Janna Mysteries 1 & 2 Bindup (28 page)

‘I should put you in to the sheriff for such an act.’ Yet a faint smile curled the man’s lips upwards.

Emboldened, Janna asked, ‘Will you allow us to leave now, sire? If the forester is gone and it is safe?’

‘No.’ The smile grew broader as the man shook his head.

‘No?’ Janna’s voice skidded dangerously high. Her heart beat fast with fright. Did he mean, after all, to give them over to the sheriff?

‘There is much to be done on the manor, and I am short of labour, especially as half the villeins are struck down with some poxy disease. You may stay a while, and repay your debt to me by doing their work for them.’ He was no longer smiling. Janna knew that even though his words were couched as an offer, he expected to be obeyed. She glanced at Edwin, uncertain what to say or do. To her surprise, he nodded acceptance.

‘Good,’ the man said briskly. ‘My name is Serlo, and I am the reeve of this manor.’ Janna felt a moment’s surprise that she’d so misjudged his position here. But Serlo was still speaking. ‘You will follow my commands and work in return for your bread and lodging until I no longer have need of you. Do not cross me for I will raise the hue and cry should you try to leave.’

Janna’s heart sank. She fingered the shape of the small statue in her purse, the mother hunched so protectively over her child. It gave her the courage to ask the question. ‘How long will you keep us here, Master Serlo?’

‘What does it matter? You said you were in search of work. I am offering it.’

Janna wondered how to convey to him the urgency of her quest to find her father, without giving too much away. As she struggled to find the words, Edwin forestalled her.

‘We are grateful for your kindness, Master Serlo. Be sure that we will pay our debt to you in full.’

‘Come with me.’ Mounting his horse, Serlo beckoned them to follow behind. Janna cast a glance at the sword she’d salvaged from the pond, now lying half hidden behind a rough wooden feed trough. Edwin caught her glance and shook his head. He started off after Serlo and, after a moment’s thought, Janna stowed the sword out of sight, along with Edwin’s jug and pot, then scurried after the pair. Serlo had said that the shed stood empty through the summer. The sword should be safe enough for the moment, but she would come back for it once they were given permission to leave.

It was a long walk over the marshy ground of the water meadows. Mud and dung stuck to Janna’s boots and she again wished she had a pair of wooden pattens to protect them from all the muck. Serlo led them across the river and up to the manor house. He bade them wait while he entered the yard and dismounted to fetch some implements. To Janna he handed a heavy wooden mallet; to Edwin a pair of long-handled sticks, with a Y-fork on one and a small sickle blade on the other. Once more he mounted, and walked them on and up into the fields beyond. Some of the ploughed fallow land was studded with fat horned sheep and their long-tailed lambs. They nibbled at new shoots of weeds and grass, and dropped the dung that would be spread to make the soil more fertile for the next cycle of planting. The earth was dark, marked with patches of white chalk and studded with flints that glinted in the watery sunlight. Scarlet poppies turned their faces to the sky, bright splashes of colour among the green wheat growing nearby. Looking more closely, Janna could also see an abundance of prickly purple thistles, red deadnettles, charlock, dock and hairy pink corncockle. The flowers made a pretty picture, but Janna knew they would spread and choke the wheat if left unchecked.

Weeding fields and spreading dung was back-breaking work. It was normally done by the villeins of the manor in return for a small plot of land and shelter for their families, yet these fields seemed almost deserted. She wondered how Serlo could be so careless of his lord’s property, and why his lord let him get away with it. Then she remembered the poxy disease, and understood why the reeve was forcing their service to his cause. She became aware that he was talking to them, throwing words carelessly over his shoulder as he rode along. She hurried to catch up with him and Edwin. To her dismay, the reeve’s words confirmed her fears.

‘I’m behind with everything here because of this cursed pox. The sheep are still to be washed and shorn and the hay to be cut, just as soon as we get some sunshine. There are new ditches to dig, and hedges to repair around the growing corn. But you can begin by weeding the corn, and breaking up clods and picking large flints from the fallow fields, anything that might get in the way of the plough. You can also spread the sheep’s mundungus to make next season’s crops grow better. While you are here, you will sleep with the servants in the hall and break your fast with them. Mistress Tova, the cook, will give you food and ale to take out into the fields for your dinner and supper. I don’t want to see you back at the manor until it’s dark. I am out around the manor farm every day in my lord’s absence, so make sure I’ll be keeping an eye on you and how hard you are working.’

Janna groaned inwardly. With the sun rising early, and the summer light fading late from the sky, it made for a long day’s labour. She cheered herself with the thought that at least they’d be meeting new people, any of whom might know the way to Winchestre. Their service here could not last for ever; sooner or later they would be given permission to leave.

