‘Do you mind if I sit with you two?’ Without waiting for a reply, Bertha took a seat on Edwin’s other side, flashing a cheerful smile at Janna as she did so. The two of them set about wolfing down huge portions of fish, fowl and mutton, but Janna felt too sick to eat. Instead, she picked up her cup of ale and drained it, then sneaked a glance at Hugh and Gytha.
It was clear that the girl was doing all in her power to woo him. Janna wondered if it was only wishful thinking that made her question whether Hugh was quite so enamoured with the serving wench as she was with him. She knew Hugh to be courteous, and so he was now, bending his head to listen to something Gytha was saying. Yet his gaze roved the room until he caught sight of Janna. She blinked and looked quickly away, while her face flamed scarlet. His glance had been questioning; he was frowning at her. Had she done something wrong? Worse, did he suspect that she or Edwin might be behind the laming of his horse and the other disasters that had befallen the manor? Janna wanted to leap up, to go to him and protest her innocence. With an effort, she stayed seated and tried to look as if she was enjoying herself. She sneaked another look, to find Hugh still watching her. Her heart thudded painfully, her chest felt too tight to breathe. She cast about for a chance to escape, but knew there was none. She would not be able to leave the hall until after the lord had arisen from the table and retired to his solar. It would be unforgivably rude to do so. In case Hugh was still watching, she poured herself another mug of ale and quaffed it down, trying to look as unconcerned and as boyish as possible.
‘You should eat something, John,’ Bertha urged, and held out a portion of fat hen in her fingers. ‘You’ll never grow as tall and strong as your brother, else.’ She smiled at Janna.
Distracted from her dark thoughts, Janna felt a flash of amusement as she took the food from Bertha’s fingers. ‘Thank you,’ she said, wondering if the cook’s sour gossip had some truth in it. Was Bertha indeed flirting with her as well as with Edwin – and everyone else who wore breeches, if Mistress Tova was to be believed? Janna ate the fowl, her appetite reviving somewhat as she savoured the delicacy, so that she continued then to help herself from the trencher.
‘Are your family here tonight, mistress?’ she asked Bertha, seeking to distract herself from the scene being played out at the high table.
‘Yes, indeed.’ Bertha waved an arm towards the tables opposite. ‘That’s my father and mother, and my two sisters sit next to them. Not for anything would any of us miss this feast.’ With an expression of bliss on her face, she began to tear the flesh off a chicken bone with her teeth.
Janna had met one of Bertha’s sisters when she’d taken medicaments to cure her of the pox. Now she looked with interest at the rest of Bertha’s family.
‘Bertha’s little sister wants to meet you, John,’ Edwin told her, with a sly smile. ‘She thinks you’re very handsome. Perhaps you might like to dance with her later?’
Janna choked on a piece of fish, and began to cough. Edwin thumped her on the back. Scarlet in the face, she quaffed down some ale. ‘Fish bone,’ she spluttered, by way of explanation.
Bertha smiled in ready sympathy. ‘I had an uncle who choked to death on a fish bone,’ she said, and embarked on a long story, giving Janna a chance to recover her equilibrium.
Only when every last morsel was eaten were the tables cleared away and stacked. Now I can leave, Janna thought, but Hugh still stayed seated at the high table, gazing serenely at the scene in front of him. Gytha leaned over him to pour wine into his goblet, her arm against his, her breast almost brushing his cheek. Janna clenched her hands and turned away, knowing she was trapped for the while.
Several villeins stood together at one side of the hall. Janna recognised the shepherd with his pipe, then noticed that the others also carried musical instruments. Occasionally she’d heard someone playing a tune in the marketplace; sometimes people sang words to the music, or even danced around. Janna hadn’t paid them much mind. Her mother only ever hummed a tune when she thought she was alone and no-one was listening. Janna thought there must be something shameful about it because Eadgyth had been so angry when Janna had asked if she would teach her the song. Music had never been part of Janna’s life, so she could hardly contain a gasp of surprised pleasure now as, with one accord, the villeins turned to the eager crowd gathering around them and began to play.
