It occurred to Janna that Sybil might be willing to try a new recipe for the ale she served, to give her customers the choice of something different. Wild hops, thyme, meadowsweet and sage were added to the bag, along with wormwood, betony and woundwort. On spying a small copse of trees she walked over to investigate, hoping to find among them just what she wanted. Pulling out the sharp knife, she cut herself a stout stirring stick from a young ash tree. She searched hopefully for the long brown wings of the fruits, but it was still too early. She made a mental note to keep looking out for ash keys, for they too had their uses in a brew.
She walked back into the water meadows, now picking stinking fleabane and the aromatic yellow buttons of tansy. She wrinkled her nose against the smell, for she’d gathered them in sufficient quantity to repel even the most determined biting creatures. She was sure Sybil’s customers would appreciate being able to enjoy their ale and wine without the maddening itches of lice and fleas.
A lark soared skyward, filling the air with its glorious song. Listening, Janna felt her spirits rise with the small bird, all care forgotten as she watched its joyous flight. She remembered her mother’s pleasure in nature: “God’s great cathedral,” Eadgyth had called the forest where they lived, and the garden they had tended beside their small cot. Truly, on a day such as this, Janna felt close to Him and marveled at what He had created in such abundance. She walked on, so rapt in her meadow ramble that she quite forgot about time passing, and the duties awaiting her at the tavern. It was with a great start of alarm that she heard the bells of St Mary’s peal out the hour of Vespers. Other bells chimed in, sending a great shout of sound across the water meadows.
Answering their urgent summons, Janna turned on her heel and sped back toward the East Gate. Sweat trickled down her back as she ran. She felt a cramp of pain in her side, and stopped to take a few quick breaths. Aelfshot, the old ones called it, believing that this sort of discomfort was caused by pricking darts shot by small elves. Her mother had taught Janna several charms to recite to remove the unseen dart and protect herself, but from her own observation Janna knew that a short rest worked more quickly than anything else to relieve the pain.
Fear gripped her. What if Sybil scolded her for being late? What if she was having second thoughts about employing her? Janna ran on, ignoring the pain in her side as she fought to catch her breath.
Once through the East Gate she was about to turn toward the tavern when a young boy attracted her attention. Unable to believe what she was seeing, she stopped so abruptly that people coming from behind crashed into her and grumbled when she didn’t move.
Hamo! Could that really be Hamo skipping ahead of her down the street toward the shops and shambles of Chepe Street? No! Common sense told Janna this couldn’t be the small lad she’d once rescued, for she had left him many moons ago in the care of his cousin Hugh at the manor farm not far from Wiltune. Yet she was almost sure…
Intrigued, she began to walk once more, eager to see for herself if it really was Hamo, and if his cousin Hugh accompanied him. Filled with impatience, she pushed past a plump merchant and his wife, and saw that indeed it was Hamo. Beside him…? Janna’s spirits leaped high as a grasshopper in spring. Hugh! She hadn’t been dreaming after all. They were both here, in front of her, Hamo now tugging on Hugh’s sleeve to gain his attention while Hugh dawdled, his eyes on an attractive young woman who, with her mother, was coming toward them. Janna smiled wryly as she noted the direction of his gaze; noted too that the young woman was entirely aware of his regard. Judging from her flushed cheeks and the glint in her eye, his interest was not unwelcome. Hardly surprising, Janna thought, remembering her own reaction on first meeting the handsome young lord. Truly, he could melt the hardest of hearts!
He and Hamo hadn’t seen her yet, for they were walking in the same direction and their backs were turned to her. Janna could see only the sides of their faces, but knew that she wasn’t mistaken. She quickened her steps to catch up with them.
What marvel had brought them to Winchestre? Automatically, her hands went to her hair to smooth and tidy it, for there was a time when she’d thought Hugh might be falling in love with her, even though he was highborn and she was merely the daughter of a wortwyf. She was sure she hadn’t imagined the attraction growing between them during the time she’d spent at the abbey, when she had nursed him back to health. Dressed as a nun, and a protégée of the infirmarian there, she had enjoyed her new status, and had seen in his eyes that Hugh had registered the change in her, and that he appreciated it. More, that he found her attractive and desirable.
