“My lord.” Janna felt her face turn pink under his gaze, and hastily turned to his companion. “Godric!” She smiled at the villein, openly showing her joy at seeing him again.
“You look so well—and so happy!” Godric reached for Janna’s hand. His glance fell on her habit. He snatched his hand away and, in some confusion, hid it behind his back.
“This is a fortunate meeting,” said Hugh. “I have thought of you often, and wondered how things are with you at the abbey, Johanna. Or must I call you ‘Sister Johanna’ now?”
“I will answer to Johanna, sire. Or Janna. And I am well. Content.”
“But you are not safe!” Godric’s expression reflected his concern.
“Indeed, we heard that Robert’s man had attacked you.” Hugh’s face darkened in anger. “And I thank Christ and all His saints that he was unsuccessful. But I wish you would tell me the real purpose of his attack, because I cannot believe it was happenstance, as Robert claims, or even a sudden fit of lust, as Robert’s servant claims. The cord in his possession gives him away, even if his tongue will not. Nor could he give us any good reason for being at the abbey and pretending to work there.”
Janna sighed. It was so hard not being able to tell Hugh the truth, but to do so would be to betray Dame Alice’s tiring woman, and she could not do that. Godric, however, had no such qualms. “You’d do better to ask Mistress Cecily that question,” he muttered. Janna gave Godric a sharp nudge. She hoped that Hugh hadn’t heard him, for although she’d told Godric of the circumstances that had led to the murder of her mother, she’d told him in confidence.
“Have no fear. I’ll say no more,” Godric reassured her.
Hugh considered Janna with a quizzical expression. “Mus has been sent back to Babestoche Manor under guard. But he will have to answer for his actions to the abbess when next she holds court here.”
“Mus will be coming back?” Janna felt a cold sweat break out at the thought of coming face to face with Robert’s manservant.
“He’ll be well guarded.” Hugh hesitated for a moment, understanding that his news could be unwelcome. “As his overlords, Dame Alice and Robert will also be required to attend.”
Janna swallowed hard, fighting panic at the thought of seeing them all again. Yet she could not flee, for if she did, Mus would go unpunished. Worse, he would be set free to come after her once more. “But I shall be here at his trial to support you, and so will my aunt,” Hugh promised.
“And so will I,” said Godric. “I shall do everything in my power to protect you, Janna. You know that.”
“I shall also make sure that Mus’s true intentions toward you will come out at the hearing. He must be punished for the crime he planned as well as for his actions,” said Hugh.
Janna nodded in heartfelt agreement. She wouldn’t feel safe until Mus was locked away for a very, very long time. “So the man’s name really is Mus?”
“It’s not his real name. It came about, so I am told, as a joke, because he is such a sly fox with the ladies. I must apologize to you on behalf of my family, Johanna. I am sure Mus’s attentions were most unwelcome. But I can’t say I was surprised to learn that, even though you are smaller and attired in a nun’s garb, you yet managed to get the better of him.”
Janna looked into his dancing eyes, and wondered if he was laughing at her. She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. “I did warn him,” she murmured. “I told him if he tried anything, I’d cripple him.”
“And what did he say?”
“That he likes a challenge.”
“I’ll make sure to pay attention if ever you give me like warning,” Hugh said with a smile. Janna remembered that they had once shared a kiss, and that she’d enjoyed every moment of it. Her face began to burn at the memory. Godric, too, had kissed her, kissed her until her bones had melted with wanting. She dared not look at either of them. “I have missed you all so much,” she said hurriedly. “Please tell me, my lord, do your aunt and the lord Robert still reside at your manor?” She cast a quick glance around, suddenly fearful.
“No, no. They went back to Babestoche with Mus.”
“And the young lord? Hamo?”
“He’s still staying with me, and is thriving under the care of Cecily and Godric. He is learning how to ride, and fight with a sword, and how to be a good squire.”
