Janna Mysteries 1 & 2 Bindup (10 page)

‘Surely God gave us a brain in the expectation we would use it,’ she hissed under her breath to Janna. ‘After all, He gave us the capacity to choose right or wrong, to acquire and use knowledge for the benefit of mankind. If God wanted us to wait around for him to fix everything, we’d have been called “beetles”, not “humans”.’

‘Sshh.’ Janna agreed with Eadgyth, but she wished her mother would just let it go for now.

Eadgyth frowned at her. ‘Don’t tell me you agree with what he’s saying? I brought you up to have a mind of your own, Janna. I taught you to question everything.’

‘Sshh.’ Others now turned on Eadgyth, annoyed that her sibilant whisper was interrupting their devotions. Janna felt embarrassed. The trouble with her mother was that she never let anything lie until she’d argued her own point of view, but now was not the time or place for it.

‘… and if God should cast affliction on us, we must be like Job and bear our troubles with patience and courage.’ It seemed almost as if the priest had heard Eadgyth’s protests, for he fixed her with a gimlet stare as he continued: ‘There are some who would set themselves above God, who believe they have the power of life and death over others. There are some who will even break God’s laws to carry out their foul deeds. To you, I say, “Beware, for God is watching and great will be your fall.” On the Day of Judgment, when sinners are called to –’

‘I’ve had enough of this.’ Eadgyth grabbed Janna’s arm. ‘Come!’ To Janna’s intense embarrassment, she pulled her to her feet and marched her down the aisle and out of the church. A tense silence had marked their passage, but Janna heard the priest’s voice raised in exhortation once they exited the church.

‘You don’t need to go to church when God’s great cathedral is all around you, Janna,’ her mother had said on the way home to their cottage. She’d pointed then at the bright flowers in their garden, the dancing butterflies and furry bumblebees, and the green forest beyond. ‘I follow God’s law in my own way. I certainly do not need the priest to tell me how to behave, and what I may or may not believe.’ Hearing her mother’s voice in her mind brought tears to Janna’s eyes. Determinedly, she blinked them back. She would not give in to grief in front of the priest.

‘Your mother didn’t believe in Christ and she didn’t come to church. And I know there were times when she broke God’s law,’ he said now, recalling Janna to the present. She suspected that he was referring to the abortifacients Eadgyth sometimes administered to the desperate women who came to her. She kept silent, knowing that in truth there was no defence against his accusations.

‘She was a heretic!’ The priest turned from Janna, indicating that their conversation was over.

‘That’s not true! She believed in God.’ Outraged, Janna stood her ground, silently damning him to the hell he was wishing upon her mother.

‘She condemned herself out of her own mouth. Indeed, they were almost the last words she spoke to me.’

‘When did you see her? When did you speak to her?’

‘When I asked her to say her confession. Before she went in to Dame Alice’s chamber.’

‘You were up at the manor yesterday?’

‘Indeed I was. I’d been told of my lady’s troubles, and I was ready to administer the last rites should I have cause to do so. It was only fitting that your mother should be in a state of grace before being allowed into the presence of Dame Alice.’

‘If my mother said her confession to you, why do you deny her burial now?’

‘She did not make her confession. Instead, she told me to get out of her way for she had more important matters to which she had to attend.’

‘Like saving Dame Alice’s life!’

The priest glowered at Janna. ‘Nothing is more important than communion with God.’

‘I am sure my mother would have made her confession if time had allowed it.’ Janna wasn’t sure of any such thing, but she had to fight on her mother’s behalf. Not to be buried in consecrated ground would leave her mother condemned by everyone. And if people condemned her mother, they would surely condemn Janna herself.

‘She would not!’ the priest contradicted sharply. ‘She told me to take my blessings and prayers elsewhere for Dame Alice had no need of them.’

‘By that, surely she meant that she believed she could make the lady well again.’ Janna hated pleading with the priest, but she had no choice. To her surprise, he smiled at her, baring the brown stumps of his teeth.

