Pilgrim of Death: The Janna Chronicles 4

by Felicity Pulman

  “You’re very kind indeed, sire, but you’ve told me you have business concerns in Oxeneford. They must surely come first.” It almost killed Janna to throw his offer back in his face.

  “My affairs can wait,” Ralph said airily. “Your quest is important. I know how much it means to you. Share with me what you learn from the sisters at the abbey and, in turn, I may be able to point you in the direction of your father.”

  “Thank you, Ralph. You’re very kind.” Janna wanted to throw her arms around his neck in undying gratitude.

  “But I – that is, we, still have unfinished business to discuss,” Winifred said anxiously, gesturing toward her purse.

  Janna nodded. “Speak to Ulf while I’m gone,” she advised. “If he can’t help you, and you’re still here when I come back, then I have another plan for you to consider.”

  “I’m sure Ulf’s time is taken up with Mistress Juliana and arrangements for the transport and burial of Master Bernard,” Ralph said. He gazed thoughtfully at Winifred’s purse. Janna could imagine the questions he was asking himself as clearly as if he was speaking aloud. She stifled a grin. In his position, she knew she’d have been asking the same questions.

  But perhaps Ralph had learned his lesson, for no questions were forthcoming. “I am at leisure while Janna visits the abbey. Perhaps I can help you with your unfinished business, mistress?” he offered instead.

  “No!” Janna and Winifred answered together. They exchanged glances. Janna shook her head slightly, a gesture of warning not lost on Ralph, she realized, as she noticed his bemused expression.

  “’Tis kind of you, but this is a private matter between Winifred and myself,” she said.

  “And Ulf?” Ralph observed.

  “Perhaps. I’m not sure.” Winifred looked uncomfortable at the thought.

  “Then let us see if we can find him,” Ralph said, and offered his arm to Winifred to escort her. Janna watched them go. She hoped her dismissal hadn’t offended Ralph, but acknowledged she would much rather approach the nuns on her own.

  The abbey was easily seen: the walls and high spire dominated the small settlement. As she walked toward it, she nervously recited to herself what she might say to gain admission, and what questions she should ask about her mother. And her father. Would the abbess be more generous with her time and information than the abbess at Wiltune? Janna devoutly hoped so, for the abbess at Wiltune was a greedy, grasping woman, with a heart as hard as flint. She just hoped this abbess had been at the abbey long enough to know her mother, and was generous enough to share what she knew.

  Sister Emanuelle. She practiced the name silently, trying to reconcile the image of a nun with her memory of Eadgyth, the wortwyf who had healed the villagers in return for whatever they were able to give her. Eadgyth, who had offered her daughter little in the way of hugs and kisses but who had loved her nevertheless. Janna understood that now, and understood also that as well as love, Eadgyth had given her the most priceless gift it was in her power to bestow: the knowledge of herbs and healing.

  Chapter 8

  Janna’s heart thumped erratically as she pulled on the bellrope. She heard a loud clanging in the abbey beyond the wall. A young woman opened the stout door. She wore a habit, but it was too long for her, giving her the appearance of a child dressed up in its mother’s clothes.

  “Yes?” she asked. Her glance moved down to Janna’s fine gown, and her features took on a more subservient expression. “How may I help you?”

  Janna swallowed hard. “May I speak to your abbess?” she asked, keeping her voice steady with an effort.

  “If you have business with our abbey, mayhap you should rather see our sacristan?”

  “What age is she?” Janna asked.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Your sacristan. How many years does she have?” Noticing the young woman’s blank expression, Janna hastened to explain. “I come seeking information about my mother, who was once infirmarian here. You are too young to know her, certes, but your older sisters in Christ might well remember her. At least, that’s what I’m hoping.”

  The young nun continued to stare blankly at Janna.

  “My mother’s name was Sister Emanuelle. I’m asking if your sacristan is old enough to remember her?” Janna conceded that perhaps her request was unusual. Nevertheless, she wished the nun would let her go through. Although shaking with nerves, she was also impatient to take the next step to completing her mission.