If Hamo was learning all those things, so Godric would also be learning them, and Cecily too, Janna thought, trying to stifle a pang of envy. Then she remembered the young woman she’d seen earlier with Hugh. Who was she, and what was their relationship? She was afraid to ask. There was, however, yet another rival for Hugh’s affections, and this time curiosity got the better of discretion. “And how fares the cook’s daughter?” Somewhat dreading the answer, she waited for Hugh’s reply. Gytha badly wanted to marry Hugh, and had high hopes that her dream would come true—a dream made more urgent perhaps by the death and disgrace of the reeve who had risked all for her love.
“She fares well enough, I think.” Hugh gave an indifferent shrug. “All is quiet about the manor now that my thieving reeve is dead.”
“And Edwin? What of him, my lord?” Janna was anxious for news of the outlaw who had stolen her purse while she was lost in the forest, but who had later taught her the skills that had enabled her to protect herself from Mus’s attack.
Hugh smiled. “He stayed under cover until the men from his manor departed for Winchestre. But I have spoken to him. He asked for permission to become betrothed to Bertha, which I have given, and he is living now with her family. He does week work for me at present, but I believe Bertha’s father intends to take him on as an apprentice once they are wed. In time he will become a carpenter.”
“He told me that was his dream: to become an apprentice and make his own way in the world. I’m so pleased he’s found a safe haven with you, my lord, and that he’s also found love and a livelihood with Bertha and her family.”
“And what about you, Sister Johanna? Have you found what you wanted in the abbey or do you also look for love and a livelihood?”
Hugh’s slightly mocking tone put Janna on the defensive. “I already have what I desire, sire,” she said, and watched Godric’s face fall. She longed to reassure him, but could not speak in front of Hugh, for she knew Robert would redouble his efforts to silence her if he found out that she planned to return one day and hold him to account for the death of her mother.
“What brings you to the fair, my lord?” she asked, to bridge what was becoming an awkward silence.
“To oversee the new reeve. With Godric’s help I now have a full accounting of all the bounty from my manor: everything that Serlo had hidden in his cellar, plus the new fleeces and the surplus from our harvest. Godric has become my eyes as well as my right-hand man. I shall ensure that this will be a profitable year for my manor.”
Janna nodded, understanding Hugh’s relief in having good news to tell his aunt, for his living depended on his good husbandry of her property.
A group of musicians approached them. They were accompanied by a throng of laughing villeins and their children, who danced about and jostled all in their path. Janna took a step out of their way, spied a puddle of dirty water just in time and tried to step around it, but stumbled. As she fell against Hugh she heard him give a shocked gasp. She launched into a hasty apology, but realized he wasn’t paying any attention. He was doubled over, hands pushed into his side, with an expression of disbelief on his face as he watched blood seeping between his fingers.
“My lord!” Janna was horrified. She looked about for the culprit as she scrambled to her feet, but the jostling throng had walked on and the three of them stood alone. Without asking permission, she pulled Hugh’s hands from the wound and looked with dismay at the slash in his tunic and the blood now flowing freely from the wound. She snatched off her veil and used the fabric to staunch the blood, pushing it hard against his torn tunic and the wound beneath. “Hold this in place,” she instructed
, before unwinding her wimple and tying it around his waist to secure the makeshift dressing. There was no telling how deep the blade had gone, or what damage it might have done. She glanced up at Godric.
“He needs treatment, fast,” she said breathlessly. “Get someone to help you take him to the abbey gate. Beg admission from the porteress. I’ll run to fetch the infirmarian, and we’ll meet you there.” She whirled, all thoughts of propriety and the Sin of Running flown from her head as she raced back to the abbey’s stall to fetch Sister Anne.
The infirmarian’s words of censure regarding Janna’s bare head and disheveled demeanor died on her lips as she listened to Janna’s hurried explanation. Pausing only to snatch up the purse of coins and give it into the bailiff’s hands for safe keeping, she hastened with Janna to the abbey. “Do you know how to treat wounds of this nature?” she asked breathlessly as she tried to keep up with Janna’s urgent strides.
“Bugle, selfheal and sanicle to cleanse the wound, and the roots of white lilies mixed with hog’s grease to help knit sinews. Yarrow, dog rose, sunturners and parsnips boiled in butter will make a good salve.”
