Janna Mysteries 1 & 2 Bindup (23 page)

‘I will, I swear it.’

Janna thought she could trust the promise, for to reveal the secret would add greatly to the danger Cecily herself faced. ‘Goodbye.’ She wanted to wish Cecily luck and give her a hug, yet she was conscious of the differences in their station. Cecily had no such inhibitions, however. She threw her arms around Janna in a close embrace.

‘May God go with you,’ she said. ‘I promise that your secret is safe with me.’

‘In return, you must promise me that you will be careful. Don’t trust Robert, don’t trust him at all.’

‘I promise.’ Cecily released Janna. ‘I am truly sorry about your mother,’ she whispered. ‘I will always wish that I had drunk that wine myself.’

Janna tried to say something, to comfort Cecily’s troubled conscience, but she could not find the words. She swallowed over the large lump forming in her throat, and instead pressed Cecily’s hand.

Cecily returned the pressure briefly. ‘I must go before I am missed,’ she said, and pushed open the door. Janna watched her walk away, and hoped that she would fare well and keep safe. She wished that she’d been able to change Cecily’s mind. It would have been so good to have a friend, someone in whom to confide and to share things. Cecily had been kind to her. So had Godric and Hugh. Janna felt a great sadness as she realised she might never see any of them again. With an effort she shook off her melancholy. It was time for her to leave, and quickly, before the serfs returned with the beasts. She took a last look around the barn, reluctant to leave this illusion of shelter and safety.

The sight of the empty peg where once the smock and breeches had hung made her pause. So, too, did the empty bottle standing on the floor. She should find somewhere to hide all the evidence that might put her in danger, and Cecily too. About to pick up the bottle, a further thought stopped Janna. She left the bottle standing and picked up the silver coin instead. She placed it in her purse then pulled out the flint and steel she had secreted there. There was a way to hide everything and, at the same time, punish Robert of Babestoche for the harm he’d done. She might not be able to bring him to justice – not yet – but she had the means to pay him back in kind, just a little. She would do so, and gladly.

Safe in the shelter of the forest, Janna looked back at the leaping flames of the burning barn. They cast a great glow against the darkening sky, a golden glow the colour of revenge but also the colour of hope and of promise for the future. With a smile on her face, and courage in her heart, Janna turned and began to walk north through the trees.

T
HE SCRAWNY
,
MUD-
stained youth froze in his tracks. Someone was coming! He quickly snatched up the snare he’d been about to set, and slipped it down the front of his tunic. Should he be seen, he must seem innocent – but he would do all in his power to avoid being seen for it could mean the difference between his life or death.

Nervous, needing a hiding place, he scanned the forest. A sheltering screen of holly bushes nearby was his best, his only option. He raced towards them and, wincing, eased himself between the prickly leaves, trying not to shake or disturb them in any way, or make any sound that might betray his presence. Once safely inside his thorny cover, he peeped out to see who was on his trail.

Sometimes a guide came through the forest, leading a band of pilgrims, or perhaps a cleric or a nobleman, to safety. When that happened, laughter and chatter usually accompanied their passage, for the travellers would have permission to be in the forest and would be passing through on legitimate business. But this traveller moved silently, and therefore must be alone.

If it was the forester who pursued him, he was in deadly danger. Gravelinges was a royal forest and the king’s forester patrolled it regularly to protect it from poachers, to make sure that there were always deer and wild boar for the king and his barons to hunt, as well as hares, rabbits and even fat doves. Anyone caught red-handed would be hauled to the forest court, where justice was summary and swift: if your life was not forfeit, at the very least your hands could be cut off, so Edwin had heard.

Edwin looked down at his hands. They were dirty but not blood-stained, at least not so far as he could see. To make sure, he wiped them across a patch of damp grass, then turned them over and wiped them again. He inspected them carefully. Cleaner now, but it was perfectly possible that there might still be blood under his fingernails, for he had killed and eaten while hiding out in the forest. Rabbits, hares and squirrels, voles, mice and birds – anything to fill his empty, aching belly and keep him alive just a little longer. He felt about him for a small twig and quickly began to scrape it under his cracked and broken nails in a vain effort to lift out the ingrained dirt. All the while he listened as the traveller came closer.

If not the forester, then who? The servants of his liege lord? Edwin’s heart sank further as he pondered the possibility that he might have been traced here to the forest. Even now, he might be walking into a trap. He cowered lower in the prickly holly, trying to make himself invisible.