‘I bid you good morrow, sire,’ he said.

Realising the smile was not for her, Janna swung around to find Hugh advancing towards them. He looked down at her. His voice was full of concern as he asked, ‘Why did you run from the manor? I meant to escort you here today, but they told me you left last night and they haven’t seen you since.’

I’ll wager they didn’t tell you why I left, Janna thought to herself, while acknowledging that she wasn’t prepared to enlighten him either. She bobbed a curtsy to him, and said, ‘I thank you for your care of me last night, sire, but my place was at home, not up at the manor.’

Hugh studied her for a moment, then turned to the priest. ‘I have been specially charged by Dame Alice to see about the burial arrangements for Mistress Eadgyth. Where have you laid her?’ He looked about the small, bare church.

The priest looked down at his toes. ‘I was just informing Johanna that her mother lies outside the churchyard, beyond the pale.’

‘What?’ Hugh sounded incredulous. ‘Mistress Eadgyth’s death was an accident! The
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did not knowingly take her own life.’

Hugh’s words confirmed that he, too, believed that her mother had been poisoned – but by one of her own concoctions. Before Janna had time to protest, the priest began to defend his decision.

‘If the lady died by her own hand it is suicide, and suicide is a sin against God. Even if her death was an accident, as you claim, she died unshriven. She did not come to church. In fact, almost her last words to me were that she had no time for God.’

‘She said no such thing!’ Janna wouldn’t be silenced a moment longer. ‘She was in a hurry to see Dame Alice, you told me so yourself.’

‘She was in a hurry to go about her devilish practices,’ the priest said darkly. ‘I have spoken time and again from the pulpit, warning my flock of the dangers of submitting to ancient beliefs about
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, and the conviction that diseases may be cured by magic and leechcraft. My flock now repent the error of their ways. They know that they must bend to God’s will and seek Christ’s blessing on the ills that befall them. Only your mother continued to defy me, brewing her potions and communing with that black cat to summon the dead.’

‘She sought merely to heal, to bring comfort and relief!’ Janna could hardly speak for rage.

‘She took the power of life and death upon her shoulders.’ The priest glowered at Janna, silencing her.

Hugh’s expression was grave as he turned to the priest. ‘Let me remind you of Dame Alice’s wishes in this matter, and add my own plea for Mistress Eadgyth. No matter what you may believe, the herbwife was a good woman and as such I ask you to give her the benefit of your Christian charity, to relent and accord her a decent, Christian burial.’

‘Never.’ The priest drew himself up to his full height, which took him as far as Hugh’s shoulder. ‘A Christian burial would be an abomination in the sight of God.’ His glance at Janna was both spiteful and triumphant.

Janna realised further argument was futile. With a muttered exclamation, she pushed past the two men and ran out into the churchyard. The warmth of the sun fell on her face like a blessing, but Janna was unaware of it, could hardly see for the tears streaming down her cheeks as she hurried past the graves with their rough stone markers, and out through an archway in the stone wall. A shrouded bundle lay in the wasteland beyond. It was a weedy, unkempt bit of ground which housed the unmarked graves of felons and those poor itinerants who had died without kin to identify them.

The grave had already been dug, a rough gaping hole that looked like a greedy mouth waiting to be fed. Eadgyth lay beside it, wrapped in a roughly woven cloth. Janna fell to her knees and gently removed part of the wrapping so that she might see her mother one last time. It seemed important to say goodbye and ask for forgiveness.

Eadgyth’s face was calm in repose. Janna kissed the tips of her fingers then put them to her mother’s lips. ‘I’m sorry I was angry with you,’ she whispered. ‘Forgive me.’ She gazed down as a lifetime of memories crowded into her mind. Her mother had raised her, and had given her the knowledge of the herbal lore and leechcraft that she herself practised. She was not given to praise, nor to demonstrative acts of affection. In fact, Janna couldn’t remember ever being kissed or comforted by her mother, not even as a child. Perhaps Eadgyth’s ability to show love had died when Janna’s father abandoned them. Now, her mother’s hard and lonely life was over, and she would take her secrets with her into the grave.

