say goodbye. She had to take this one last chance to persuade him that they should try to turn their fate around.
She looked across to where Godric had been standing with Hugh and his family. But they had gone, in a hurry, perhaps, to return to their respective manors.
Should she follow them to the stable? Janna shook her head. No. She’d told Godric what was in her heart, and he’d given his reasons why their circumstances, their positions in life, and their obligations, must keep them apart. From his recent demeanor, he’d made it clear he would not change his mind. Better, perhaps, to stay away so that she would not have to witness Cecily’s triumph at having Godric to herself at last.
With new determination, Janna whirled around and went to pack up her belongings. She told herself that the pain of living without Godric would pass. She told herself that she would make a good wife to William, and that she would make her father proud of her. She told herself that she had achieved her quest to avenge her mother, and that finding her father meant more to her than marrying the man of her choice.
She told herself many things, but she didn’t believe any of them, because in her heart they counted for nothing against the enormity of losing Godric. The pain was indescribable; she felt as if she’d been flayed alive. All she had left was courage, and a determination to carry on to the best of her ability in the hope that somehow, somewhere, she might find some joy along the way. But that hope was an infinitesimal flicker of comfort on this, the blackest day of her life.
*
The sultry afternoon was giving way to evening when Janna became aware of movement and shouting outside in the yard. The tocsin shrilled an alarm, alerting everyone within the abbey of impending danger. Stephen’s men responded by pouring out of the gatehouse, but they were too late to secure the gates of the abbey against the onslaught. By the time Janna and her father had rushed out to see what was happening, the yard was already full of men in armor, some on foot and some on horseback, all fighting for the crown and for their lives.
One horrified glance told John all he needed to know, and he turned to his daughter. “You must run,” he said crisply, giving her a shove in the direction of the stables. “Don’t stop for anything or anyone. Quickly get your horse and go out through the side gate, across the fields. I pray to God that the way is still safe.”
“But Papa – ”
“I’ll follow you. But I need to find Richildis first.”
“Surely we can seek sanctuary within the abbey itself?” Janna was horrified at the thought of taking her chances outside, for where could they gain a safe haven if not here? But what most unsettled her was the question of why her father was set to run like a coward rather than staying to fight for his beliefs. A hasty glance showed her the answer; her father would be no match against the heavily armored warriors who, even now, were thrusting deeper into the abbey grounds, carving their way through the king’s army with clashing swords and shouted oaths, accompanied by the screams of the dying. They’d set fire to the gatehouse as they’d entered. Smoke billowed out, partly obscuring the melee in the yard and adding to the confusion of men and horses.
“We should stay within the abbey,” Janna insisted.
“No! Do as I say, girl. This is no place for us!” Janna’s father gave her a hard shove, which sent her flying. She tripped, lost her footing and fell to the ground. She struggled to her feet just in time to see a helmeted soldier surge forward and plunge his sword into her father’s chest.
“No!” she screamed, but the man ignored her and charged on to find his next victim, too crazed for blood and thirsty for the kill, and too intent on protecting his own life to care whom he cut down.
“Papa!” Tears coursed down Janna’s cheeks as, disregarding the danger all around her, she dropped to her knees beside her father. “Papa!” Desperately she willed him to speak to her, to reassure her that all was well, that it was a scratch and nothing more. But although his eyes fluttered open, and his gaze fixed on her in mute appeal, the only sound was a desperate choking as he struggled to breathe. Janna was frantic, casting about for something, anything she might do to save him, but even as she clutched his hand and willed him to be strong, she knew that his life was slipping away. She began to pray desperately for his soul, for she realized he was incapable now of speech and that he would die unshriven. Although there was nothing she could do for him, still she hoped for a miracle, that somehow he might survive, that there might be more time for them to be together after the long and lonel
y years she had spent without him.
She looked about for Richildis or anyone else who might help her shift her father out of harm’s way. But there was no sign of the girl or the nuns, all of whom must now be safely locked inside the church. There was no-one whom she could ask for assistance, and as Janna looked down once more at her father, she knew anyway that it was too late and he had gone beyond earthly care. Hardly aware of the battle being waged around her, or of the tears pouring down her cheeks, intent only on protecting her father’s body, she hooked her hands under his armpits and began to drag him into the shelter of the stables. She was almost there when there was another surge forward and she found herself caught up in a scrum of fighting men.
The thatched roof of the stables had been torched; horses screamed and stamped in panic, and kicked at their stalls in a vain effort to escape to safety. Smoke billowed out, stinging Janna’s eyes and making her cough. She found herself fighting for breath. The noise was deafening. There was nowhere she could go, nowhere safe to leave her father’s body. Nowhere safe for her either, for soldiers swarmed all around, shouting oaths at her and at each other. Steel clashed on steel and she was buffeted and shoved as she propped her father’s body against a stout pillar and then tried to crawl out of the way.
A loud shout caught her attention; a horse and rider were bearing down on her. She made a desperate leap to the side in an effort to avoid them, but the rider swerved and caught her up in his arms. He clasped her hard in front of him, and galloped on with hardly a pause. Wild with fear, Janna struggled to fight free but his arms tightened around her.
“Let me go!” she shrieked, clutching wildly at the horse’s mane in an effort to keep her balance on the swiftly moving steed.
Day of Judgment: The Janna Chronicles 6 Page 21