Janna Mysteries 1 & 2 Bindup (30 page)

Although they used a pair of long-handled sticks to cull the tall, prickly weeds, Janna’s hands were scratched and sore. She could feel the sting of their spikes through her smock and breeches whenever she came too close. She hated them! Now, she turned her back on them and, instead, began to cut into a clump of hairy pink corncockle.

In the new freedom her tunic and breeches provided her, she’d almost forgotten how it felt to be constrained in a long kirtle. Her past life was beginning to seem more and more like a dream, and yet her quest nagged at her conscience: she needed to find her father. She wanted justice for her mother’s death. Finally, she gave voice to her thoughts.

‘If Master Serlo won’t give us permission to leave the manor, we must ask the lord if we may go.’

‘Master Serlo needs our help with haymaking. He told me so only yesterday.’

‘You work too hard, that’s the trouble.’ Janna paused a moment to survey Edwin’s efforts as, seemingly tirelessly, he slashed through the spiky thistles. ‘If we were both of us as useless as Gytha, he’d get rid of us tomorrow. Today, even.’ She bit her lip as she remembered the distress she’d already caused Edwin. She wished she’d held her tongue.

‘Gytha has other uses so far as Master Serlo is concerned,’ Edwin said dryly.

‘True enough.’ Janna felt slightly reassured that Edwin had come to realise he was wasting his time on Gytha. She decided to jolly him along. ‘And what is this I hear about Mistress Bertha showing off her legs to you?’

‘Who told you that?’

‘Do you need to ask?’ Janna continued before Edwin had a chance to respond. ‘I’m meant to warn you that she’s a flirt, a flighty girl, and that she’ll break your heart.’

‘Mistress Bertha cares nothing for me, whatever Mistress Tova might think!’ Edwin’s voice was gruff with embarrassment.

Janna looked at him. Edwin’s wild, half-starved look was gone; he was filling out, becoming a man. Janna had seen how some of the young women looked at him when he passed by, although he never stopped long to talk with them, to tease them or flirt with them as they obviously wished he would.

‘You might not stand a chance with Gytha, but I reckon you could have your pick of anyone else if you weren’t so shy,’ she observed.

Edwin flushed. ‘Look at me!’ he countered angrily. ‘I’m a fugitive from my lord’s demesne. How can I woo a maid when I have nothing to offer her, nothing at all?’

‘That’ll change when you’ve waited out your year and a day,’ Janna comforted him.

‘Yea, it will. But only if we can get to Winchestre, and if I can find work to earn my keep.’

‘Then we might as well get started,’ Janna said cheerily. ‘You won’t mind if I ask the lord’s permission to leave?’

‘I’d rather stay until we’re told to go,’ Edwin countered. ‘Serlo is a good reeve, far better than my own lord, and we have food and shelter here. Trust me, it’s much more comfortable living here than living wild in field and forest, having to scavenge and steal to stay alive. Besides, Serlo saved us from the forester. We owe him for that.’

‘We’ve already worked hard enough to repay him a hundredfold,’ Janna grumbled.

‘It’s safer for me to stay here, tucked out of sight.’ Edwin thought a moment. ‘It’s not as though you have any real plan to find your father. A few weeks more can’t make any difference either way.’

Janna gave a grudging nod, accepting the truth of Edwin’s words.

‘Besides, I hear there’s to be a great feast after haymaking is done, with much ale and merrymaking. You wouldn’t want to miss that, would you, even if it means you’ll have to ask a maiden to dance with you?’

Janna threw back her head and laughed at the thought. As she brought her attention back to the task in hand, her gaze sharpened and she straightened abruptly to look ahead. Her heart skipped a beat. She felt light-headed with shock.

That sleek, black destrier! She could swear she’d seen the horse before. She’d even been on its back, riding in front with Hugh sitting behind her, his arms around her to keep her safe. So close they’d been, she had wished the ride might last for ever. She squinted her eyes against the light, trying to see the rider more clearly.

He was clean shaven, with brown, shoulder-length hair. A green cloak almost covered his long tunic. She looked into his dark eyes.

Yes, it was, it truly was! Her legs folded under her and she collapsed onto the ground, faint and giddy with fear. She bent her head to her knees, knowing that the rush of blood would make her feel better. More than anything, though, she needed to hide her face. Hugh thought she was dead, burned in the fire along with her cottage. It was safest for Janna if everyone thought that.

‘What is it? What’s the matter?’ She heard Edwin’s anxious voice through the heavy pounding of her heart.

‘Hide me, Edwin! Stand in front of me.’ Janna didn’t raise her head. ‘That’s my lord Hugh coming our way. What’s he doing here?’