The shepherd held his pipe to his mouth and blew through the holes in it, dancing his fingers up and down to produce the sounds. One of the villeins struck a small drum, setting up a rhythm for the dancers, who were now swirling around in pairs, stamping their feet in time to the beat, and shrieking with delight. The third member of the party held a wooden bowl with a long neck along which several strings were tied. His fingers plucked and stroked the strings so that his sounds and the sounds from the pipe spoke to each other, sometimes blending together and sometimes taking turns to create different sounds altogether. Janna listened, enchanted, while her feet tapped in time to the rhythm.
‘John? I would have a word with you.’
Hugh’s voice dragged Janna from her reverie. She gave a start of surprise, and looked anxiously for Edwin and Bertha to save her. But they had joined the throng of dancers and she sat alone.
She leapt to her feet and bobbed her head. ‘Sire,’ she murmured, remembering to keep her voice deep. She did not dare look at Hugh. Instead, she moved closer to a shadowy recess where the light from the candles scarcely reached.
‘I believe I have you to thank for ministering to my workers when they were ill with the pox. I am grateful to you. Serlo tells me we would have been even further behind with everything but for your cures.’ Janna felt her hand seized. Something round and cold was pressed into it. Hugh released her hand and she looked to see what he had given her. A dull glint told her what it was: a silver penny! She thrust it into her purse.
‘Thank you, sire,’ she stammered, glancing quickly up at him before looking away again.
‘I have a horse gone lame – a nail awry in a loose shoe. Will you see if you can do aught to help? Arrow is in pain, and I fear he may become crippled if the wound festers.’
‘Yes, sire. Of course I’ll do all I can.’ Janna’s heart lurched at the thought of ministering to Hugh’s destrier under his watchful gaze. She kept her head bent.
‘Come to the stables tomorrow, after you have broken your fast. I’ll wait for you there.’
Janna nodded. ‘Sire,’ she whispered, wishing that he would go and leave her alone yet wanting him to stay, wanting this moment with him to last for ever.
‘You have no need to fear me, John.’ Hugh’s voice was kindly. But his next action filled Janna with alarm as he reached out and tilted up her chin. She had no choice but to look full at him.
‘I thought so,’ he murmured, coming closer to peer at her in the shadowy darkness. ‘You remind me of a young healer I once knew. Her name was Johanna. Do you know of her, John? Was she perhaps a sister, or a cousin to you?’
‘No! No, sire. My brother and I come from Wales.’ Janna’s voice shook as she told the lie. She longed to confess to Hugh, and to ask if he had kept his promise to her, but she dared not. ‘We have no living kin here in England,’ she said, in case he still harboured suspicions about her.
‘And yet you look so like her,’ Hugh mused, adding as if to himself, ‘They say Johanna died in a fire.’
And were you sorry to hear that? Janna pressed her lips firmly together so that she could not ask the question, although she longed to know the answer. It was some comfort that Hugh remembered her; she took more comfort from the regret in his voice when he said, ‘Johanna had a great gift for healing, and so did her mother. They are much missed at the manor of Babestoche, and in the neighbouring hamlets, for there is no-one now to physic the sick and help the dying.’
‘Surely there is a midwife in the village, my lord?’ Janna knew he was mistaken about the villagers’ regret, but she wondered what had become of Mistress Aldith, one of the few
of her mother’s acquaintances who had shown her any kindness.
Hugh shrugged. ‘Her business is to birth babies, but my aunt has little faith in her, that I know. Whether she can do else, I know not.’ His gaze sharpened on Janna’s face. ‘Where did you learn your healing ways?’ he asked.
‘From … from my mother, sire.’ Janna knew she should stick to her story. Others had heard it, and could repeat it to Hugh if he asked. It would increase his suspicion if she told him something different now. ‘She was Saxon born, but when she wed my father, she went to live with him in Wales. He died when we were still quite young, but my father had a cot and enough land to keep us so my mother stayed on, for her own family were either dead or gone away.’
