Janna Mysteries 1 & 2 Bindup (24 page)

Tears came into Janna’s eyes. She felt once more the wrenching grief of her mother’s death, an aching sense of loss. There was also the added frustration of knowing that her mother had been on the brink of divulging the secret of her father’s identity, a secret Janna could never know now unless she could find out what was in the letter she carried. But for that, she would need to be able to read, and that was something Eadgyth hadn’t taught her. Janna thought about the parchment, with its undecipherable marks. Only the name at the end meant anything to her. John. It was her father’s name, she was sure of it. She burned with curiosity to know what he had written to her mother. Eadgyth had loved him, she knew that now, yet his words had been enough to make her mother pack up and run, and keep his identity for ever a secret.

Janna came back to the present, becoming aware of her surroundings once more. She choked back a sob. She was lonely and frightened. Yet she knew that somehow she must find the strength to carry on, for she’d made a vow to herself: to seek her unknown father and, with his help, bring the man guilty of the murder of her mother to justice. So she scrubbed the tears from her cheeks with a grubby hand, then eased herself up into a sitting position and carefully massaged the base of her sore spine. She stretched out her legs, rotating first one foot and then another. Satisfied that nothing was broken after her fall, she stood up then, and walked over to the stake she had left as a marker. She pulled it from the ground, removed her bundled kirtle and threw it into the shelter of a clump of bushes. The stake she kept, for it gave her an extra weapon to protect herself, should she need it.

Remembering her sense that she was being watched, she glanced about, searching for signs. A sudden crackle of twigs set her heart leaping into her throat. She backed behind a tree, then realised the noise came from a grazing deer. Fascinated, Janna stood still, watching it. Its belly was swollen, reminding her that the fence month might already have begun, the time when the forest was forbidden to everyone so that the does might drop their fawns and nurture them in safety. She had to get out of the forest as soon as she could.

The doe stepped on delicate feet towards Janna, head bent as it nibbled grass, lulled into a sense of safety by Janna’s stillness. She extended a cautious hand towards it. ‘Tck, tck, tck,’ she called softly. Startled, it jerked its head up and surveyed her with liquid brown eyes. Then it bent its head once more, and resumed feeding. She smiled at it, feeling a sense of peace as she contemplated the creature’s innocence and trust.

She tiptoed past it, fighting her reluctance to leave the safety of this open space for the dense forest that lay ahead of her. She must get through the forest today. Not for anything would she spend another night like the one she’d just passed.

She walked on and under the sheltering trees, then stopped, unsure now if she was on a path at all, for the way ahead seemed unmarked and undisturbed. She looked upwards, hoping to determine her direction by the position of the sun, but the forest had closed over her head and the sky was barely visible. Hastily she retraced her steps, and felt relief as she reached the clearing once more. She tilted back her head to find the sun, but dark clouds banked thick across the sky; there was no trace of golden radiance. Even as Janna glanced about, rain began to fall once more, soaking through her already wet clothes. ‘Hell’s breath,’ she muttered miserably, knowing that she would give up almost anything if it would buy her food and shelter. She longed to be free of the forest. Its silence oppressed her.

To stand still was to give in to despair. Janna began to prowl around the open space, trying to bring life to her chilled feet and limbs. She looked down at her leaking boots, wishing she had wooden pattens to protect them. While she paced about, she pondered what to do. Finally, she shrugged. She couldn’t follow the path home, for she had no home any more nor was there anyone in the village willing to give her shelter. It seemed she had no choice but to try to find her way through the forest. She walked back to where she’d left the trail, but there was no sign of it now. Fear almost paralysed her. It took all her strength not to open her mouth and scream for help in the hope that someone, anyone, be he forester or outlaw, would come to her aid.

She curled her hands into fists, feeling her nails dig into her palm. The pain helped to calm her. Breathe, she thought, remembering Eadgyth’s instructions to a panicky patient. She took a slow, deep breath, feeling time pass as the cold air sucked through her nostrils and down into her chest. Slowly, she expelled her breath through her mouth, blowing it out in a thin stream. It looked like smoke from a fire in the chill morning.

After several more breaths, and feeling slightly calmer, she looked about her, seeking signs. But there were none. ‘Just keep going along the edge of the clearing,’ she told herself. ‘The path must be here somewhere. Have patience, and you’ll find it.’

Step by cautious step, she began to circle the open space. A new thought alarmed her now. How would she be able to tell the difference between the track she’d come from and the track that would lead her to where she wanted to go?