Edwin gave her a hard nudge. ‘What?’ she asked, startled out of her reverie. He began to walk with exaggerated strides, swinging his arms manfully by his side. Puzzled, Janna stared at him, then became aware that Serlo was watching them both and frowning with suspicion. Suddenly catching on, she squared her shoulders and lengthened her stride. ‘He’s only young,’ Edwin called, as he drew nearer to Serlo, ‘but he’s strong.’ He jerked a thumb towards Janna. ‘He’s a good worker, you’ll see.’

Another grunt met this observation, but Serlo turned then and set his horse for home. Edwin flashed a grin at Janna and she pulled a rueful face at him. It was so easy to forget her new disguise. So easy, and so dangerous.

A
FTER A FEW
days out in the fields, Janna ached all over. Her fingers were torn and bruised from picking up sharp flints and hacking into thistles, while her back felt bent out of shape from bending over to beat out hard clods of earth with the heavy mallet. In her nose was the stink of sheep dung. Although she’d washed her hands and feet in the river before coming in for the night, she could still smell it.

She stretched out on her straw pallet, trying to find ease for her tired body and her unquiet mind. To stop herself from the misery of recalling her past life with her mother in their small cot at the edge of Gravelinges forest, which always brought with it the slow burn of anger at the injustice of what had happened to her, Janna thought instead about Urk and what had happened that day while she was out culling weeds.

Urk was by far the oldest of the group of children who had been sent into the fields to scare away the crows, rooks and other scavengers that swooped down to eat the ripening corn. The youngest, aged three or four, banged drums and shouted. The older children carried slingshots, and it was a matter of competition and pride between them who could fell the most birds. Behind the children came Urk’s mother, cutting weeds and keeping an eye on the youngsters to remind them of their purpose should their natural high spirits lead them astray.

Urk was tall and heavyset, and slow by nature. He reminded Janna of a scruffy hen she’d owned, which she’d called ‘Laet’ because it was always last to get to the feed. The hen would not have survived if Janna had not fed it separately. Janna suspected that Urk’s mother might also give her oldest son special treatment. Yet he was a merry lad, with a sweet smile and a willing nature. He was also the most accurate of them all when it came to using the slingshot. This day he’d had the misfortune to bring down a dove in front of Serlo, and had his ears severely boxed as a result. Janna cringed as she remembered how Mistress Wulfrun had pleaded on her son’s behalf.

‘He doesn’t understand what he’s done wrong, Master Serlo. Please don’t punish him so.’

‘It was eating the wheat, Master Serlo,’ Urk chimed in. ‘You told us to kill all the birds who ate the grain.’

Serlo glowered at the unfortunate boy, then gave him another clip across the ear. ‘Doves are for my lord’s sport, not yours,’ he shouted, as if the boy was deaf rather than slow. ‘Don’t you dare kill another – don’t ever touch the doves again, or I’ll take your slingshot from you and you’ll never get it back!’

Urk’s lip quivered; he looked on the verge of tears. ‘And no more playing with fire either!’ Serlo turned on his heel and marched off.

Mistress Wulfrun placed her arm around her son and gave him a hug. ‘Don’t take it to heart,’ she comforted him. ‘Master Serlo doesn’t mean it.’

Feeling sorry for the boy, Janna bent once more to her task. Suddenly, she found Mistress Wulfrun beside her, with Urk a pace behind. ‘Master Serlo is usually more patient with him,’ the woman confided, as she stooped to cut weeds. She glanced at Urk. ‘And you don’t play with fire, do you, son?’

‘No.’ Urk stood still, watching them. Janna wondered if he was too afraid now to use his slingshot.

‘He woke up one night when he was small,’ Mistress Wulfrun explained further. ‘We were all asleep but he wanted to go outside. I think he was just curious to have a look around the manor in the moonlight. He had the good sense to take a rush light so he could see his way, but when he walked into the byre a cow mooed and frightened him. He dropped the light into a pile of hay, and the byre caught on fire. He didn’t do it on purpose – and there was no harm to the animals,’ she added quickly, forestalling Janna’s question. ‘But my son got such a fright he started screaming. Everyone came running. The animals were led to safety, but the byre burned to the ground.’ She looked at Urk, concern scoring deep lines across her pleasant, homely face. ‘Of course, he shouldn’t have gone near the manor, and my lord was very good about it, very understanding. But Serlo was angry, I think because he feels responsible for everything that takes place here. He is usually fair in his dealings with us, but it seems he has neither forgotten the fire nor forgiven my boy.’ She looked at Janna. ‘I can’t be with him all the time. Will you also keep watch over him out in the fields, John, when I’m not here?’ she pleaded.