‘I thought Serlo told me your mother worked in an alehouse?’
‘So she did, sire, sometimes, for she had us to help her about our home,’ Janna improvised rapidly. ‘As soon as he was old enough, my brother tended the fields and planted the corn. He also looked after our sheep and goats, while I helped by growing vegetables for the pot, and herbs for my mother’s medicaments. My mother was settled in Wales. It was her home. And ours, until she died.’ Janna knew she was gabbling, but she hoped the wealth of detail might help to convince Hugh. She hated lying to him, hated it, but she knew that her safety depended on it.
‘Why, then, did you leave Wales?’
Janna gulped. ‘I … er … my oldest brother has wed. He has taken the land and the cot for his own, so Edwin and I decided to seek a living in Winchestre. We are free born, sire,’ she added for good measure.
‘This isn’t Winchestre,’ Hugh commented dryly.
‘No. No, sire, it isn’t. But we have no money of our own so we are forced to find food and shelter along our way, which we repay with our own labour.’
‘Then I wish you both good fortune.’ Hugh paused a moment. ‘I’ve watched you and your brother. You are hard workers, and your skill as a healer is also welcome here. You may stay on my manor as long as you wish.’
‘Th … thank you, sire.’ Janna stepped away from Hugh and bowed her head, desperate for him to leave. To be so close and not tell him the truth was a torture to her. When she looked up again, he had returned to his place at the table but he watched her still, his face screwed up into a thoughtful frown. Knowing she must act, and quickly, Janna turned to a young girl standing nearby. She was Bertha’s young sister, Janna realised, and she was looking at Janna with a hopeful expression on her face. Without giving herself time to think, Janna grabbed the girl’s hand and led her into the throng of laughing, dancing villeins.
Just as she had no notion of music, so Janna didn’t know how to dance either. It didn’t seem to matter among all the noise and confusion, but still she tried to copy the actions of those around her, clapping her hands and stamping her feet in time to the beat. When the villeins linked arms or whirled their partners around by the waist, so did Janna, and when they formed into a long line and danced around the high table, so did Janna along with Bertha’s sister. She hoped Hugh was still watching. She hoped he was satisfied that she was who she claimed to be. But in truth, she thought, as she stole a quick glance at him, it was Gytha who held his attention now, for she held a plate of sweetmeats before him, tempting him both with the delicacies and with her eyes.
Janna looked quickly away and concentrated on following the pattern of the dance. She was just beginning to enjoy herself when a sudden shout sounded above the music. ‘Fire!’
At once there was pandemonium. Some began to scream, some froze to the spot with terror, while others pushed past and over them in a desperate effort to get through the door and down the stairs to safety. It took some time for the hall to clear and everyone to realise that the danger lay not in the manor house but outside in the fields.
One of the haystacks was alight. They could see the glow above the palisade of sharpened stakes that fenced the manor house and yard. Cold dread gripped Janna as she listened to new cries of alarm. If the fire moved on and destroyed the other haystacks, the winter fodder would be burned and the animals would starve. Yet everyone milled around, waiting to be told what to do until Hugh shouted out above the hubbub: ‘Follow me to the stream!’ He raced ahead through the gate, and everyone fell into line behind him.
Janna saw that Hugh had already left instructions with Serlo for he, along with a group of his own, ran towards the shed where all the farming implements were housed. Undecided how best to help, Janna followed the crowd through the gate and up into the field, then stopped to watch. In the light from the flames, she saw that Hugh was now dividing the villeins into two groups, sending some towards the small stream that ran down into the river, and beckoning others to follow him to the flaming haystack. As Serlo and his helpers raced to the stream with leather buckets from the shed, the villeins began to form into a long line, making a chain that led from stream to haystack. At once they began to fill the buckets and pass them from hand to hand up the line. Serlo stayed by the stream to keep the buckets moving, while Hugh took up station beside the haystack to direct the flow of water onto where the flames were fiercest.