“Good,” Sister Anne said. “You gather what we’ll need and see about making up a cleansing lotion and a plater, while I find a bed for the lord Hugh and assess the extent of his wounds. I can’t look after him properly in the guesthouse so I’ll have to find a place for him in the infirmary.”
As soon as they reached the abbey, Janna wasted no time in rushing to the physic garden, leaving Sister Anne to talk her way past Sister Brigid and into the convent with Hugh.
Godric was hovering, looking worried and getting in everyone’s way, when Janna finally found them all in a curtained cubicle off the main dorter of the infirmary. She’d made up a paste of green herbs in the infirmary kitchen, and this she held out to Sister Anne along with a pot of hot water in which floated the cleansing herbs to which she’d also added leaves of soapwort to wash the wound. “I’ve left a decoction simmering; it’s a tonic for the lord,” she told the nun as she proffered a strip of linen to go with the paste.
“You’ve done well, Sister Johanna.” Sister Anne took the pot of hot liquid, thought better of it and handed it back to Janna. “Let me see you wash and bind the wound,” she suggested.
Janna took one look at the pale, still figure lying on the low truckle bed, and her courage fled. She held the pot out to Sister Anne once more. “Go on,” the infirmarian encouraged her. “You’ll never learn if you don’t do it yourself. Be sure I’ll tell you if I see you do aught wrong.”
Janna had to take a deep breath to summon up enough nerve to approach Hugh. Sister Anne had stripped off his blood-soaked tunic and he now lay, hairy and bare-chested—and utterly defenseless—in front of her. She had to take a few more deep breaths before she found the courage to touch him.
He groaned and opened one eye. “What happened?” he asked warily. “How did I come to be wounded?”
“I don’t know.” Conscious of Sister Anne’s watchful eyes, Janna had to force herself not to gag as she gently swabbed away the blood to cleanse the wound. Hugh’s breaths came short and shallow; there was a sheen of sweat on his pale face, but he kept silent under her touch.
“Tell me what you see,” Sister Anne instructed.
Aware that her heart was pounding hard with fear and excitement, Janna peered into the deep cut as best she might. “It seems to be a flesh wound only. It’s deep, but it’s not wide. I don’t think it has touched anything vital,” she told Sister Anne, and received a grunt of confirmation in reply.
“That sounds like good news.” Hugh smiled faintly, but kept his eyes closed. Janna spread the healing paste over the wound then set about binding the torn flesh together with the linen strip, pausing every now and then to wipe away the beads of perspiration from Hugh’s face. Careful and conscientious as she was, her mind was not wholly on her task. Hugh’s question had set up questions in her own mind, questions that concerned her greatly. The attack had seemed to come from nowhere. It had happened so fast she couldn’t be sure if she had been the intended target, or Hugh. Or had he, in fact, fallen on his own dagger when she’d stumbled against him?
A moment’s reflection brought some ease to her troubled mind. Hugh’s belt, plus a sheathed knife and dagger, all lay on a small chest beside his bed. They were stained with his blood, but the stains might well have resulted from the wound rather than being its cause. Janna tried to recall the scene. “Did you notice any fallen knife, or dagger, after the lord Hugh was attacked?” she asked Godric.
He frowned in concentration. “No,” he said, after a few moments. “Whoever stabbed my lord must have hidden himself among the crowd around the musicians, and taken the dagger with him when he moved on.”
“There were mostly women and children around the musicians,” Janna said.
“Did you recognize anyone in the crowd?”
“I wasn’t looking at them.” Godric shrugged. “I was looking at you.”
Janna blushed a deep, dark red. She dared not look at Sister Anne or Hugh, who must surely also have heard. “Could it have been an accident? Could the lord’s own knife have pierced his side when he fell?” she asked.
“It may be so.” Hugh spoke so faintly, Janna could hardly hear him. “Is the sheath cut? Is there blood on my dagger?”
“Yes, my lord.” Godric pulled the dagger from its sheath and held them both up so that they could see for themselves the blood on the weapon as well as the cut marking the stained leather of the sheath.
“How stupid of me.” Hugh’s eyes closed once more.