With bitter regret for all that had come between them, Janna took one last look at Eadgyth, noticing again the traces of vomit on her kirtle and cheeks. Could her mother have taken, by mistake, some of the aconite mixed with oil that she made up as a rubbing lotion? It hardly seemed possible, particularly as her mother only made it fresh when it was needed and always threw out whatever remained, rather than risk having such a deadly poison close to her other preparations.

Janna tried to still her fears with the memory of her search earlier. She’d checked all the jars and had noticed nothing untoward, certainly nothing that resembled the rubbing lotion. The poison must have come from outside, and in a form unknown to her mother, for she would never have taken it willingly. Lost in thought, Janna carefully draped the russet cover over Eadgyth’s face once more. ‘Goodbye,’ she whispered, and rose to her feet. She was startled to realise that she was no longer alone. Hugh was standing some distance away, watching her. As she caught his glance, he walked towards her. She gave her eyes a hasty scrub on the back of her hands, and faced him.

‘I’ve done all I can to change the priest’s mind,’ he said, as he came closer. ‘I even offered him payment, but I’m afraid he remains determined that your mother may not lie in consecrated ground. I’m sorry, Johanna.’

She nodded sadly. ‘He’s been preaching against us ever since he first arrived here. He knows he will lose face among the villagers if he gives her a burial with all the rites.’

‘Was your mother not a Christian, then?’

Janna hesitated, wanting him to be on her side against the priest, wanting him to be sympathetic. Yet she didn’t want to lie to him either. ‘My mother believed in God, who created our world and who watches over us. She believed that true goodness lies in how we live our lives, and that was how she lived her life – because she believed that healing the sick was a good thing to do. She told me she followed God’s law, not the priest’s. She disagreed with what he said about women, and she hated the way he told the villagers that anyone who questioned what he said about Jesus and the scriptures would go straight to hell. The priest spoke against my mother’s healing powers and her skills with herbs. The villagers listen to him and some of them stopped coming to my mother when they were ill and in need of help. She was very angry about that. She blamed the priest for making the villagers suffer when she could have given them relief.’

Hugh nodded in understanding. ‘I know that she saved my aunt’s life, for Dame Alice told me herself how your mother helped her when the apothecary could do nothing more.’ He tapped the purse hanging from his belt. Janna heard the jingling clink of coins. ‘Dame Alice gave me silver to give to the priest for your mother’s burial. As he has proved so un-cooperative, I will arrange instead for the bishop to say a mass for your mother up at the abbey. It’s the best I can do.’

‘And I thank you from my heart, sire. Please also give my thanks to Dame Alice.’ No matter how pitiful were the priest’s efforts on her mother’s behalf, Janna knew that he would expect payment. It was kind of Dame Alice to relieve her of that burden. Now, she struggled to find the words that might yet save her mother’s soul. ‘Please, tell the bishop there was never anyone so good as my mother. She helped so many people with her healing skills; she saved their lives. She did not deserve to die, nor does she deserve to lie out here in the wasteland. My mother will go to heaven, for certes, and I hope the priest may rot in hell for his deeds this day!’

She turned from Hugh, gulping down sobs as she tried to regain her composure.

‘I will speak to the abbess about the priest,’ he said firmly. ‘And I will make sure your mother has a mass said for the repose of her soul.’ He looked at her with kindness. ‘God keep you, Johanna,’ he said, and stepped back to join the priest and the small group of villagers who had now clustered around the grave.

Janna’s glance swept over them. Her face hardened as she recognised Godric. He was standing a little apart from them all. She turned abruptly, so that she would not have to look at him. With head held high, she waited for the priest to step forward, and the funeral rites to commence.