And now he was here, walking away from her but still within calling distance. Delighted, Janna opened her mouth. Abruptly, she closed it again, as her fingers touched the coarse homespun veil concealing her hair. She looked down at her russet tunic and reconsidered her approach. Perhaps she should wait a while, at least until her father came to Winchestre. True, she was the illegitimate granddaughter of a king, and close kin to the woman who would be queen. If she could prove her identity, her new status would put her far above Hugh, for although he was a lord, he was landless and dependent on his aunt for a living. In fact, he had told her himself that he must marry – and marry well – to secure his future. Janna gave an excited skip. Once she’d seen her father, once she’d persuaded him that she really was his daughter, she could reveal all to Hugh. Surely he would ask her to marry him, for she would be an impressive match for him then. And they would be happy together.
Without conscious thought, she scanned the crowd for Hugh’s right-hand man. Her heart thudded as she spied Godric walking slightly ahead of his overlord. But it almost stopped beating when she saw who was with him: Hamo’s nurse, Cecily. The two of them had their heads close together in conversation. Cecily would do better to pay attention to her young charge, Janna thought sourly, before scolding herself for her lack of charity. It was plain that Hamo had grown beyond the need for a nurse and was enjoying his cousin’s company. Her gaze returned to Godric. Even though his back was turned to her; even though he too had changed since last she saw him, for he was now grown into manhood, still she would have known him anywhere. She wished he would turn around so she could see his face when he recognized her. He must know that she’d left the abbey; he must believe that she was gone away from him forever.
But – and the realization humbled her big opinion of herself – perhaps with her gone from his life, he no longer thought of her at all? He’d twice offered her marriage, but she’d turned him down. Now, here he was with Cecily, and looking well content in her company. Janna recalled how, so long ago, she’d mistaken them for man and wife when she’d seen them together in the market square. Once more she berated herself for not rejoicing that her oldest friend had found love elsewhere, yet still she felt a keen sense of loss. Were he and Cecily now wed? The thought pricked her mind like a nasty, scratching burr. And yet, in truth, it was a good match. Cecily was Dame Alice’s attendant, while Godric seemed to have risen to a status that now matched Cecily’s own, given the way he was attired.
Agitation had quickened her footsteps; she was gaining ground on Hugh and his party. She stopped abruptly, earning a round curse from a passerby who cannoned into her. If she caught up to them, they would see to what depths she had sunk once more. She might be well connected, but until she could produce her father she would rather not meet them at all.
Recalling her purpose, and its urgency, she reluctantly turned to the tavern. The bells had stopped ringing the hour; she was more than overdue and would have to face the wrath of the taverner. She began to run. Aware of her rumbling stomach, and thinking she might as well eat her fill before she was dismissed, she hastened through the tavern and out to the kitchen, pausing briefly to wash her muddy hands at the pump as she passed.
“There you are, then,” Elfric greeted her. “Mistress Sybil is looking for you, and I warn you, she’s not happy.”
“I lost track of the time!” Janna dumped her bag o
nto the kitchen table. She put a protective hand on it as Elfric wandered over to inspect the contents. “These are for strewing among the rushes,” she said swiftly, not wanting him to see what else she’d been picking. “They won’t serve your purpose at all. Except for this, maybe.” She pulled out some sprigs of water mint, hoping to blunt his curiosity. “I’ll see to the rest of the herbs later, if I may keep the bag a while longer?”
Elfric nodded and turned back to his cooking fire. “Here,” he said, handing Janna a fat sausage and a heel of bread. “You can go and find Sybil after you’ve eaten. Tell her I kept you helping me out here, and that’s why you’re late.” He poured Janna a mug of ale as she took an appreciative bite of the mince-stuffed intestine.