  The young woman shrugged. “Wait here,” she said, and closed the door with a bang.

  Janna wondered if she was somewhat lacking in wits, then chided herself for being uncharitable. She began to prowl restlessly, keeping an anxious eye on the door. Finally, it opened once more. This time the nun was elderly; even more encouraging, she looked friendly. Janna’s impression was confirmed by the nun’s first words.

  “I believe you’re making enquiries about Sister Emanuelle?” She took Janna’s arm and drew her inside. “I knew her, as did several of our other sisters, and if you’ll wait in the parlor I will bring them to you.” She bent her head close to Janna’s and whispered, “Do not bother our abbess with your questions. She had little sympathy for Sister Emanuelle’s predicament, and time has not softened her opinion.”

  Janna nodded. So the abbess had known that her mother was with child, and had apparently been as uncharitable about it as the abbess at Wiltune. But her mother might have confided in some of the other sisters and, if this nun’s friendly tone was anything to go by, they had not judged her. Janna hoped they’d be prepared to tell her all they knew.

  “My name is Sister Amice,” the nun said, as she led Janna into the parlor. “May I ask why you are seeking information about Emanuelle?”

  “I am her daughter, Johanna.” Janna settled onto a stool pushed forward for her use.

  Sister Amice’s eyes widened. “It’s not yet time for Vespers and my sisters will be busy about their various chores, but I’ll try to find Sister Marie to talk to you.” She bustled out again.

  Too on edge to sit still, Janna stood and began to pace the room, imprinting what she could see on her memory. Her mother had been here in this abbey, even in this very room, seeing what she was seeing and sharing her life with those who lived here. Janna had never known Eadgyth to have any friends, but now she was about to speak to those who had lived in close proximity with her, and who might have known her well enough to share her secrets. Now that she was actually here, in this room, Janna felt closer to her mother than she had since the dark days following her death. She was acutely conscious of how much she missed her.

  As time went on and Sister Amice did not return, Janna’s thoughts turned from her mother to curiosity about the abbey that had once been Eadgyth’s home. The candles and their holders were of inferior quality to those that adorned the abbey at Wiltune. There were only a few hangings on the wall, and those somewhat threadbare. But the rushes strewn about the floor were clean and smelled sweet. Someone had taken trouble; someone cared.

  She sat down again and tapped her foot restlessly, impatient over the delay. At last the door opened and a woman swept in, garbed in the full regalia of an abbess. She had a nose like a beak and no chin. At once Janna jumped up to greet her. Sister Amice followed behind. As her eyes met Janna’s she put a finger to her lips and then made a slicing motion across her throat. Her actions became clear when the abbess stopped and glared at Janna.

  “I understand you are enquiring after Sister Emanuelle, who was once our infirmarian?”

  “Yes, Mother Abbess.” Janna could hardly speak; she felt sick with fright and anticipation.

  “And who are you?”

  “My name is Johanna, mother. I am Eadgyth’s – Sister Emanuelle’s daughter.”

  Sister Amice’s eyes rolled up to the heavens. Janna quickly realized her mistake as the abbess’s countenance darkened into stern disapproval.

  “So you are the offspring of that vile union.” She held up a h
and to silence Janna, who was about to protest. “You should know that while your mother was under our shelter, and on the very eve of taking her vows, I discovered that she had betrayed our order by consorting with a man. Worse, she left our abbey to live with him!” She glared at Janna as if it was all her fault.

  “Of course he deserted her when it transpired that she carried his child, and she returned to the abbey expecting mercy. My predecessor might well have forgiven her had she still been in charge, for she was a lax woman and not fit for her position. But I am not of that ilk, and I thank God for it. Your mother broke her promise to us, she betrayed her sisters. For that, there cannot be forgiveness, and so I told her. It is past, it is done. We do not speak of your mother here.”

  Janna was stunned by the cold dislike in the abbess’s voice. Although she now despaired of hearing anything of her mother’s early life, she was determined to speak up in her mother’s defense. A voice forestalled her.