I
T SEEMED TO
Janna that there was no more desolate sound in all the world than the scrape of the shovel and the soft thump of falling earth as slowly, so slowly, the cloth-wrapped body of her mother began to disappear from view. Her throat ached from unshed tears. ‘I will seek out the truth. I will make sure that justice is done,’ she whispered as another shovelful of dark earth dropped into the hole.

Godric was burying her mother. She’d felt shock and rage when the priest had beckoned him forward to fill in the grave. Not content with trying to frighten her into his arms, he was now going to earn a penny or two as a grave digger. She had once thought him honourable, kind and brave. How could she have been so completely wrong? Yet, in spite of everything, her eye was drawn to the tanned skin of his neck, the knotted muscles of his arms as he drove the spade once more into the earth piled beside the grave.

Anxious for distraction, she glanced around the assembled villagers, curious as to why they had come. Mistress Hilde, the miller’s wife, stood among them, looking sullen and resentful. As she caught Janna’s gaze, she gave her a vicious glare. It seemed the woman really hated her. Could she truly believe that Janna was a threat to her happiness?

Ulf, the blacksmith, and his three children had also come to witness the burial. He was paying no attention to the graveside; he was staring at Janna, his eyes hot and hungry. Uneasy, she shrank into herself, realising suddenly that she no longer had her mother’s protection from unwanted suitors. Anyone could come calling. And if they wouldn’t go away there was nothing she could do about it, for she was but a girl, no match in strength for any man determined to have his way with her. The cottage was too far away for her to run for help from the village; it was too far for anyone to hear her cry.

Janna was appalled by her predicament; even more appalled to realise how vulnerable she was. Godric had understood. He had offered protection, and she had refused it, had flung his offer in his face. But it was too late to unsay the hasty words that had led to such a shocking outcome. After what Godric had done she wanted nothing more to do with him. He was beyond her forgiveness.

Ulf was smiling at her now. Leering at her. Janna hastily looked away. Her glance fell on the village midwife. Mistress Aldith had no reason to be here; in fact, she had every reason to rejoice in her rival’s death. Eadgyth had made no secret of her contempt for the incompetence of the village midwife. She had certainly taken away some of the midwife’s business. Had Aldith come to make sure Eadgyth was truly dead and safely interred? Janna watched the woman for a moment, searching her face for any show of triumph or pleasure, but the midwife continued to contemplate the mound of earth steadily piling up in the grave, her expression serious. Perhaps, like so many mourners, she was not thinking of the recently deceased but contemplating instead how brief and fleeting was life on earth, and how long a death awaited them all.

Next to the midwife stood Hugh, with a lady by his side. Janna recognised her. Cecily. Her small face was pale. She looked ill. Was she clinging to Hugh’s arm for comfort, or to show possession? Janna felt an unexpected pang of disappointment at the thought of Hugh being already attached and out of reach.

He’s always been out of my reach! Janna knew she would do well to remember it. Yet he had been kind to her and she valued that, while acknowledging that it was a kindness he might have shown to anyone, even a stray dog. She eyed Hugh and the tiring woman thoughtfully, and came to the conclusion that he supported the lady from necessity. She seemed in great distress. What was she doing here? Why had they both come to witness this sorry scene? Janna could not pride herself that Hugh had stayed for her sake. It was his commission from Dame Alice to ensure that her mother was properly interred. And Cecily? It must be kindness that had brought her to the graveside, the same kindness that had prompted her to wash her mother’s face and try to ease her dying moments.

Janna became aware of silence. She looked from Godric, red-faced and sweating after his exertions, to the newly dug patch of dark, damp earth. Her mother was covered from sight now. She was truly gone.

A shiver of misery shuddered through Janna, but she tilted her chin, defying the motley collection at the graveside. She did not want their pity, she wanted their acknowledgment of her mother’s true worth. ‘
Requiescat in pace
,’ she prayed silently, and waited for the priest to echo her words, to commend her mother’s soul to God so that she might rest in peace. Surely he could not refuse her this small comfort? But the priest remained silent.

