‘Then you can work alone in the fields today. Your brother will stay here and brew his concoctions to make my people well again.’ Serlo gave them a curt nod, and stepped back to watch their final preparations. Even though most of his attention was reserved for Gytha, Janna could understand how the proud beauty sought to avoid him. Such close proximity to Serlo was making her nervous, and that in turn made her clumsy. Janna stifled a cry as her wet, greasy fingers slid off a bowl and it crashed into pieces on the floor. Scarlet with shame, she kept her head bent as Serlo berated her for her carelessness. Her gratitude towards the reeve was waning; she was beginning to wonder if they might have been wiser to take their chances with the forester.
Once they’d all broken their fast, the men left to go about their work while Gytha returned to the kitchen to supervise the servants over preparations for their dinner at midday. Janna made her excuses, and escaped out to the kitchen garden to seek the herbs she needed to bring relief to the cook and the manor’s villeins. She was pleased to recognise several plants her mother had grown in their own garden. She plucked some feverfew, intending to add it to a syrup with mint and valerian to help dull the pain and cool the fever. She continued to browse among the herbs, searching for marigold, septfoil, elecampane or mallow. Roots, flowers or leaves could be useful in a potion to expel the poison or a lotion to cool and soothe the itchy spots.
Harvesting the herbs, smelling their fragrance, reminded Janna of the last time she’d collected herbs for healing. She’d been in the manor’s kitchen garden at Babestoche, and there was a child’s life at stake. She sighed. The past was behind her, she reminded herself. Her own mother was dead, and so was Dame Alice’s baby. He had been ailing from the start. She would wager that not even King Stephen’s own physician could have kept him alive. Still, for the sake of Dame Alice, she wished she could have saved the child. If her mother had only acknowledged that Janna was growing to adulthood, and had trained her to administer to the sick instead of merely letting her prepare and make up the potions for them, it would have helped Janna so much in the dark days following Eadgyth’s death. It would have helped Janna now. Miserably she acknowledged that because of Eadgyth’s lack of trust, she had not the knowledge or experience to properly diagnose the true causes of illness, nor her mother’s skill when it came to binding wounds, setting broken bones, or even administering a healing massage. But she had watched her mother on many an occasion, and for now that would have to do.
Clutching her handful of herbs, she hurried back into the kitchen. A quick glance told her that Serlo had left off interfering, and that Gytha was now supervising the plucking of fowls, the gutting of herrings and the dicing of vegetables that they – or someone – would be eating for dinner. Janna resolved that if any of it came her way, she’d keep half for Edwin. She’d seen his hunger as he ate the griddle cakes she’d prepared, how every last crumb had been wolfed down. In spite of his strength he was too thin, but regular food would soon restore him to full health and vigour. Perhaps, then, he might have a chance with the lovely Gytha?
Ignoring the activity going on around her, Janna carefully washed her hands and the herbs she had collected, just as her mother had always done. Then, with Eadgyth’s instructions whispering through her mind, she set about preparing what was needed to help the sick. She had only Gytha and Serlo’s description of the disease to go on, but even so she was almost certain that she had seen its like before. She knew how to make the preparations that would give ease, even if she wasn’t sure she could cure the pox. Of course, prayers and holy relics might also help – for certes the priests would think so – but so far as Janna was concerned, she had little knowledge of such things and the patients must look to that sort of cure for themselves.
She hung a pot of water to boil over the fire, moving to one side a dish of savoury pottage to make room for it. ‘This won’t take long,’ she told Gytha, when the young woman protested. She added leaves and roots to the steaming water. Leaving the decoction to simmer, she began a survey of the kitchen, bemused at the array of spices she had not encountered before, and the abundance of corn, fruits and vegetables stored in huge barrels and baskets in the larder. A hock of ham hung beside the fireplace, being cured in the smoke from the fire. She took a deep breath, inhaling the rich and potent mix. Bread and vegetable pottage had been their staple diet, but she and her mother had often known great hunger at this time of the year, after what little grain that remained had grown mouldy and the new wheat was still too green to harvest.