There was silence as Edwin surveyed the figure coming towards them. ‘I noticed him before,’ he commented then. ‘He’s come from the forest, and he rides alone. He must know the way, or there’d be a guide with him else.’

‘I suspect he knows the way very well.’ Through her own fear and confusion, Janna had found the answer to her question. ‘I suspect he’s done the journey through the forest many times.’ She remembered how Gytha had talked about her lord and how he managed the manor on behalf of his family, and wondered why she hadn’t made the connection before. How could she have been so stupid! Hugh himself had told her that he was visiting his aunt to report on his custodianship of her property, while Hamo, Hugh’s cousin, had boasted that in time, he would inherit everything. ‘The lord Hugh has been away visiting his aunt at Babestoche, which is on the other side of this forest,’ she said slowly. ‘Dame Alice must own this manor farm, for Hugh is her nephew and Gytha has told me he’s in charge here until his cousin comes of age. Oh, Edwin!’ Her voice shook as she looked up at him. ‘This is the worst possible place we could have chosen to come for shelter!’

‘Have courage,’ he murmured, as he bent and sliced into a patch of nettles. ‘You are a youth now, remember, and the lord comes very near to us. You’d better get back to work or he’ll certainly stop and give you a piece of his mind.’

Conscious that it was good advice, Janna scrambled to her feet and began to hack into a patch of yellow-flowering charlock, deliberately turning her back on the oncoming horseman. All her senses were strained as she listened to the sound of the horse’s hooves and the jingle of its bridle. In spite of herself, a slow blush mounted her cheeks.

‘God be with you,’ Hugh’s cheery voice rang out.

‘God be with you, sire,’ Janna mumbled in reply. She didn’t turn around, but heard Edwin’s voice echo her own greeting. To her horror, the sounds had stopped, which meant that the horse had too. She risked a quick glance behind her, not wanting to turn around but wondering if it would be considered rude to ignore Hugh and keep on working.

‘You are strangers to my manor, are you not?’ Hugh sounded puzzled. Janna waited, her heart thudding, for Edwin to reply.

‘We are, my lord. Your reeve, Master Serlo, gave us shelter in return for our labour. He has asked us to stay and help with the haymaking.’

‘Which is very late.’ Hugh cast his eyes skyward, assessing the chances of the sunshine continuing.

‘There has been much illness as well as bad weather, sire,’ Edwin hastened to explain.

Watching from under lowered lids, Janna saw Hugh nod silently. ‘Who are you? What are your names?’ he asked.

‘I am Edwin, and this is my brother, John.’

Janna turned to Hugh. She ducked her head in obeisance and kept it bent to avoid his gaze.

‘And where are you from? Do you have permission from your liege lord to leave his manor?’

As Edwin launched into an explanation, Janna turned to attack a patch of thistles.

‘Your young brother seems determined to earn his keep,’ Hugh interrupted, sounding amused. Janna did not dare to look at him.

‘He’s young, sire, but he’s a good worker. Our mother always said that young John here was never at rest until all was done and proper.’

Edwin sounded so convincing! Janna stifled a giggle.

‘I can see your mother was right. I’ll have a word with Serlo when I find him. Maybe you can stay on to help with the harvest too. There is always a need for good and willing workers.’ The jingle of the bridle told Janna that Hugh was on the move once more. Only when the sounds had faded into the distance did she dare to raise her head and look about her.

‘There, you heard him! He wants us to stay.’ Edwin sounded wistful. ‘I’d like that, John, I really would.’

‘Don’t even think about it!’ Janna said furiously. ‘Didn’t you listen when I told you that the villagers set fire to my cottage, with me in it? It’s too dangerous for me to stay here!’

‘You didn’t tell me he had anything to do with it.’ Edwin jerked his head in the direction of the dwindling figure of Hugh.

‘No, but … but …’ Janna couldn’t tell Edwin that it was Hugh’s uncle by marriage, Robert of Babestoche, who had incited the villagers to rise against her. If Hugh found out who she really was, it would only be a matter of time before Dame Alice and Robert found out too. Janna had managed to escape with her life once; she didn’t intend to take any further chances.

‘But … but what?’ Edwin raised an enquiring eyebrow.

‘He was part of it. Hugh, I mean,’ Janna muttered. ‘It’s not safe for me to stay here.’ Even as she said the words, she knew that she wanted to stay, just to be near Hugh. Being so close to him again had utterly unnerved her. In spite of her short hair and villein’s garb, she longed to show herself as she really was, and tell him the truth: that she was alive, that she had escaped the fire that was meant to destroy her and her cottage. Then she remembered Gytha, and the light died in her eyes. It seemed that Hugh had a weakness for pretty serving girls and also the glib tongue to convince them that they were special in his eyes. ‘We have to leave. We must,’ she insisted.