Without warning, her foot slipped from under her and she slid down through layers of leaves, down into icy cold water. It sucked up around her, filling her boots and making her gasp for breath. Speechless with shock, Janna flailed about until she found her footing. She realised then that in fact the water came only to her thighs.

She looked about her at the great, leaf-filled depression in which she stood, and decided that she must have fallen into a large and ancient dewpond. She tried to step out, but slimy mud, formed from the detritus of the centuries, held her boots fast. Janna stood on one foot and leaned on her staff to help her balance while she wriggled her other foot until she’d managed to work her boot free. She took off the boot and threw it to safety, then cautiously lowered her bare foot to the bottom of the pond. She shuddered as it sank deep through the icy slime. She wriggled her booted foot, tugging hard until the sucking mud released it. A second boot joined its companion on the leafy bank. With a gasp of fear, Janna suddenly snatched up her purse and opened it, belatedly understanding the danger if the precious parchment inside had got wet.

The outside of the purse was damp, but its contents were dry. Janna released her breath, uttering a quiet ‘thank you’ to whoever might be listening. She flung the staff onto dry ground, and untied her girdle. Purse and girdle followed the staff and boots to safety. Time now to attend to her greatest need: water! She scooped twigs and leaves out of her way, bent her head and began to drink, relishing the icy wetness in her dry mouth and parched throat. She drank until she could drink no more, but now another idea had come into her mind. She was already wet and uncomfortable. She had nothing to lose save the family of biting creatures that inhabited the garments she wore. With a quick glance around her to make sure that she was alone, she gingerly lowered her body deeper into the water. Anchoring herself in the freezing mud, she stripped off the stolen gorget and smock, untied her breeches, and gave them all a good scrub before dressing herself once more. The gorget came last, but the hood clung cold and wet around her head and water dripped into her eyes. She took it off and cast it out onto the grass.

Remembering the itches, she ducked her head under and massaged her fingers through her hair, giving it a thorough rinse in the freezing water. She could feel the strangeness of its short stubble, all that was left after the ravages of the fire and her efforts to trim it short with her knife. At last, when she was satisfied that every little creature must be drowned, she felt her way towards the rim of earth that circled the large leafy basin. A memory teased her mind. Godric had told her about the ancient road built through the forest by the Romans. Could this dewpond have been fashioned to provide water for the soldiers and merchants who had once traversed this land?

Something sharp pierced Janna’s foot, and she cried aloud, forgetting for the moment her need for secrecy. She raised her foot above the water, and frowned as she inspected it. The tender skin of her instep was cut and bleeding. What could have been so sharp that it had pierced her skin like that? Not a flint, surely, but a sword perhaps, or a dagger? Janna knew that such things were sometimes found in water. She’d heard that it was once a custom for the ancients to throw their weapons into rivers and pools in order to propitiate the gods and seek good fortune. Coming across a pool in a huge forest such as this must in itself have seemed like good fortune to the old ones. They might well have shown their gratitude with costly gifts.

She took a deep breath and ducked down, carefully feeling through the icy mud for something sharp. Her own knife was quite small, no match for a wild animal or an outlaw. The staff she’d found was better than nothing, but with a real weapon in her hand she would feel much, much safer.

Janna’s lungs were bursting. She shot upwards and gasped for air, greedily sucking it in. Her teeth chattering, she was tempted, so tempted, to get out of the pool. Instead, she forced herself to take another deep breath and duck down into the darkness. She groped about in the slimy mud. Nothing. She surfaced once more, her whole body shaking with cold. One last time, she promised herself, and filled her lungs with air.

This time her search was rewarded. Janna felt the blade’s sharpness bite into her hand. She snatched it back, then cautiously stretched out her fingers, feeling inch by careful inch until at last she touched the blade again. Her chest was on fire. She was desperate to take a breath but she stayed down, carefully patting along the flat of the blade until she came to the solid shape of its hilt. She closed both hands around it and tugged, feeling the sword slide free. She shot up, breaking the surface with a triumphant whoosh of escaping air. She breathed deeply, savouring the air’s freshness, and looked down at the muddy object in her hands.

It was longer than a dagger, but shorter than the swords worn by noblemen such as the lord Hugh. Part of the hilt was broken off, but there was enough left for her small hand to grasp the weapon. She swished it around in the water, carefully breaking off lumps of caked mud and grit and rinsing it clean. The blade was rusty, its sheen dulled from its long immersion in the water. But it was sharp enough to inflict a grievous wound, Janna realised, as she gingerly put her foot to the ground and limped out of the dew pond.