  “With due respect, Mother Abbess, Sister Emanuelle’s position in the abbey was somewhat different from our own.”

  There was a quiet authority behind the voice, although Janna could not, at first, see where it had come from. Sister Amice moved slightly, and someone else came into view. This nun was tiny, and bent with age. Yet Janna noticed that there was a bright twinkle to her eyes, and compassion on her face as she took Janna’s hands into her own.

  “You have something of your mother in your looks,” she said quietly, “but I do think you more resemble your father.”

  “You know my father?” The unexpected leap of hope brought sudden tears to Janna’s eyes. “Pray, tell me about him, I beg you!” she said. “Please tell me everything you know.”

  The tiny nun looked at the abbess. Their eyes met and held, and Janna sensed the battle of wills going on between them. She looked from one to the other, hardly daring to hope. If she was to make a wager, her money would have gone on the abbess. But, to her surprise, the abbess gave a slight nod and swept out of the parlor, her face scrunched tight with fury.

  A sigh of relief marked her passing. “I am Sister Marie.” The tiny nun let go of Janna’s hands, and lowered herself onto a stool nearby. “Pray, sit down.” She waved her hand toward a bench, and Janna pulled it closer and sat alongside Sister Amice. She leaned forward, eagerly waiting to be told what she so longed to hear.

  “Why are you asking us about your father? Why do you not ask your mother what you wish to know?”

  “My mother is dead.” Janna felt her throat close tight with grief. “Murdered.”

  “Murdered?” Sister Marie’s shock was mirrored on Sister Amice’s face.

  “She never told me anything about her early life, or about my father,” Janna explained. “We argued about it, and finally she promised that she would tell me what I wanted to know. But…but she died before we had a chance to speak of it. We left each other on bad terms, and I didn’t get the chance to tell her I was sorry.” Janna dashed the tears from her eyes, ashamed of her weakness. “That’s why I seek knowledge about my father. I have made a vow that I will find him, for, with his help, I hope to avenge the death of my mother.”

  “I am so sorry, Johanna. So sorry.” Sister Marie shook her head in sympathy. “Tell me what you want to know. I’ll do my best to answer your questions.”

  “I want to know everything you can tell me! Especially about my father.”

  Sister Marie nodded slowly, as if Janna had confirmed something she’d long suspected. “So he never found you?”

  “Found us?”

  “Your father. I’m not sure if he knew about you. He came looking for your mother some months after she left the abbey. After she was asked to leave.”

  “After she was thrown out,” said Sister Amice.

  “Did anyone tell him that my mother carried his child?”

  “I don’t know. He was admitted to the abbess and shown the door almost immediately. None of us had a chance to talk to him, I’m afraid.”

  Janna was silent as she mulled the information over. As she’d suspected, her father hadn’t abandoned them. He’d written to explain the delay, but Eadgyth couldn’t read what he’d said and had assumed he’d deserted her. Janna felt a great sadness as she imagined how frightened and betrayed her mother must have felt after her meeting with the abbess. It explained so much, and yet things could have turned out so differently if only her mother had trusted her lover, if only she hadn’t been so proud. She assembled her thoughts with an effort, and turned to Sister Marie.

  “Why did my mother not go to her family to ask for help?”

  “She had no family. That was why she came to us, for she was still quite young then, and in need of protection. She told us that she had learned about herbs and healing from her own mother, who was also a healer. A wortwyf, she called her. She said that her father had died some years past, and her mother most recently of some pestilence, which also took the life of a younger brother, I believe. Or was it a sister?” The nun’s face creased in thought. “I can’t remember.”

  Janna’s hopes of locating any members of her mother’s family were dashed, although she’d suspected as much from the start. “What else can you tell me?”

  Sister Marie sat silent for a moment as she marshaled her thoughts. “As I reminded our abbess, your mother was not bound to the abbey in the same way as we were,” she continued. “She came here for protection and offered her services as a healer in return, for she’d heard that our infirmarian had died and that we had no-one to replace her.”