The walker was a youth, and he was alone. Even better, he seemed unarmed. Edwin cautiously eased some leaves aside so he could see the boy more clearly. His eyes narrowed in calculation as he weighed up the choice of staying hidden and taking his chances, or jumping the youth and catching him by surprise. Whether he was here on legitimate business or was an outlaw, the boy might have something worth stealing. He might even have brought food and ale along for the journey. Edwin’s mouth watered at the thought.

A fallen tree lay close behind him. Edwin reached out and quietly raised a branch that had broken away, testing its strength and weight. It would do. He had the advantage of surprise. A well-placed blow …

Edwin smiled to himself. His muscles tensed. Poised, ready to spring, something yet made him hesitate. He watched as the unsuspecting youth passed close to the holly bushes. The boy looked about him, his face open to scrutiny. ‘Who’s there?’ he cried.

Edwin’s eyes widened in surprise. His fingers relaxed their firm grip on the dead branch and his smile broadened. He settled deeper into his prickly hiding place to wait, to watch, and to make quite sure.

T
HE FIRST THING
she needed, Janna decided, as she followed the faint trail that snaked through the forest, was to find a pool or stream to wash out her filthy clothes. Her lip curled in disgust as she looked down at the peasant’s smock and breeches she wore. Men’s garments, stolen from a barn at Babestoche Manor. Not only were they far too big for her, they were stained with sweat and dirt. In fact, they stank. She raised her arm to take a surreptitious sniff under her armpit, and nearly fainted from the powerful odour released by her action. Even worse than the smell was the fact that she was itchy all over. Something, or lots of little somethings, was living in her clothes. Janna felt her skin crawl. She longed to scratch her arms, her legs, her body, but she knew scratching would make the itches much worse. Better by far to find somewhere she could strip off and wash herself as well as the garments she wore. Even her eyebrows itched, while her scalp tickled with crawling creatures, real or imaginary.

If the dashing lord Hugh could only see her now! Janna shook her head as she tried to imagine his reaction. There had been admiration in his eyes when he’d looked at her in the past. Admiration, and perhaps something even more than that. But now …

Forget it! Forget him, she told herself sternly. Hugh thought she’d died in the fire that had consumed her cottage. Almost everyone thought she had died. Only two people knew she was still alive, but Janna trusted them not to betray her. It was better for her to be gone from sight. Safer. Meanwhile these clothes, these filthy garments, were part of her disguise, and she would have to endure them.

She quickened her pace. She knew not her destination, knew only that she was heading north in a desperate attempt to flee from those who had burned her home and who wanted to harm her. She had heard that this trail went north through the forest of Gravelinges to Wicheford on the other side. Her journey would not end there, but it would put the barrier of the forest between her and all those whom she had once thought of as friends. The thought of their treachery cast a dark shadow across Janna’s heart.

The great canopy of branches high above turned the forest into a cool, green dimness. Only a few rays from the setting sun pierced the leafy shield, pebbling the path with coins of gold. Bright spongy moss coated tree roots, while sticky-footed ivy clung to dead and living trees alike, encasing them in ruffled coats of green. The soft groans and murmurs of wood pigeons gave way to an alarmed rattle of wings as they flew from Janna’s approach. She felt as if she was walking through an enchanted wonderland, yet loneliness and sorrow walked beside her, step by step.

She scanned the silent forest for signs of water, and licked dry lips. She’d been walking for a long time. How much further did she have to go? Everyone knew that Gravelinges was enormous, but how big was enormous? Could she walk through the forest before nightfall, or was she already running out of time? She had no way of knowing where she was. Huge beech and oak trees towered above her, silent watchers in the dark forest, interspersed with birch, ash and hazel too, their summer green brighter than the dark patch of holly ahead. Janna shivered. The forest was a dangerous place to be, especially at night, when it became the demesne of wolves and other fierce creatures.

Her footsteps quickened, but then slowed again almost immediately. The trail was barely discernible in the dim light. She was further through the forest than she’d ever gone before, and could not rely on familiar landmarks to guide her. Janna was afraid that, in her hurry, she might misread her way, might become truly lost.

A faint rustle ahead froze her to a sudden stillness. Her heart thumped with fright. Slowly, her gaze sifted the landscape. There was a tall thicket of weeds in an open space ahead, which might give shelter to anything from a rabbit or deer to an outlaw. She watched for shaking leaves, for any signs of movement, but all was still now. Her gaze moved to the clump of holly bushes and then on and over the flat leafy cover spread beneath several huge oak trees.