‘Of course I will, mistress.’ Janna didn’t know what else to say to comfort the woman or her son, but she wished now that she’d thought of something, anything, to ease the situation, to make Urk feel better about himself, and his mother less worried about him. She yawned, and shifted about on the straw pallet, trying to compose herself for sleep, but her bed was prickly and her whole body ached. Contributing to her unease was the company she kept. All Janna’s life there had been only her mother and, later, the cat Alfred in their cottage. Now she was expected to sleep in the hall with all the servants of the manor, most of them men and boys. Edwin had set their pallets into a corner, away from the crowd around the fireplace. He’d put Janna next to the wall, keeping himself between her and the others. She was grateful for his protection, but even so she lay awake, unaccustomed to the night noises, the sighs and murmurs, the cries of nightmares, and the odours of farts and sweaty clothes and dirty feet.

When at last she fell asleep, her dreams were full of endless fields spread before her. She stooped over them, with the smell of animal excrement in her nose and the knowledge that her tasks would never be done. And so it seemed still when she woke to yet another grey dawn and the realisation that a new day lay before her, and one after that, and then another and another. She groaned softly. Hot tears stung her eyes.

‘What’s wrong?’ Edwin stirred beside her.

‘Nothing.’ Janna was conscious of the servants nearby, any one of whom might be wide enough awake to carry the tale to Serlo if she confessed to Edwin how sad and desperate she felt. She wiped her eyes on the back of her sleeve, and tried not to sniffle.

Edwin seemed to understand. ‘My body is one big ache, and my arms feel like they’re on fire,’ he muttered, as he stood up and squared his shoulders to face the day.

‘At least our bellies will soon be full!’ Janna felt a little more cheerful as she stored her straw pallet in an alcove off the hall. She looked about, but there was no sign of the bread and ale with which they normally broke their fast. The table stood bare, and Janna’s stomach rumbled with hunger. Beckoning Edwin to follow her, she hurried down the stairs and on towards a stone building nearby. There might be other pickings waiting for them in the kitchen, a scrap of bacon perhaps, or even a pasty. Saliva flooded Janna’s mouth at the thought, and her steps quickened.

She loved going into the kitchen. It was a source of wonder to her that anywhere could hold such an abundance of food. She took a deep sniff, anticipating the delicious smells of meat roasting on a spit over the fire, newly baked bread, the rich aromas of a bubbling pottage, the spicy fragrance of herbs. Instead, she smelt a sharp and acrid stink. A young maid stood at the large table in the centre of the room, chopping onions and weeping over her task.

Janna sniffed again and realised that it wasn’t onions she could smell, but smoke and burnt offerings. Bewildered, she looked around for the cook, but there was no sign of Mistress Tova, only Serlo and the kitchen servants. Hands on hips and face red with anger, Serlo was berating one of the skivvies. Feeling sorry for the boy, yet reluctant to attract the reeve’s attention, Janna stopped abruptly. Edwin crashed into her. ‘What are you …?’ His words died on his lips as he took in the situation. But it was too late. Serlo had seen them. Tilting her chin in assumed bravado, Janna waited for him to address them.

‘The cook has gone and got the pox now. She’s all over spots,’ he said, by way of explanation. ‘And no-one seems to know anything about baking bread.’ He flung out a hand towards some flat, blackened rounds which must once have been small loaves.

‘I can bake griddle cakes, Master Serlo,’ Janna said quickly, keen to lend a helping hand and, if possible, get the young boy out of trouble. She noticed the flare of surprise in his eyes as he turned to face her and realised, with a sinking heart, that she’d have done much better to hold her tongue. ‘My … our mother taught me how,’ she added, sneaking an anxious glance at Edwin as she did so.

‘Hmph,’ Serlo grunted. He cast a glance around the kitchen, at the silent kitchen hands and lowly skivvies huddled near the door, waiting only a chance to disappear from view. His glance settled on a young woman, and he reddened slightly. ‘Hasn’t your mother taught you how to cook, Gytha?’ he demanded, in a softer tone than he’d used with the boy.

‘No, Master Serlo, she has not.’ The girl tossed her long dark ringlets. Janna waited for an explanation or an excuse for her lack of skill, but none came.

Curious, and rather impressed by Gytha’s impertinence, for Janna judged the girl a little younger than herself, she leaned slightly to one side for a better view. Gytha was beautiful, she decided, with a pang of envy and of pain as she mourned her own lost locks, and her rough disguise. Evidently Gytha was the cook’s daughter, yet she wasn’t often in the kitchen for Janna hadn’t seen her there before. Now, she faced Serlo with pride, secure in her own beauty and a position that seemed equal to Serlo’s own.