‘We can’t. Not without Serlo’s permission.’

‘He can’t stop us if he doesn’t see us go.’ Janna wondered why Edwin was being so obstinate.

‘He can raise the hue and cry after us with the forester and with the sheriff. I’ve done enough running away, Ja … John. Please, let’s stay here as long as we can.’

Janna was silent, torn between wanting to help Edwin and to protect herself.

‘We probably won’t see him again,’ Edwin urged. ‘He’ll be far too busy and important to bother with the likes of us. Our dealings are with Master Serlo, not him. Besides, he doesn’t suspect a thing. In fact, he thinks well of you for being such a hard worker!’

Janna gave a grudging nod, acknowledging the truth of Edwin’s argument. ‘Then you must speak for me, protect me from him,’ she conceded, adding fiercely, ‘but only until our time is up! Then I’m going to Winchestre, whether you come with me or not.’ She bent to slash at the hated weeds once more.

A
FTER HER
unexpected encounter with Hugh, Janna spent as little time in the hall as possible in case he came in and found her there. She broke her fast at speed and, while Edwin waited about afterwards for Hugh or Serlo to give the villeins on week work their orders for the day, she would hurry to the kitchen and wait for Mistress Tova to pack up dinner and supper in a sack for those who had no land to provide for themselves. Listening to Mistress Tova meant that Janna was well up on the doings of the manor, and the gossip that was attached to them.

Not everything was going smoothly and Mistress Tova had plenty to say about that too. A fox had got into the henhouse one night. The rumpus had woken the servants sleeping in the hall, and they’d rushed down to investigate, but several hens had already been savaged and killed. The maid in charge of feeding them and collecting their eggs had been in a lot of trouble, although she tearfully repeated over and over again that she was sure, positive, absolutely certain that she’d shut the coop tight for the night.

Next, a young lamb had been found dead. The sheep had all been washed prior to shearing. They’d been put back in their fold but the lamb was found some distance away, although the shepherd said he’d counted them and had stayed guard in his little hut all night. The lamb’s carcass was cut and bloody. It was certain that no natural illness or weakness had killed it, while the shepherd swore no wolf could have carried it off either. He, too, had felt the sharp edge of Serlo’s tongue.

On another occasion, cows managed to escape from their byre and plunged through a hedge into a field of ripening wheat. Before the hayward could sound the alarm, their hooves and their appetites had destroyed a large portion of new grain, which meant there would be less for the harvest and therefore less to tide everyone over through winter and the hungry months before the next harvest.

What intrigued Janna most was her suspicion that the incidents had been planned, and for a purpose. Walking past the henhouse on the day after the hens had been savaged, she’d noticed a small bunch of rue beside the gate of their run. It had seemed odd at the time, so odd that she’d paid close attention when she found another bunch of rue near the sheepfold after the slaughter of the lamb. Was the herb dropped by accident, or had the perpetrator regretted his act of violence after the event? Was this his way of saying he was sorry? No-one seemed to think anything of it, but Janna couldn’t believe in happenstance. Perhaps to the others the rue was just a useful herb, but she understood its special significance. ‘Rue is for repentance,’ Eadgyth had told her. ‘Rue stands for regret.’ The bunches of rue must surely mean that these things had happened for a reason. But what could that be?

The question had niggled her so that, after the cows went wandering, Janna searched for rue near the byre. It had taken some finding, for by then the animals had been found and herded back. The ground around about was muddy and the herbs had been trampled underfoot, but Janna found enough scraps to know that a bunch of rue had been picked and placed there.

No accident then, but for a purpose. Who was responsible, and why? Janna had a growing suspicion that she knew the answer to the first question, and possibly even the second. She resolved to keep watch, and wait until she had some grounds for accusation. Meantime, she hoped with all her heart that her suspicions were wrong. She became aware that Mistress Tova was still talking.

‘There have been too many accidents since my lord Hugh’s return. This sort of thing never happens while Master Serlo’s in charge.’ Mistress Tova gave Janna a long and meaningful glance, before adding hastily, ‘Of course, Gytha is delighted to have my lord back at the manor again, but even so …’

Janna stopped herself from defending Hugh, not wanting to betray any special interest in him to the gossiping cook. But she couldn’t help worrying about it, for although Serlo had questioned everyone after the incident with the cows, no-one seemed to have any knowledge of how they might have escaped the byre, nor any intention of revealing the secret if they had. The cowherd seemed blameless; his family could vouch for his presence in their midst at the time the animals must have gone astray. Someone else was therefore responsible, and Serlo was making every effort to find the culprit. Janna was quite sure that the reeve suspected her and Edwin, being the newest arrivals on the manor farm. He’d certainly questioned them for a long time.

