Janna Mysteries 1 & 2 Bindup

by Felicity Pulman

  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 th
rough 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?

  No! Janna shook her head, unable to imagine Edwin doing any of those things. Besides, he seemed happy enough. He certainly didn’t seem to be harbouring the sort of hatred and spite that must lie behind acts of this sort.

  What most worried Janna was the thought of what disaster might happen next. If someone was causing problems for a reason, he’d be unlikely to stop until his purpose was achieved. What could that purpose be? If she could only find that out, she might be able to put a stop to these so-called ‘accidents’, which, in turn, would help ensure her and Edwin’s safety.

  Questions continued to bedevil her as the villeins prepared to enjoy medale, the drinking festivity to celebrate the end of haymaking. The grass had been cut and dried, and collected into stacks with thatched covers to protect it through the winter rains, or carted off to be stored in the barn. For the moment, their task was done, although Serlo had already warned that sheep-shearing and harvesting were next and that he expected them to stay on and help. She took comfort from the notion that he couldn’t suspect them of causing the problems – unless it was at Hugh’s urging that he wanted them to stay.

  It was with a sense of anticipation that she followed Edwin up to the manor hall on the night of the celebration. Mistress Tova, Gytha and the rest of the kitchen servants had been busy. Trestle tables were set up to form a large square and were laden ready for the feast. Wooden platters were piled high with food, with brimming pitchers of honey mead and ale set beside them.

  ‘This’ll do me,’ Edwin said cheerfully, as he surveyed the spread. ‘You can have the leftovers.’ He patted his stomach and gave Janna a wolfish grin.

  Janna laughed, but her mirth vanished as she looked beyond Edwin and saw Hugh standing beside Serlo at a table raised up on a platform. He was surveying the crowd below.

  ‘I have to go,’ she muttered, and swung around.

  ‘You can’t miss out on medale!’ Edwin caught her arm and dragged her back, looking horrified at the thought.

  ‘But he’s here! My lord Hugh is here!’

  ‘So what? Why are you so afraid of him? What makes you think he’ll even remember you?’

  It was a fair question, Janna acknowledged, and
one she couldn’t answer unless she told Edwin how kind Hugh had been to her after her mother died; how they’d played ball with his cousin, Hamo; and how he’d taken her home on the back of his destrier afterwards. And then he’d kissed her! She blushed at the memory.

  ‘Stay,’ Edwin urged now. ‘He thinks you’re my brother. He doesn’t know who you really are. Don’t let him spoil the feast for you.’

  Janna risked another glance in Hugh’s direction, her heart jolting painfully as she noticed who else was standing beside him. Gytha. She wore a new gown for the occasion, homespun but with a greenish tinge that became her dark locks and creamy complexion, and added a bewitching green tint to her hazel eyes. Hugh sat down at the high table, accompanied by Serlo and several others. After he’d said grace, Gytha began to serve him, bending over so that she could smile into his eyes.

  Janna stood still, swept by a tide of pure envy. She wanted to flee, to hide from the sight, yet a painful curiosity bid her stay, to watch the interplay between them so she would know for sure whether the girl’s trust in Hugh’s intentions was well-founded or misplaced.

  ‘See?’ Edwin nudged Janna, unwittingly adding to her distress as he said, ‘You don’t need to worry that he’ll notice you. He has eyes only for Gytha.’

  ‘As she has for him,’ Janna said bitterly, wondering how Edwin could sound so cheerful. ‘Don’t you mind?’

  ‘About Gytha? No, why should I?’

  So Edwin was over his infatuation with the cook’s daughter. Good, Janna thought. She must work on him anew to get him to leave the manor with her. She might feel sorry for Gytha if the girl’s high hopes for Hugh came to naught, but she’d feel even sorrier for herself if Hugh defied common sense and became betrothed to the young girl. It seemed flight was her only choice if she was ever to know peace of mind. She sat down beside Edwin, but she found now that she’d lost all appetite and could only look without interest at the mound of food he’d piled on the trenchers of bread in front of them.