“Mmm. Delicious,” she said, savoring the mouthful.
Elfric smiled. “You could do worse than work in this tavern,” he commented, “though you should have come back when Sybil told you. She doesn’t like to be disobeyed. But if you work hard, as I saw you work this morning, you’ll find she’ll do right by you.”
Remembering the gift of the rough tunic she wore, Janna nodded. She hastily scoffed the rest of her treat, washed it down with ale, and headed to the door.
“Wait.” Elfric handed her a couple of wooden trenchers laden with food.
“Who are these for?”
“Don’t ask me. I just do the cooking.” Elfric turned back to the stew pot hanging low over the fire. With trenchers balanced carefully, one in each hand, Janna cautiously sidled out the door and into the tavern.
“Here!” Sybil caught sight of her and hurried across, directing Janna to put the food down in front of the two men who had ordered it. “Where have you been?” she hissed crossly.
“I’m sorry, mistress.” Janna was about to repeat the cook’s lie, but met Sybil’s bright gaze and thought the better of it. “I lost track of the time,” she admitted.
Sybil drew back, hands on her hips as she studied Janna closely. “Have you been reporting on me to one of those alehouses in the high street?”
“No, of course not!”
“It wouldn’t be the first time my rivals have sent someone here to spy on me.”
“Well, I’m certainly not one of their spies, and I have a bagfull of plants to prove it!” Janna wondered if the taverner had any grounds for her suspicion. She remembered the merchant’s threat to take his custom elsewhere. The other alehouses were further up the high street, and did a roaring trade, being situated so close to the great cathedral and shops. Surely they didn’t need to poach Sybil’s trade as well?
The taverner eyed her, still suspicious. “I’ll be watching you,” she promised, and thrust two empty pitchers into Janna’s hands. “Go and refill these from the new barrel in the brew house and hurry back. I can’t serve this crowd on my own, you know.”
Grateful for the second chance she’d been given, Janna hurried to do as she was bid. As she neared the door at the back of the tavern, she noticed Alan, the merchant. He was with a new companion this time, a bright peacock of a man. A flagon of wine stood on the table in front of them, along with two goblets. They were huddled together, conversing in such low tones that even though Janna passed as close as she dared, she could not hear what they were saying. There was no sign of Ebba. Janna hoped, for the girl’s sake, that she had not already been cast aside by the merchant. Even as she was thinking it, the merchant looked up and saw her.
“What are you staring at?” he demanded.
“I…” Janna paused and nervously licked her lips. “May I fetch some more wine for you?”
“No.” The merchant bent his head to his friend once more. Janna hurried on her way, mulling over the sight she’d seen. Ale one day, and wine the next. Evidently the merchant was out to impress his brightly dressed friend. While Sybil served the wine herself, Janna had seen enough the night before to know that it didn’t come cheap, imported as it was from across the sea.
Janna’s mind was full of questions as she filled the pitchers from the barrel containing the latest brew. Was it the merchant who’d ordered the wine? Or was this Sybil’s gift, as a way of making sure that he stayed loyal to her tavern? And who was the peacock? Someone with whom the merchant hoped to do business, perhaps even someone in the bishop’s or empress’s employ? Perhaps he was the source of the merchant’s information about the stand-off between the two. She made sure, as she brought the filled pitchers back into the tavern, that she walked slowly enough to have a good look at the merchant’s acquaintance. In uncertain times such as these it was as well to watch and be careful.
Her curiosity grew as, not long afterward, the merchant’s companion pushed back his stool and strode out of the tavern. With narrowed eyes and pinched lips, the merchant watched him go. Janna wondered if he was angry because the wine was still to be paid for, or because he’d argued with his companion. One of her questions was answered when Sybil hastened across and thrust out her hand, palm up. No making up with the customers, then. It was all business with Sybil.
The merchant’s expression darkened as he reluctantly opened his purse and drew out a silver coin. Their two heads came together, and Janna drifted closer.