Wiping her injured foot clean, she eased it into her boot. She put on her other boot, picked up the gorget and looked about for her purse and girdle. There was no sign of them. Janna frowned and looked more carefully, unable to understand the significance of their disappearance. Where could they be?

Panic constricted her chest. She began to search frantically, thinking she must have misread the direction in which she’d thrown them. Perhaps they’d slid beneath a bush or got buried somewhere in long grass and bracken? She scoured the clearing, widening the area of her search to poke into banks of tall nettles and patches of flowering weeds, although she knew in her heart that she’d not mistaken the direction. They had gone. Someone must have been there all along, watching her, waiting for just this opportunity to steal from her the only clues she had that might lead her to her father.

J
ANNA BOWED HER
head as a wave of grief and loss swept over her. She had so little, yet even this had been taken from her. A few silver pennies – yes, they might be of use to a desperate vagabond, as might the ring and brooch if he could trade them. But, for Janna, the real value of the contents of her purse lay in the parchment she’d carried, the letter she’d found from her unknown father. She was sure the letter was the key to everything, if only she could read it. Would an outlaw be able to read? Janna doubted it. He’d surely keep the other things, but would he perhaps throw away the letter, thinking it worthless?

A faint glimmer of hope lifted Janna’s spirits. If she could only follow in the thief’s footsteps, perhaps she might find the parchment discarded along the track. She looked about her once more, this time seeking the shelter nearest to where she’d cast her boots from the pond. The thief must have hidden somewhere while he watched her and waited to pounce. He might well have left some signs of his passage.

A dense thicket of hazel stood close by. Gripping the sword tight in her hand, she headed towards it. She examined the trees carefully, as well as the ground surrounding them, in case there were any signs to be seen: a thread snagged on a withy perhaps, or bruised and broken herbage. Her search was rewarded by the sight of a footprint indented in a patch of soft earth. Another print followed, leading away from the thicket. Janna stepped forward in the same direction, alert for any further clues to point her way.

Several times she thought she’d come to a dead end, but she trusted her instincts and kept on, following the most obvious route through the trees. Although she constantly checked the ground around her, there was no sign of her father’s letter. But scuffed moss, a broken twig, some flattened grass or herbs, a sliver of snagged bark all helped to point the way. She placed her feet lightly, carefully, while words repeated in her mind like a prayer: ‘Please let him throw away the parchment. Please let me find my father’s letter.’

She found herself now in a dense patch of the forest, hazel and holly hedged by a wall of prickly brambles. There seemed no way through. Baffled, Janna stopped and looked around her. Then she stepped forward for a more careful inspection. Every instinct told her she was close to her quarry, but the brambles barred her way. Or did they? Here they were bent one way, there another, cunningly plaited to disguise a thin and twisting passage through. Quiet as a hunting owl, Janna eased herself to the left then to the right, pushing deeper into the prickly heart of the brambles, until suddenly a small clearing opened before her. She walked into it, then hastily slid sideways behind the trunk of a large beech for concealment. She could see the thief clearly. She gripped the sword tighter and watched him.

He was sitting with his back to her. Janna saw a faint glimmer of light as he held the gold ring up high to inspect it. Her other treasures lay on the ground in front of him. Clearly, he was gloating over his day’s work.

A wave of rage coursed through her, as fierce, as white hot as the blazing sun. Without thought, she launched herself towards him, arm raised and sword at the ready to strike him flat with the blade and, if necessary, run him through. How dare he take her treasures, how dare he!

Swift and silent as she was, still the young man heard her and jerked upright to face her. His upraised arm deflected the sword’s blow. The blade missed the side of his head and hit him flat against the wrist instead. He grunted with pain but was still able to grab her wrist and wrench the sword from her grasp, flinging it safely out of range. Enraged, Janna swung back her foot and kicked out, aiming for his groin, hoping to cripple him with pain. But she was too slow and he read her mind. Just as her foot came forward, he released her and jumped nimbly out of her way after giving her a shove so that she lost her balance and fell. Before he had time to flee, she launched herself at his ankles and tugged, pulling him down on top of her. She rolled free and raked his face with her nails. ‘Devil’s spawn!’ she gritted through her teeth. She began to pummel him with her fists. ‘Dog’s droppings! Pond slime!’

She kept up the attack, feeling proud of the fact that she was getting the better of the rogue, until she realised he was making no effort to defend himself. Instead, he’d curled into a ball to present the smallest target to her flailing arms and fists.