She prowled around the kitchen while she waited, testing and sniffing the spices. Some she remembered from her encounter with the spice merchant at the market at Wiltune. She wished now that she’d asked their purpose. At the time they had seemed so far out of her reach, she’d been reluctant to bother him with too many questions. Still, she could taste and sample to satisfy her curiosity now, and this Janna proceeded to do, enjoying the unexpected heat of some, the elusive fragrance and piquancy of others. She could see how they might add flavour to meat, vegetables and puddings. She itched to try them out.
‘Pray, take me to see your mother, Mistress Gytha,’ she said, once her medicaments were ready. ‘I shall try to ease her discomfort.’
The cook and her daughter did not share the servants’ sleeping quarters upstairs in the hall of the manor house, but had a separate cot of their own, set close behind the kitchen. Janna had come to know the cook in the mornings when she and Edwin broke their fast and waited to collect their dinner. She was a disapproving, thin-faced woman whose tongue had been sharpened on the misfortunes of others. But she was a sorry sight now, Janna thought, as Gytha pushed open the door and led the way into their cottage.
Mistress Tova lay on a straw pallet. She looked flushed and uncomfortable. Her hair lay in lank strands on her forehead, and her restless fingers scratched first at her face and then at her arm.
‘Don’t scratch!’ Janna said quickly. ‘The sores will become full of pus and take much longer to heal.’
The cook’s gaze moved from her daughter to Janna, who came forward then so that she might see her patient more clearly. With a conscious effort, she made her voice deeper. ‘I beg your pardon for speaking sharply, mistress.’ She was about to curtsy but remembered in time to catch herself and bobbed awkwardly instead. ‘I am here to help you. My mother was a healer, and she taught me something of her craft. I’ve made up an infusion for you to drink. It will dull the pain and cool your fever. There’s also a lotion to bathe your skin. It will soothe those itches and help the spots to heal. You must not scratch them or you will be left with scars afterwards.’ She held up a phial and a jar of lotion, so that the cook could see what she carried.
The woman nodded, even managing a faint smile. ‘I would be glad of some comfort, John, for in truth I think my head is about to burst. And my skin feels as if it’s been branded by the devil’s own fire.’
Janna was somewhat relieved to hear the cook’s words. Her mother’s patients had described their symptoms in similar fashion. As she set about ministering to Mistress Tova, the woman gave her daughter a sharp glance. ‘Get back to the kitchen, Gytha, and make sure you prepare a goodly feast, just in case my lord returns today. John can minister to my needs.’
Gytha ducked her head in obedience and vanished outside, leaving Janna alone with the cook. Janna kept her head bent, for Mistress Tova’s sharp eyes and avid tongue seemed to miss nothing.
‘You are very young,’ she said now. ‘You have not even a hint of a beard.’
Janna cleared her throat. ‘I may be young, but I am strong, mistress,’ she said, fending off any implied criticism.
‘And skilled too, it seems.’ The cook sniffed the draught that Janna handed to her. ‘Pray tell me what is in this? I’d like to know how you have prepared it, for it is usually my task to minister to any who might fall ill here on my lord’s demesne.’
As Janna detailed what she had used and her method of preparation, the cook nodded
approvingly. Her eyes were alight with interest. After a first suspicious sip, she drank the mixture down. ‘And how did you prepare this?’ she asked, when Janna unstoppered the cooling salve she had made.
‘Septfoil?’ she queried, interrupting Janna’s recitation.
‘It’s sometimes called tormentil.’ Using a small piece of cloth to keep her fingers free of contact with the sores, Janna began to dab the lotion onto the cook’s skin.
The cook was silent for a few moments. ‘You have a wide knowledge,’ she commented.
‘My mother was very skilled at healing. She wanted me to learn her craft and so she taught me what she knew.’ It was the truth.
‘And your brother? Does he have the knowledge too?’
‘He has no aptitude for healing. He … he likes working outdoors, tilling the earth and caring for the animals.’ Janna hoped that was true of Edwin.
The cook grunted. ‘Master Serlo will keep him up to the mark. He is a hard taskmaster, but a fair one, you’ll find. Do as he tells you and he’s kindly enough. Go against him, and you’ll live to regret it. He tends the manor farm as if it was his own and he expects the same from all of us. Indeed this is his life, for he has no family to think about. My lord is fortunate he has Serlo to look after everything in his absence.’