Nothing moved. Janna turned slowly in a full circle, watching and listening. Then she took a few steps forward, pressing her feet carefully on grass and weeds so as not to make a noise, for she sensed now that she was not alone.

A silvery trilling set her heart leaping with fear. A pale yellow-grey wood warbler, flushed from cover, flew upwards. She felt the stir of air from its flight on her cheek. Sweat prickled her shoulder blades. ‘Who’s there?’ she cried, her voice high and wavering with fright. Too late, she recalled that she was wearing a man’s clothes. ‘Is anyone there?’ she tried again, striving for a deeper tone.

Silence. Janna’s ears stretched to hear a noise that wasn’t her own. She could feel eyes watching her every move. She whirled abruptly, hoping to catch – what? Something animal – or human?

Janna swallowed hard, feeling again the sweat of fear as she recalled the last time she’d been lost in Gravelinges in the dark. She’d stumbled across the path of a wild boar. In her panic to escape she’d run in a circle around it, enraging it to such a degree that it had charged and charged again. If Godric hadn’t been out poaching that night …

Godric. Janna’s mind skittered hastily away from the image of the sturdy villein. She didn’t want to think of Godric right now. He lay too heavily on her conscience for comfort.

No noise, no movement, save for the frightened thudding of her heart. Janna forced her legs to move once more, taking one reluctant step after another while she assessed her predicament. Wild animals didn’t only come out at night, she reasoned, but if it was a wild animal stalking her now it would not trouble to conceal the noise of its passage. Which meant that the watcher must be human.

Perhaps it was the king’s forester? Her mouth twisted in a grimace. She had only her feminine wiles to talk her way around the fact that she was trespassing in the royal forest, and she doubted they would be enough to save her – especially dressed as she was now! But if the forester was following her, surely he would have shown himself, would have challenged her just as soon as he noticed her?

Not the forester then. Could it even be Godric, who sometimes came through the forest on legitimate business, guiding people through to safety? Briefly, desperately, Janna wished that it might be Godric. In spite of feeling deeply ashamed, she longed to see him, longed for the comfort of his familiar presence. But she dared not call out again, for it was more likely that the silent watcher was an outlaw. Janna had heard frightening stories of those who fled the king’s justice. They hid in forests and preyed on travellers, seizing whatever they might find and showing no mercy to any who would prevent them.

Icy fear pricked up her spine. God rot it, she thought, wishing she was safely home in her cottage with her mother and Alfred, her cat. She drew in a deep breath to steady herself. Her home, and those she loved, were gone, all gone. She was alone out here, with no kith or kin to comfort her and only her knife for protection. She drew it out of its sheath and, feeling slightly braver with a weapon in her hand, she began to walk on.

Her way became more open, the tree cover now quite sparse. Janna realised she was no longer climbing. She seemed to have reached the high point of the forest, for the open weedy growth ahead lay downhill before being swallowed into darkness under the trees. She walked towards it and looked about. It must be very late for the sun, always slow to disappear in the summer months, was now gone and the light was fading fast from the sky. Even if she hurried, Janna knew she could not get through the forest before nightfall. Nor could she keep on walking for she would stray off the path. Already it was so faint as to be almost indiscernible. She’d heard tales of travellers who’d been lost in Gravelinges for days, weeks even. If they survived, they were half-mad with fear by the time they were rescued. Whatever else she did, she must not lose her way.

Should she then remain here through the night, and continue in the morning? She looked about her, feeling a shiver of unease. She shouldn’t light a fire. Although the flames would bring warmth and a measure of protection from any wild animals that might be lurking nearby, they might also attract the attention of the king’s forester. She couldn’t risk that. Nor could she risk making a nest of grass out here in the open. If she slept on the ground she would be in danger from any wild creature, animal or human, large or small, that crossed her path. Better, perhaps, to wedge herself up in a tree for the night, she decided. It would be uncomfortable, but she would be in a position to protect herself; she would be safe.

With her knife, Janna drew a large and careful circle around her feet to mark the faint trail she was following, then cut a long staff of hazel and staked it in the centre so that she could see it from a distance. After a moment’s thought, she pulled out her old kirtle, which she’d hidden under her smock, and tied it to the top of the stake. She stepped back and surveyed her handiwork. Her kirtle had been burnt to tatters in the fire. It was useless to her, but it made a good beacon. Besides, she no longer needed the disguise of a fat stomach, for anyone who met her from now on would be a stranger to her. Even if, by unlucky chance, she were to come across someone from her past, they shouldn’t recognise her either. She was no longer Janna, daughter of the
wortwyf
, the herb wife who had died in mysterious circumstances. She was now a youth called John.