  Janna nodded. This much she had learned from Sister Anne, the infirmarian at Wiltune.

  “So far as I know, she never took any vows, but she dressed as a lay sister and took part in the offices of our daily life. She stayed here of her own free will and worked tirelessly for the comfort and wellbeing of our community while she was here.”

  “She was renowned as a healer where we lived. Even the infirmarian at Wiltune Abbey knew of her,” Janna said proudly.

  “Is that where she went? I’m glad she found shelter somewhere. The Abbess of Wiltune is obviously more charitable than our own.”

  “She wasn’t at all!” Janna said hotly. “She gave my mother a derelict cottage, which my mother repaired, and for which she paid dearly for the rest of her life.” But Janna didn’t want to linger on a past already known to her. “Where did my mother meet my father?” she asked eagerly.

  “Right here in the abbey.” Sister Marie smiled in reminiscence. “Your father was with a hunting party. He had taken ill with a fever, and his companions brought him here, being the nearest place they could find shelter and healing. And your mother nursed him devotedly.”

  Unbidden, a scene came into Janna’s mind: The abbey at Wiltune; Hugh lying in the infirmary, wounded and bleeding, while she did her best to take care of him. Was her mother’s story repeating itself? Was this a sign of some sort?

  “We watched your mother fall in love.” Sister Marie’s gaze was far away as she recounted what had happened. “Your father fell in love too,” she said. “I have never seen a couple so devoted. And so, when he’d recovered from his fever and was ready to leave the abbey, your mother said her goodbyes and went with him.”

  “Where did they go?”

  “To Winchestre. I believe your father has property there.”

  Winchestre! Janna’s excitement felt strong and heady as wine. “My father’s name was John. Is John. Do you know any more about him than that?”

  “He was highborn, I know that much. But he didn’t speak of his family, and neither did his companions.”

  Janna felt in her purse, and produced her father’s ring. “Have you ever seen this before?”

  “No.” Sister Marie took the ring and examined it carefully. “Did this belong to your father?”

  “I think so.”

  “There’s a royal crest on it.”

  “I suppose my father was a loyal subject of King Henry.” Something the nun had said was puzzling Janna. �
�Why, if my mother never took any vows, is the abbess so against her?”

  Sister Marie gave a small huff of bitter amusement. “Our abbey gained in prestige while your mother was here. As you see, we are small in number and quite poor. But your mother’s skills became known far and wide, and many people flocked here in the hope of a cure.”

  And brought coins with them to swell the coffers of the abbey! Janna didn’t need to be told how the system worked.

  “The new abbess was determined that your mother should take her vows. She didn’t want to lose her, you see. And Sister Emanuelle may well have made her affirmation if she hadn’t met your father. She was sad to leave, I know that. She said her farewells before she left, and expressed her regret that we would be without a healer once more. But she wouldn’t – couldn’t – let John leave without her. He was the love of her life. So she said, and so we all believed. I don’t know what went on between them that she came back to the abbey later, seeking shelter. Especially given her condition, for she was coming near to her time by then. I can’t think why your father allowed her to go, or why he didn’t come after her straight away. Did they have some argument, perhaps, that should have been patched up before it went too far?”

  “No.” Janna hesitated, not wanting to share her mother’s secret. But the nun had stood up to the abbess in order to tell her the truth, and she felt she owed her the truth in return.

  “My father had to go to Normandy, to tell his own father about my mother and ask permission to break his betrothal so they could be wed. He wrote to explain why he was delayed but…but my mother couldn’t read the letter. She didn’t know how to read. I suspect she thought he had abandoned her. And so she came looking for sanctuary in the only home she knew.”

  “Oh! Oh, how sad.” Sister Marie reached out and took Janna’s hand, offering both comfort and her support.

  Scalding tears burned Janna’s eyes as she recalled the last time she’d seen her mother and the angry words they had exchanged. “My mother would not speak of him to me, I think for shame. But she named me after him. And she died with his name on her lips. She never stopped loving him.”