“No, not so my lord,” Godric contradicted. “Your knife was still contained within its sheath, but it was a naked blade that caused such harm.”
Janna took the sheath from Godric and inspected it carefully, seeing that he had the truth of the matter. But that brought her back to her original question: who was the blade meant for? Her or Hugh? A blade aimed at her back might well have missed its mark when she stumbled and fell against him. In which case, it seemed that Robert had not given up his murderous intentions toward her and she must be more careful than ever.
*
Her thoughts were in turmoil as she joined the nuns in the refectory for supper that night. She’d missed dinner and was hungry, and so she ignored the questions filling her mind and concentrated on filling her belly instead.
She was further distracted when a small voice broke the silence. “Wh-whenever any im-imp-important b-business…” Janna wondered why Sister Ursel put herself and everyone else through the torture of her reading, then recalled what the infirmarian had told her.
“She’s much better at lettering than reading,” Sister Anne had said. “She spends all her time either in the scriptorium, or out in one of the carrels off the cloister. She is writing and illuminating the story of St Edith’s life. I have seen some of her work and, although I cannot read the pages, her writing is neat and the illuminated letters and pictures are absolutely exquisite. It is a sublime work of art, and it will count as one of the abbey’s great treasures once it is complete.”
Janna looked up at the nun stammering over the text of the day. She seemed even more distressed than usual. Her eyes were red, and her nose too. As Janna watched, she surreptitiously wiped her nose on the sleeve of her gown. “L-let the Ab-Abbess c-c-call…”
Janna couldn’t bear it. She stopped listening, but found that questions over the events of the day flooded into her mind instead. The novice on her left stroked three fingers on the inside of her hand, and Janna passed her a pat of butter. She placed some pieces of fowl onto her own trencher, and put the fattest piece into her mouth. Her arm brushed against her swelling breast through the fabric of her gown. She was eating well here in the abbey, she acknowledged, momentarily distracted from her whirling thoughts by the realization that she was filling out, gaining a woman’s comely shape. Her breath quickened as she thought of Hugh lying in the infirmary, half naked and helpless under her t
ouch. A sweet heat suffused her body. She dragged her thoughts back to the present with an effort as she tried to remember the gestures of the young novice sitting opposite who was pulling on her little finger. Milk. She pushed the jug across, and the novice smiled her thanks.
The tortured reading came to an end. Janna knew she hadn’t imagined the sigh of relief that ran around the room. But Sister Ursel did not resume her seat. She jerked her head up so that, for once, she faced everyone, but her attention was wholly on the abbess as she stammered, “I-I have a-a fault to report, M-Mother. I h-have mislaid two p-pages of…of my m-manuscript.”
A hush fell over the room. Thinking of the work that must have gone into the missing sheets, Janna felt intensely sorry for the nun.
“We will deal with this in chapter tomorrow morning. That is the proper place to raise faults and accept punishment,” the abbess said severely. She rose from her chair for the final benediction, indicating that the meal was over and cutting off a faint bleat of protest from Sister Ursel. Janna was sure that the nun had been about to beg everyone to search for the missing pages. She hoped they all would and resolved to keep her own eyes wide open in case she should chance upon them. But all thought of the nun’s loss was swept aside when Sister Anne materialized at her side and told her that Hugh was asking for her.
“I shall accompany you to the infirmary to attend him,” the nun added severely, clearly not comfortable with the situation but powerless to do anything about it, for the lord was asking and Janna had taken no vows to prevent her from seeing whomsoever she wished.
There was no sign of Godric when they entered the infirmary. “The lord’s manservant has taken the news back to his manor,” Sister Anne told her, anticipating Janna’s enquiry. “I’ve told him that the lord will need further treatment and that he is in no fit state to travel. I suspect we shall have to keep him here for several days at least.” She sighed. “The abbess isn’t happy about it, and I am sure the matter will be raised at chapter.” She brightened, and darted Janna a mischievous glance. “I managed to allay some of our mother’s fears when I suggested that the lord might well make a generous donation to the abbey if he is well treated here.”
Unholy Murder: The Janna Chronicles 3 Page 11