Janna nodded to herself, satisfied. With frequent glances at her home-made marker to prevent herself from roaming too far, she began a careful inspection. She was looking for a tree with a lot of branches to cradle her and keep her fast should she fall asleep and forget to hold on. She also kept a lookout for any sign of water, or even some juicy berries. Her stomach growled with hunger; her throat scratched with thirst. A few pale discs caught her eye. She pounced on the small puffball mushrooms, and inspected them carefully before peeling them and stuffing them into her mouth. They were still white and tender enough to eat raw. Although they’d be better stewed, they brought saliva into her mouth and helped to fill her hollow belly.

Janna tried to ignore her discomfort, ignore too the itches that plagued her, and the tickling, biting midges that swarmed around her face. But she could not ignore the uneasy sense that she was not alone. If the watcher was human, it seemed he was in no hurry to accost her. Perhaps he intended to wait until she fell asleep?

Janna’s heart thumped hard and heavy in her chest. She found it difficult to catch her breath. I’ll stay awake all night, she promised herself, and gripped her knife more tightly as she searched for a tree with branches reaching down low enough for her to haul herself up. There was a thicket of yew ahead, a dark, dense tangle of knitted branches and spindle leaves. Her mother’s voice came into her mind: ‘Yews are ancient and sacred trees. The druids built their temples nearby, believing them to be sites of burial and resurrection.’ Janna took a step towards them, then stopped as she remembered her mother’s warning.

‘The fruits and seeds are highly poisonous, so you must be careful, Janna. Stay away from them, if you can. They’re otherworld, and they’re dangerous.’

The trees rose before her like a solid wall; she could not penetrate their depths. They would make a perfect hiding place. Could she risk it? It wasn’t as if she was planning to eat any part of them! Then Janna remembered what else she’d been told: that faeries believed that yews had the power to make them invisible, and used yew to conjure up a darkness in which they might disappear. Janna, too, sought to disappear; she hurried over to them and eased herself into their sheltering arms.

Climbing was so much easier wearing breeches, she realised, as she pulled herself upwards from branch to branch. In fact, just about everything was so much easier for a man than a woman!

When she could no longer see the ground below, she judged she was high enough to be unobserved, and secure enough to defend herself should anyone climb up and attack her. She wedged her body into the interlacing branches, and hooked her arms around them for safety. It was almost completely dark now. She couldn’t see anything other than her immediate cover, but she knew her home-made beacon was close enough for her to find in the morning.

With a sigh, she closed her eyes, then quickly snapped them open. She must not go to sleep. She touched the purse at her waist, heard a faint crumple of parchment and the clink of coins. Everything she owned that was of value to her was in her purse, including her journey’s purpose: the clues that might lead her to her father.

With the last of the light gone, the night became cold. A light rain began to fall. Janna pulled the hood of the gorget over her head, and huddled deeper into her prickly shelter in a vain effort to stay dry. The rain kept on, soaking through the gorget as well as her smock and breeches. It was too gentle to cleanse the filthy garments or drown the creatures that tormented her with their biting, but it was persistent enough to chill her to the bone. Janna shivered, and debated climbing down from her tree. She was cramped from crouching among the branches. If she walked about, her blood would flow freely once more and she might get warm.

If she wandered about in the dark, she might also get attacked! She would certainly get lost. Janna stayed where she was, and continued to shiver as she listened to the sounds of the forest at night: the haunting call of an owl overhead; the scuffle of a scavenging badger below and, in the distance, the anguished howl of a wolf. Secretive rustles betrayed the hunters; squeaks of distress marked their prey.

The night wore on, black and dismal, all trace of moon and stars hidden behind dense cloud. In spite of her best efforts, Janna’s eyes closed. She slept, jerked awake, and slept again.

When she next awoke, the sky was beginning to lighten with dawn, and the birds of the forest were celebrating the birth of a new day with chirps and cheeps, trills of interrogation, whistles, and snatches of songs. Janna rested quietly for a moment, listening to their conversations. But her body felt numb with cold; she was desperate to get down from her tree. Her limbs were cramped and stiff and, as she clambered downwards, she slipped off a rain-slicked branch and crashed through prickly foliage to land with a thump on the ground. She groaned with the pain of it. A brief vision of her home flashed into her mind: the fire warming and lighting the small cottage, the fragrance of dried herbs, hot griddle cakes and rich vegetable pottage, her mother’s busy efficiency, and Alfred’s welcoming purr …