‘Master Serlo has indeed been kind to us,’ Janna acknowledged. She continued to dab the cooling lotion onto the cook’s face and arms.
The cook gave a quiet moan as the liquid touched several spots she’d scratched raw. ‘Am I hurting you, mistress?’ Janna asked.
‘No, indeed.’ Mistress Tova gave Janna a watery smile. ‘I am grateful for your aid and comfort.’
‘If you will remove your kirtle …’ Janna remembered her new identity just in time. ‘You could also use this lotion on your stomach and back. I will leave it here with you.’
‘Thank you.’ The cook nodded gratefully.
‘And I will mix up some more medicaments, and visit you again tomorrow.’ Janna moved towards the door.
‘I am sure Master Serlo would be very grateful if you could also attend those villeins who are too sick to work, John. There is so much to be done, and too few hands now to do it. I know the reeve is anxious, for my lord is expected home soon. He will want to give a good accounting of his stewardship during my lord’s absence.’
‘I will do what I can to make them all well,’ Janna promised. Curiosity prompted her to probe further. ‘You have a very beautiful daughter, mistress. I pray that she will not contract your disease.’
‘As do I,’ the cook said promptly. ‘My daughter is of an age to wed, and I have great hopes of a good match for her. In fact, Master Serlo has already spoken to me. He would be a good catch for Gytha. I have urged her to consider his offer, but …’ She hesitated. Pride overcame prudence. ‘I believe my lord is also attracted to Gytha and I know she cares for him. If he was to suggest that they wed …’ The cook smiled at the thought.
‘Then I hope they’ll find happiness together,’ Janna murmured. ‘God keep you, mistress. I’ll call in tomorrow.’ Smiling to herself over the high hopes of the cook and her daughter even while wondering if they were deluding themselves, she opened the door and let herself out of the cottage.
THE NEXT FEW weeks were busy for Janna. She physicked her patients and so found her way around the manor farm and the hamlet outside the manor gate where dwelt those villeins who gave service and goods to their lord in exchange for land to tend and somewhere to live. Urk and his mother she’d already met, but Janna now came to know everyone else in that small community, husbands and wives, sons and daughters. At first they were watchful, suspicious of this young stranger, this boy who claimed to possess the power to heal their hurts and lessen their misery. They asked instead for Mistress Tova, and Janna had to explain over and over again that the cook herself was struck with the pox and confined to her bed. But at Serlo’s urging, and as they themselves began to feel the benefit of Janna’s healing salves and lotions, they came to accept her, and welcomed her into their homes.
For Janna, this was something new. She didn’t know much about living in a close community, for she and her mother had always dwelt alone at the edge of the forest. Janna found she enjoyed the villeins’ friendship and their appreciation. Tending the sick also gave her new confidence that her years of watching Eadgyth so closely might count for something after all. With practice, she might yet come to possess her mother’s skills with healing. It was a source of pride to Janna that Mistress Tova made a good recovery, with only a few scars to show where the spots had been. Gytha escaped unscathed. Others were not so lucky and bore the scars of their misfortune, but it was a consolation that no-one died.
As soon as they were well enough, the villeins returned to work in their own fields, although their time was restricted by Serlo, who insisted they also catch up on tasks on the lord’s lands that they’d neglected while they were ill. Rainy days postponed haymaking so, instead, Edwin and Janna continued to cut weeds, dig ditches and repair the hedges that protected the fields of corn from hungry animals. Whenever she could, Janna fled to the kitchen garden to tend the plants and herbs that grew there, but the days were long and the work was always hard.
Janna had reasoned that the sooner the villeins were back on their feet and out working in the fields, the sooner she and Edwin would be free to leave. Yet Serlo continued to find work for them to do and made sure they kept busy. He seemed determined that they would repay their full dues for his silence. He rode around the manor and kept an eye on everyone and everything. He always knew exactly what was going on and what needed to be done. Janna had come to admire and respect the reeve for his good care and husbandry of the manor, even while she grumbled over the toll paid by her body. Yet she was aware too that she was growing stronger and more able as the weeks went by, and she gloried in the fresh air, exercise and freedom that her new life afforded her.