‘You can stop hitting me, mistress. I won’t harm you,’ he muttered. As she understood the import of his words, shock stopped Janna mid-blow. Wide-eyed, she jumped to her feet and snatched up the sword, ready now to grab her treasures and run.

‘H-how did you know I was a girl?’ she stammered.

His face reddened slightly. He grinned at her, but did not answer. Janna felt her own face redden as she worked out how he’d managed to fathom her secret. ‘You watched me bathe, you … you bastard, damn you to hell!’ She closed her eyes as she remembered how she’d stripped off and washed both herself and her clothes. Mortified, she lashed out once more.

He took a hasty step out of her reach. ‘I turned my back to you as soon as I realised what you were. Who you are!’ he protested.

Janna wondered whether she could believe him. It was certain that he’d seen enough to know the truth! She comforted herself with the thought that mostly she’d crouched down in the water to wash, and that she’d both undressed and dressed in the pond. She remembered then the rustles she’d heard the night before, her sense that she was being watched. She eyed the youth warily. He hadn’t harmed her – not yet. But that didn’t mean he might not try in the future.

‘Why are you wearing men’s clothes anyway?’ he asked, his grin returning as he commented, ‘Certes they don’t become you, nor do they fit you very well!’

‘They do well enough.’ To prove her words, Janna tugged on the cord holding her breeches in place to tighten it, then hitched the breeches higher so she no longer trampled the fabric underfoot. ‘And don’t change the subject either!’ she flashed, recalling the reason she had followed him. She bent and snatched up the ring which the young man had let fall in the surprise of the attack, and hastily shoved it into the purse that lay on the ground nearby, hearing the comforting crump of parchment as she did so. The brooch and silver coins had also been dumped on the grass. They swiftly followed the ring to safety. Janna straightened then, and subjected the thief to a defiant glare, ready to spring at him once more to protect what was rightfully hers.

He held up his hands in a gesture of peace. ‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered. ‘I … I have nothing save the clothes I am wearing. I was going to use what I stole from you to travel somewhere safe, to find shelter and buy food. But I won’t try again, I promise.’

‘Why are you here in the forest?’ Janna demanded, not in the least mollified by his explanation. ‘What are you hiding from?’

‘Why are
you
here?’ He turned the question back on her. ‘What are
you
hiding from?’

Janna was silenced, but only for a moment. ‘I asked first,’ she muttered.

A grin stole over his face once more. ‘I’ll make a bargain with you. I’ll tell you my story if you’ll tell me yours,’ he said. He waited for her grudging nod before continuing. ‘I am on the run from my lord. He’s a cruel man, cruel as the devil. He beat me.’ The youth touched his dirty face. Janna saw a jagged scar on his chin, and winced in sympathy.

‘I ran away ’cos I decided I’d rather live as an outlaw than stay at the mercy of that swine,’ the youth continued. ‘I’ve been hiding here in the forest ever since, catching whatever I may to eat, and drinking water from that pool you fell into.’

‘How long have you been here?’ Janna strove to keep any hint of warmth from her voice, lest he believe she might take pity on him and share with him her treasures.

‘I don’t know the time in days exactly, but I reached the forest as the trees were just coming into bud from their winter sleep. I think it must be mid-summer now?’

Janna nodded. ‘Close enough. The fence-month may well have started already. You must certainly leave the forest as soon as possible, as must I.’

‘Why?’

‘’Tis the time when the does give birth to their fawns. The forest is forbidden to all at that time so that mothers and their babies are not disturbed. ’Tis a dangerous time to hide here, for the forester will be on constant watch to protect the king’s deer for the hunting season to come.’

The young man nodded thoughtfully. ‘I’ll have to take my chances. I can’t leave until the seasons turn full circle.’

‘Why?’ Now it was Janna’s turn to ask the question.

‘If I can stay hidden for a year and a day, I shall have earned my freedom from my lord.’ He grinned ruefully. ‘That’s if I can stay alive for that long.’

In spite of her best efforts, Janna felt some sympathy for the ruffian. His story touched her. So, too, did the realisation that, although he’d stolen her purse, he’d made no effort to harm her, or keep her goods once she’d tracked him down. She, too, had stolen something: the clothes she wore, and from a poor peasant who could ill-afford to lose them. She was in no position to judge what anyone might do when pushed to the limit of need. ‘What will you do after a year and a day?’ she asked.

The young man shrugged. ‘I would like to become an apprentice, to learn a trade, but I have not the money for that. So I will do anything at all that might help me earn my bread and keep.’