Janna’s thoughts went back to that interview, and how uncomfortable she’d felt under Serlo’s accusing gaze as he’d made them recount where they’d been and what they’d been doing. He had a nasty rash on his hand, Janna remembered, and she’d sought to divert his attention by offering a healing salve. But he’d brushed her concern aside, clearly determined not to be deflected from his purpose: someone was going to be held responsible for the destruction; someone was going to get the blame. Yet at the end he’d made no accusations, but instead had ordered every villein out into the field to plant peas, beans and vetches, so that there might be something to eat in place of what had been destroyed.

‘Of course, you and Edwin are newly come to the manor.’ Mistress Tova’s voice broke into Janna’s thoughts. She didn’t have to say anything else for Janna to know what she was thinking.

‘Edwin and I aren’t responsible for any of these accidents. We know nothing about them!’ Janna hoped that her denial would be believed, and also passed on with the rest of the gossip that Mistress Tova shared around so freely.

The cook looked thoughtful. ‘No-one wants to think the worst of you, John, not when you were so good about curing us of the pox. No.’ She went quiet for a moment, as if wondering how far she could trust Janna with her suspicions. ‘No,’ she continued, ‘it seems that we’re just having a run of bad luck.’ She tied up the sack of food and thrust it towards Janna. ‘I’ve put in a small meat pie for your dinner,’ she said generously, and Janna beamed her thanks.

The sun had finally come out, the long days had settled into sunshine, and haymaking had started at last. Hugh was present for the ceremony that marked its beginning, when at dawn the hayward tied a bunch of flowering grasses to his scythe and crossed himself in prayer before making the first cut. Janna had stayed as far away from Hugh as she could, mingling with the villeins as they followed the hayward in a line through the water meadows, scything the long grass that would keep the animals from starvation during the lean winter months when the meadows were flooded. When she next looked around for Hugh, he had gone. She smiled with relief, her smile returned by the women and children who followed behind them. Their task was to spread the grass out to dry, and turn it so that it bleached to a pale gold in the hot summer sun. The sweetness of cut grass, and the fragrant herbs that were felled with it, scented the air.

All able-bodied villeins, plus their wives and children, were expected to take part in this boon work for their lord, just as they were pressed into service at other busy times on the farming calendar. Their reward, at the end of each day of haymaking, was to take home as much hay as they could carry on their scythes. Only when all the grass was cut, dried, bundled and stored would they be released from their extra days of labour. While this caused some grumbles, they mostly worked with a will so that they could finish the task and get back to tending their own fields.

After the fuss about the straying cows, there’d been no further incidents. Janna had begun to convince herself that the culprit was truly repentant, and that they could all rest easy now. So she was happy and quite unsuspecting as, sack of food under her arm, she walked past the stables on her way down to the water meadows for the day’s haymaking. The sound of Hugh’s voice stopped her. After a quick look around the yard to check that no-one was watching, she sidled over to the door and peered around it. Hugh was in a stall with his destrier, swearing loudly as he inspected its hoof. Janna knew an instant of alarm, but then calmed her fears with the thought that horses often went lame and that this must just be happenstance. As she watched, Hugh removed a loose shoe and then carefully extracted an iron nail from the horse’s hoof, swearing profusely all the while.

To allay her suspicions, Janna inspected both sides of the stable door, looking for any telltale sign. It was bare of everything but the latch. She felt a rush of relief until she realised that what she sought and feared to find was lying on the ground in front of the door: the aromatic silvery green leaves and small yellow flowers of rue, half-hidden under her boot.

Janna snatched them up. This was proof, if proof was needed, that this was no coincidence. All these so-called ‘accidents’ had been planned deliberately. As she hurried through the water meadows, she cast the sprigs of rue into the long grass to hide them. Who could be responsible? One by one, she went through everyone she knew, trying to find a possible culprit.

It was a puzzle. While many of them might have the opportunity to carry out these acts, there was only one person she could think of who had any reason to do such things. From everything she’d heard and witnessed, Hugh was a good overlord, kind and fair, while Serlo was respected and trusted by everyone. Why should anyone want to harm either man, or his reputation, or the manor farm itself, at least anyone other than a child?

Urk. Everything pointed to him. He was free to come and go. No-one paid much attention to him, or took him seriously. And he, alone of anyone she knew, had a reason to cause trouble and then repent his actions.