He’s smitten with her. Janna’s lips curved upwards into a smile as she understood his sudden fluster. But he was well in command of his emotions when he turned his hard gaze back on Janna. ‘Make some griddle cakes then, John, quick as you can. There’s much work to be done.’ With a last suspicious glance at Janna, he hurried out.

‘I’ll help you.’ The beauty moved towards Janna with a friendly smile. ‘I wouldn’t admit it to him,’ she jerked her head in the direction of the disappearing reeve, ‘but my father taught my mother the arts of the kitchen while he was alive, so she was able to keep his position here after he died. In turn, she has taught me all she knows. I can cook, and cook well, but I will not be a skivvy to the likes of Serlo. I have set my sights much higher than the reeve.’ A dreamy smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

‘You will cook for the lord of the manor when he returns?’

‘No, indeed. I shall do more, much more for my lord than cook for him.’

Could Gytha really mean what she was saying? Even as she scolded herself for her nosiness, Janna’s insatiable curiosity prompted her to probe further. ‘You are my lord’s mistress?’

‘Certainly not!’

‘I beg your pardon,’ Janna apologised hastily. ‘What I meant to ask is: are you betrothed to him?’

‘Not yet.’ A calculating expression briefly marred the young girl’s beauty. ‘But it’s only a matter of time before he recognises that our destiny lies together.’ Head tilted to one side, she studied Janna. ‘You’re new here, aren’t you, John?’

‘Yes.’ Janna answered without thinking. ‘Yes,’ she said again on a deeper note, hoping the girl hadn’t seen through her disguise.

‘My name’s Gytha,’ she said, and took Janna’s hand. ‘Come on, I’ll show you where everything is kept. It’ll be a blessing if you can do the cooking while my mother is ill. Not for anything would I have Serlo tramping around after me, breathing down my neck and telling me what to do.’

Yet you have no hesitation in shifting the burden onto my shoulders, Janna thought. With a wry smile, she acknowledged that she would far rather slave in the kitchen all day than break her back out in the fields.

She rinsed her hands, and began to rub fat into the flour, noticing how fine and white it was compared to the gritty brown flour which was all she and her mother had been able to afford. She poured some goat’s milk into the mixture, hiding a smile as Edwin sidled over. He edged closer to Gytha, looking hopeful. Gytha fluttered her eyelashes and gave him a demure smile.

‘This is my older brother, Edwin,’ Janna said, amused. Gytha might have designs on the lord of the manor, but it seemed she couldn’t help flirting with any marriageable prospect around. ‘What ails your mother and the villeins, mistress?’ she asked. It was possible she might know of a preparation that could help them.

‘They burn with fever and they’re covered in itchy spots. They are too sick to leave their beds.’ Gytha looked genuinely concerned now, and Janna could understand why. She’d seen the ravages of this disease before, how it could scar skin and destroy hearing and sight, and even kill if taken badly enough. No wonder Gytha looked frightened. She obviously had ambition for her future, an ambition dependent on her youthful beauty.

‘You should stay away from your mother. I hope it’s not too late,’ Janna advised. ‘Once one gets the disease, most everyone else around and about will get it too.’ She hung a flat tray over the kitchen fire and waited for it to heat.

‘Put some eggs with that.’ Gytha whisked into a larder and came out with several eggs cupped in her hand. Trying not to look too impressed by such riches, Janna cracked them open and spilled the contents into the bowl. Once the eggs were beaten into the milk and flour, she ladled the mixture in small dollops onto the tray. Her stomach growled with hunger. She fought to restrain herself from peeling off the cakes and stuffing them straight into her mouth.

‘My mother looks so ill. The spots plague her so she can’t stop scratching.’ Gytha seemed genuinely wretched now. ‘I wish I could do something to help her.’

Janna thought of the potions she and her mother had made when a similar disease had struck down a number of villeins in a hamlet near their own. ‘If you wish, I can brew a decoction for the fever and make up a lotion to soothe the itchy spots,’ she promised, adding quickly, ‘but you must help me first. These cakes are almost ready. Perhaps you could fetch the ale and take it up to the hall?’

‘And what would a youth like you know about fevers and lotions?’ Serlo’s voice made Janna jump. She hadn’t heard him return. She cast a nervous glance behind her. ‘Our mother was a … a healer,’ she stammered, thinking it safest to keep as close as possible to the truth. ‘But she also worked in an alehouse,’ she added hurriedly, as she recalled what she’d first told Serlo.