Once the contents were thrown, the buckets were thrust at a knot of children waiting nearby. They took turns to race back with the empty buckets to the stream to be refilled. Janna noticed Urk among them, carrying two buckets at a time and racing faster than anyone. Had he been in the hall with everyone else before the haystack caught alight? She couldn’t be sure. All her attention had been on Hugh, and then on her dancing partner as she tried to convince Hugh that she was a youth. It was certain that Urk was on the spot now, and doing all he could to help put out the fire – but had he set it in the first place? It seemed unlikely, when he was making such an effort to help now.
Janna looked about. Was anyone missing? Who else might have fired the haystack? She had little doubt that this was no accident, but she was greatly fearful that Urk would be blamed for it. After all, he’d set fire to hay once before. Serlo would surely believe he might do so again.
She stepped closer to scrutinise the chain more carefully. Hugh was beside the burning haystack, his face illuminated in the blaze as he directed the villeins to throw the water where it would be most effective. Serlo was still beside the stream, keeping a watchful eye on the buckets moving up the chain, and also on the children, making sure they ran back to the haystack once they’d handed over the empty buckets to be filled. There was order amid the panic, for everyone knew how vital it was to keep the fire from spreading. Janna’s glance narrowed as she tallied off the line of peasants labouring to pass along the heavy buckets without their precious contents being spilled. There was no sign of Edwin. Where was he?
She moved along the line to look for him.
‘You! John! Get into the stream and help fill those buckets!’ Serlo had seen her, and Janna knew that to disobey would invite his wrath as well as his suspicion. She hastened to do as she was told.
There was barely enough light from the flickering flames to make out the identity of her companions. But Edwin was not here, she was sure of it. She bent to her task, grabbing buckets from the children, sweeping them through the water to fill them, then heaving them up and into a pair of waiting arms. It was back-breaking work, but Janna had been toughened from her weeks in the fields and she knew she felt the strain less than the women who worked beside her. But they carried on without complaint, desperate to save the fodder that would keep their animals alive through winter, with meat on the table for themselves and their families.
‘Give me a bucket.’ She heard Edwin’s voice beside her, and turned on him with a mixture of relief and fury.
‘Where have you been?’ she hissed.
He hung his head. She thought he looked guilty, and feared the worst. ‘What’s going on?’ She grabbed his arm. ‘Did you set fire to the haystack?’
‘Of course not.’ He wrenched his arm away. He didn’t look at Janna but leaned over to fill a bucket as he said, ‘I came to help as soon as I r
ealised what was happening.’
‘I hope no-one else noticed your absence! Don’t you see, Edwin, we are the last to come here so we must be the first they will blame when they come to realise that these are not accidents but deliberate attempts to do harm.’
‘Don’t be silly! This was an accident, surely.’ Edwin handed over a brimming bucket and grabbed another from a waiting child.
‘How could it be an accident? Why would a haystack suddenly catch fire in the middle of the night?’
‘Sometimes they overheat, especially if the grass is still green. It happens.’
It was true. Janna hadn’t thought of that, but in her heart she was sure it hadn’t happened that way. ‘What about the dead lamb?’ she asked. ‘That wasn’t an accident.’
‘A fox? A wolf?’
Janna shook her head. ‘A wild animal would have eaten the lamb, not killed it and left it for someone to find. Besides, its wounds were made by a knife, not teeth.’
‘Yea, ’tis true.’ Edwin’s forehead creased into a frown as he thought about it.
‘And the cows that got out and the fox that got in. And Hugh’s lame horse. Do you really think all those things were accidents?’
‘What happened to the horse?’ Conscious that Serlo prowled about, watching them, watching everyone, Edwin hastily dipped his bucket into the stream.
His frown deepened as Janna told him what she’d seen and found at the stable. ‘These things have all happened since my lord Hugh returned to the manor,’ he interrupted her recital. ‘It seems he’s not as good at managing the farm as his reeve.’
So Mistress Tova was still spreading her poison. This time Janna was determined to defend Hugh. ‘That’s not true. You can’t blame my lord for any of this.’
Janna Mysteries 1 & 2 Bindup Page 32