‘No-one will give you work and shelter once they know you’re a runaway serf,’ Janna pointed out.

‘They will if they think I’ve come from Wales. That’s what I’ll tell them. They won’t care who my lord was, so long as I show willing and work hard.’ The youth flexed his muscles. ‘I am strong,’ he boasted, ‘and I can turn my hand to anything I’m asked to do. I’ll have no trouble finding someone to take me in, I promise you.’

Janna nodded thoughtfully, while her mind ticked over in a tumble of ideas. If she helped him, so too might he help her. She held out her hand. ‘My name is Johanna, but I’m known as Janna,’ she said. ‘I, too, am in hiding. That’s why I’m dressed like this. I call myself “John”, for he was my father – a man of wealth and importance,’ she added proudly.

The youth nodded. He relaxed his wary stance, sprawling back against the grass. ‘My name is Edwin.’

‘If you come from Wales, shouldn’t you should call yourself by a Welsh name? Hoel or Gwyn, something like that?’

‘Edwin, Hoel, it makes no matter so long as they believe I’m a free man from across the border.’ He shrugged, and patted the grass beside him. ‘Sit down,’ he invited. ‘I won’t hurt you.’

Not taking any chances, Janna hooked the purse onto her girdle, and tied the girdle firmly around her waist. Then she sat down as she was bid, sword close at hand, keeping a careful distance from Edwin.

‘So where are you bound? And why are you hiding?’ he prompted.

Janna took a deep breath, hardly knowing where her story should start. With the fact that her cottage was burnt to the ground and she was homeless? Or a few days before then, when the nightmare first began?

‘I am Janna, daughter of Eadgyth the
wortwyf
,’ she said. ‘My mother used her knowledge of herbs to heal the sick. Just a few days ago, she was called on to physic the lady of Babestoche Manor, Dame Alice, and her newborn babe.’ She paused, debating whether or not she should tell Edwin how her mother had also looked after Cecily, one of Dame Alice’s tiring women, and how Eadgyth had drunk the poisoned wine that was meant for Cecily.

‘My mother taught me all she knew, but she is dead,’ Janna continued, choosing her words carefully. ‘She died in mysterious circumstances, and I have sworn to avenge her death and bring the culprit to justice. But I need my father’s help for this. Although I know who caused my mother’s death, I cannot accuse the man for he is all-powerful whereas I am but a humble outcast. So now I’m going in search of my father.’ She patted the purse at her waist. ‘My mother never told me who he was, but I hope that this letter and these pieces of jewellery will help me find him.’

‘No wonder you took after me in such a fury!’ Edwin gave her a rueful smile. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again, adding, ‘But why do you dress like a youth and travel in such secrecy?’

Janna sighed. ‘The man responsible for my mother’s death turned the villagers against me. They burned my cottage to the ground, thinking I was in it. It is safer for me if everyone thinks I died in the blaze, but just in case anyone sees me …’ She swept a hand down her body, indicating the clothes she wore.

Edwin’s lips pursed in a silent whistle. He regarded Janna thoughtfully for a moment. ‘It seems to me that, if we can’t stay here in the forest, we should journey together. We might be able to help each other,’ he ventured.

Janna nodded in agreement. ‘Your lord searches for a lone runaway, while you understood what I was quickly enough.’ She slid a sideways glance at him, and he reddened once more.

‘Yea, well I was in a … a position to see more of you than most,’ he said, shame-faced.

‘Than any man has ever seen before,’ Janna said tartly. ‘Had you not seen what you saw, would you say I could pass for a youth?’

He looked her fully in the face now. He was taller than her, and Janna noticed that he was also a little older than her own sixteen years. His face was comely rather than handsome, and he had an attractive smile. She noticed the scratches on his dirty brown cheek, freshly made and dappled with beads of blood. She, too, had left her mark on Edwin. ‘You should wash those scratches,’ she said. ‘I’ll find some herbs that will help them heal.’ She felt sympathy for the mistreated youth, but she would not say sorry; she wasn’t quite ready to forgive him yet.

He nodded his thanks. ‘You dress like a man,’ he said then, ‘but you walk and talk like a girl.’ He jumped to his feet, put a hand on his hip and took a few mincing steps.

Janna was surprised into laughter. ‘I do not!’ she protested.

‘You laugh like one, too.’

Janna gurgled into silence. ‘I can’t dress like a girl,’ she pointed out, making her voice purposely deep. ‘These clothes I’m wearing are all that I own.’