Of the lord of the manor there was still no sign, although Gytha was forever preening herself in case he returned unexpectedly.
‘He’s much older than me, but not so old as Serlo,’ Gytha confided on one occasion, when Janna found her admiring her reflection in the still waters of a small duck pond. ‘He has at least twenty-five years.’ She puckered her lips to blow a kiss to herself.
‘And he has not spoken of marriage?’
‘He wishes first to make his way in the world.’ Gytha tossed her head. Janna could see that she was out of sympathy with her lord’s ambition.
‘Why should he wish to do that?’ Janna spread out her hands to encompass the fields stretching before them. ‘Surely this fine demesne brings him in a good income?’
‘It is not his to inherit.’ Gytha sounded resentful. ‘It’s not fair! My lord works so hard, he aims to make this the finest manor farm in the shire, but his cousin will take it all when he comes of age. My lord will be left with nothing!’
Janna nodded in understanding. It was becoming the custom for the first born to inherit everything, which made life very difficult for those sons who came after. They had few options other than to enter the king’s service and hope to earn bounty in battle, or else go into the church. A third option, and the best from their point of view, was to marry a woman with a dowry and lands of her own. Looking at Gytha, Janna felt sorry for the young beauty. She might have her hopes pinned on the lord of the manor, but unless he was either blind in love or very stupid, he would be looking to wed someone far more suited to his ambition than the cook’s daughter.
‘When you grow up you should try to be just like him, young John. He’s such a man to admire. He’s very brave, and very handsome. He’s the handsomest man I’ve ever seen,’ Gytha gushed.
Janna wondered just how many men Gytha knew that she could make the comparison with such confidence. ‘When does he return?’ she asked, thinking that perhaps even now he might be off scouting marriageable prospects.
‘We expected him long before this.’ Gytha scowled. ‘He we
nt to visit his family, but the country is in such unrest he might have been summoned by the king to his castle in Sarisberie. It’s not so far from here. Or he might have gone on to Winchestre.’
Janna’s ears pricked up. ‘Do you know the road to Winchestre?’ she asked quickly.
‘No, I do not.’ Gytha pouted, her mind fixed on her own problems rather than Janna’s question. ‘Really, there is no reason for him to be anywhere but here,’ she groused. ‘While there’s fighting between the king and his barons, who keep changing their allegiance in the hope that it might profit them, none of the trouble comes anywhere near here. As for the empress’s claim to the crown, my lord told us there was a council of peace between Stephen’s queen and Matilda’s half-brother, the Earl of Gloucester, at the end of May. It was arranged by Bishop Henry, the king’s brother, who hopes to bring about a reconciliation between the king and his cousin.’
This was welcome news to Janna. ‘Pray God he succeeds, for all our sakes,’ she said.
Gytha nodded absent-mindedly. ‘Perhaps my lord is still with his family,’ she said, coming back to the topic that most interested her. ‘Perhaps even now he is arguing his right to keep this demesne. Oh!’ She clasped Janna’s hand in sudden hope. ‘Pray that he succeeds, John, so that our future here together may be assured.’
Janna wondered whether to sound a note of caution, but decided it was none of her business. ‘I hope your wish may come true, mistress,’ she said, and gently removed her hand from Gytha’s grasp. She did not wish to become involved in the young woman’s schemes.
It was not so easy, however, to keep herself detached from the villeins and the servants of the household for, having come to know them all as she ministered to their needs, she was popular and much sought after as a result of her kindness and skill. She stood in the kitchen early one morning, waiting for the cook to pack up their dinner and half-listening to Mistress Tova’s gossip. Janna had taken special care to stay on friendly terms with her, for it meant that she and Edwin might gain extra meat, or a piece of fowl, or a stale pastry or some fruit along with their bread and ale for the day. Their hard work out in the fields meant that they were always hungry, so Janna was happy to put in extra time and care in return for extra food.
Janna Mysteries 1 & 2 Bindup Page 29