Although she’d tried to keep her promise to Mistress Wulfrun, it was impossible to watch Urk all the time. Janna was sure the boy brooded over his punishment at the hands of Serlo and that he might well want to hit back at the reeve. The posies of rue seemed to confirm his regret afterwards for what he had done. Janna wondered whether she should warn Urk’s mother, yet she didn’t want to cause the woman even more grief and worry. Instead, she resolved to double her watch over Urk, and also to warn him that she knew what he was doing and counsel him over the consequences. She must make him realise that, if he was caught, retribution would be horrible both for himself and for his family.

Pleased to have formulated a plan of action, Janna skipped a few steps and then, after checking that no-one was about, she tried a couple of cartwheels, copying the actions of some children she’d seen larking about. She’d been dying to have a go and, to her satisfaction, she almost succeeded. She had another try and then another. A bit wobbly, she decided, but she was sure she’d improve with practice. She strode on, feeling happy, healthy and almost content. She was used to the labour now, and revelled in the growing strength in her muscles and her freedom to run, to shout, even to turn cartwheels and do anything else a boy might do. She smiled to herself, and hurried on to join Edwin and the others who were busy forking up the dry grass and stacking it into bundles. Urk was among the group. He was almost as tall as Janna, and far stronger and quicker. He gave her a smile. It was the perfect opportunity, and Janna took it.

‘Are you very angry with Master Serlo, Urk?’ she asked, moving closer to him so that they could talk without being heard.

‘No. I’m scared of him.’

It was true. Janna had seen him cower away and try to hide whenever Serlo came near. ‘I wonder, did you hurt that baby lamb we found the other day? The one that was all bloody and lying out in the field?’

‘No! I like baby lambs.’ Urk’s lips set in a straight line, and he forked the hay with renewed vigour.

‘Do you know who hurt it?’ she pressed.

‘No.’ Urk shook his head without slackening his pace. ‘It’s not right to kill baby lambs.’

‘No, it isn’t,’ Janna agreed, feeling rather at a loss. ‘What about the cows that got into the field?’ she tried. ‘Do you know who let them out of the byre?’

The boy shook his head, not bothering to answer.

‘Or the hens? Do you know how the fox got into their coop?’

‘No.’ Urk kept on forking up hay.

‘What about my lord’s horse? Was it you who hammered the nail into its hoof?’ Janna pressed.

‘No!’ He stopped and turned to her then. ‘I’m scared of horses. They’re too big.’

‘None of those things was an accident,’ Janna said. ‘Someone did them on purpose. Someone who wants to cause trouble to Master Serlo and the lord Hugh. Do you know who that could be, Urk?’

He lowered his head and began to kick out at the green stubble left from the newly cut grass.

‘It’s all right to tell me if you know anything about it,’ Janna urged. ‘I won’t tell anyone else what you did, I promise, just so long as you stop.’

‘But I didn’t do anything!’

‘If Gabriel says he didn’t do it, then he didn’t do it.’ Mistress Wulfrun materialised on the other side of Janna. ‘I know what you’re thinking, John, but he’s a truthful boy. I’ve never known him tell a lie, even when he’s got in trouble for it.’

‘Gabriel?’ Janna asked, confused.

‘We call him Gabriel,’ Mistress Wulfrun explained. ‘He may not be the brightest star in the sky, but he’s kind and loving, and he has such a sweet smile we believe he’s been touched by God’s own hand.’

Urk smiled at Janna, as if in proof of his mother’s faith in him. ‘I didn’t do none of those things,’ he said, softly but firmly.

Janna wondered whether she could believe him and his fond mother. ‘I hope that’s true,’ she said, ‘because you can be sure that when Master Serlo finds out who was responsible, that person will get such a beating he may be half-killed.’ She read the fear on Urk’s face and was briefly repentant, yet she’d spoken only the truth. If Urk’s conscience was clear, then Serlo couldn’t touch him or his family. Meantime she had delivered her warning. It was all she could do.

In spite of Urk having the only reason she could think of to do these things, she found that she believed he’d told her the truth. But if not Urk, then who? Edwin? It hardly seemed likely when he was so keen to stay on at the manor, and was so grateful to Serlo for giving them food and shelter. Yet Janna had formed the impression lately that Edwin was keeping something hidden from her, some sort of secret. She hadn’t thought much about it, for although the two of them had become firm friends, she thought of him only as a friend and no more than that. She certainly didn’t expect him to confess every little thing to her. But where once he’d been always at her side, now he was sometimes missing, gone about some errand of his own. To kill a lamb? To lame a horse?