His silence goaded Janna to action. She had meant her ritual to be private, but his petty meanness spurred her to make a public farewell to her mother, to show them all that she honoured her mother’s life – and death. She stepped forward, holding the bright flowers that now seemed inappropriate for this sad, rubbish-strewn wilderness. She laid them carefully at the place where she judged her mother’s heart to be. Then she straightened and held aloft the rosemary so that all might see what she carried.

‘This is rosemary, for remembrance,’ she called out, her voice sounding high and clear in the still morning. She knelt down and carefully inserted the plant into the soft, damp earth. She pushed the stem in deeper and patted the earth firm to keep the plant secure, so that it might take root and grow, and mark forever the site of her mother’s last resting place.

The assembly was quite silent, waiting to see what might happen next. Janna rose from her knees and faced them. Willing her voice not to tremble, she said, ‘With this rosemary, I pledge to remember my mother, just as all of you who knew her will remember her for her healing ways, and for the aid and comfort she has given you over the years.’ It was a command, not a wish. Janna hoped they recognised the difference.

She took a deep breath. ‘My mother’s death was an accident.’ She looked directly at the priest, daring him to contradict her. Wisely, he kept silent. Janna wished that she knew the truth, so that she could tell them all, and still their wagging tongues for ever. But it was too early; she didn’t know enough yet. She looked down at the rosemary on her mother’s grave. This was her pledge to herself: to find out the truth and bring whoever was responsible for her mother’s death to justice.

She had one last thing to say. She gave herself a moment to marshal her thoughts. ‘Here, under the open sky, I commend my mother’s spirit to God, for I know that she believed in Him and that she will find peace out here in His green garden. My mother always told me that God was everywhere around us, and I would rather she rest out here in open space and in the sunlight of His love than be confined by a mean and narrow spirit.’ Janna addressed the priest directly, her intent unmistakeable.

‘How dare you show so little respect!’ His eyes bulging with fury, the priest turned away and stormed off in the direction of the churchyard gate. Seeing that the priest was leaving, the villagers hastily crossed themselves and set off after him. Ulf lingered momentarily, perhaps hoping to press his claim.

‘Go away!’ Janna tried to keep the fear from showing in her face. He hesitated, took a look at Godric and then hurried off, dragging his children behind him. He was followed by Hugh and Cecily. Janna was left alone to face Godric across her mother’s grave.

‘I suppose you were paid well for your toil this morning.’ Her voice was sharp with contempt.

Shocked, Godric took a step backwards, recoiling as if her words had been a physical blow. ‘Janna, I thought it would be some small comfort to you if I … if I …’ Unable to spell out his intentions, he stuttered into silence.

She faced him down. ‘I don’t want your comfort, Godric. Not after your deeds last night!’

‘But … but …’ Now his face showed only bewilderment. ‘My offer was kindly meant, Janna. And my mother would have welcomed you, I am sure.’

‘I’m not talking about that!’

‘What then?’ Godric looked at her, waiting for her to enlighten him.

‘You crucified my cat!’ Janna could not stem the rushing torrent of anger as she relived the horror of finding her pet’s dead body. ‘You cut its throat and strung it up on a tree, knowing I would find it hanging there in the morning. My cat. A poor, defenceless creature which never did anyone any harm! How could you do that, Godric? How could you?’

‘In truth, Janna, I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Don’t try to pretend you are innocent of this crime! I found Alfred’s dead body this morning. You were in the forest late last night. Who else, if not you?’

‘Janna, I swear to you on your mother’s grave that I …’

‘Don’t you dare swear on my mother’s grave. You are not worthy even to speak of her!’ Janna drew a sharp, agonised breath. ‘And I never want to speak to you again, either. Go away, Godric. Stay out of my life. I hate you for what you’ve done.’ She whirled around and set off towards the arched doorway in the stone wall of the churchyard, walking with fast, determined steps.

It was over, all over. She’d never felt so alone, so miserable. She wanted to throw back her head and howl like a dog. Instead, she scratched up the tattered remnants of her courage, and steadily marched on.