“…shamed me in my own tavern!” Sybil hissed, as she thrust the coin into her pocket. “I won’t have it, do you hear me? You may visit the tavern if you wish, but don’t you dare bring your leman in here!”
The merchant sat back, seeming undisturbed by her fury. “What we once had between us is finished,” he said coldly. “You made it quite clear at the time that you weren’t interested in my offer. So what is it to you if I take someone younger, and prettier, to my bed?” He cleared his throat and spat into the rushes.
The taverner snatched up a goblet. For a moment, Janna thought she was going to throw its contents into the merchant’s face. Evidently she decided against it, for she banged it down and stepped away. “Get out,” she said tightly. “You are no longer welcome in my tavern.” As she hurried off, Ossie strode across and stood over the merchant to make sure he’d leave as he’d been told. Janna quickly turned aside, not wanting anyone to know she’d been listening to their altercation. She was ashamed of her curiosity, but she also felt sorry for the taverner. Sybil was an attractive woman, but she was past the first bloom of youth. The hard work and cares of her life had left their mark in the lines on her face, although her body was still slim and lithe. But it seemed that, in the merchant’s eyes, she was no match for the fresh-faced Ebba. Whether Sybil had any feelings left for the merchant or not, it must hurt to be so humiliated, in public, and in her own tavern.
As she continued to serve the customers, fend off those who were too forward with her, and steer in the right direction those who were too drunk to find their own way out to the latrine, Janna’s thoughts moved on to the unexpected presence of Hugh and his young companion and cousin, Hamo, and their entourage. She kept busy pouring ale into mugs and serving trenchers of food while she listened to the latest news circulating in the tavern to see if she could find out why they were in Winchestre.
The merchant had said that the empress was here with a large army. Janna remembered past reports that had put Hugh in the company of Robert of Gloucestre, the empress’s half-brother. If he had come to Winchestre to support his liege lord, it could mean that Hugh’s uncle by marriage, Robert of Babestoche, might also have answered the call to arms.
Janna’s nerves jumped with alarm at the thought. She knew that Robert of Babestoche wanted her dead; wanted it so badly he’d already sent an assassin after her to ensure her silence. Janna had managed to fight off the villain, but might not be so lucky next time. If Robert was here, it was almost certain that he would have his manservant, Mus, with him. Only one thought quietened her fears: Robert of Babestoche had no idea where she was, certainly not that she was in Winchestre. No-one from her past life knew that. It seemed she’d had a lucky escape when she’d stopped herself from hailing Hugh. She must take care to stay out of his way, and keep them all in ignoranc
e of her presence here.
Janna shivered. If Hugh had come in answer to the empress’s summons, Matilda must expect the worst. The thought of Hugh going into battle made Janna’s stomach knot in fear. Only one thing puzzled her: If Hugh was here for such a dangerous cause, why on earth had he brought Hamo with him?
Chapter 4
Janna soon settled into the routine of the tavern. The days were long and hard, but she told herself she was lucky to have found bed and board. True to his promise, Ulf visited often, although his news was never welcome: no, there was still no sight of her father, nor had the steward had any word from him. And no, there was no sign of the stolen brooch or ring either.
“Perhaps the fair will bring your father here,” Ulf said optimistically, as Janna brought a mug of ale to his table.
She puffed out a sigh, hardly daring to believe him.
“Don’t lose heart,” Ulf urged. “Write him another letter. I can take it to the steward, and this time I’ll tell Roger it must go to your father, no-one else.”
“I have no parchment or anything to write with.”
“I’ll get them for you.”
Janna forced a smile at Ulf’s efforts to cheer her. It was true she’d begun to lose hope that her father might ever come to Winchestre, but she couldn’t make up her mind whether it was because he’d never received her letter, he didn’t believe her claim, or he didn’t want to acknowledge her. She reminded herself that all the misfortunes of her early life had only come about because Eadgyth hadn’t trusted him enough. Perhaps she should learn from that and give him the benefit of the doubt?
Devilʼs Brew: The Janna Chronicles 5 Page 5
