She shrugged thin shoulders, leaving unsaid her wish that her daughter would secure her future with the reeve rather than trying to seduce the reeve’s master who, at the end of the day, might be left with nothing. Janna wondered whether to encourage the cook to urge her daughter to see sense, but decided it was wiser to keep out of their affairs. Instead, she thanked the cook for the sack of dinner she’d provided, and asked after Hamo.
‘Staying in his bed today, at Mistress Cecily’s insistence, but there’s nothing wrong with his appetite.’ The cook’s words set Janna’s mind at rest that Hamo was none the worse for his ducking. She remembered the tethered dog beside the kitchen door.
‘And Bones?’ she asked. ‘What is to become of the dog?’
The cook scowled, and jerked a floury thumb over her shoulder. ‘I’m to give it vittles and water.’ Janna saw a bright eye peer hopefully around the doorway at them.
‘If the young lord is to keep his pet, then I’d like to put some medicament on its paws,’ Janna said. ‘Hopefully, the cur’s temper will improve once it is out of pain.’
‘Get the skivvy to muzzle it,’ the cook advised. ‘It’ll have a piece of your breeches, otherwise.’
Janna laughed. ‘I know all about that,’ she said cheerfully, and put down the sack of food while she went off to pluck some herbs.
Her hands stank from the juice of ragwort as she brewed a lotion with sanicle to put on the dog’s paws. Conscious that time was passing, but feeling slightly guilty that she was getting out of the difficult part of the treatment, she gave some of the astringent mixture to the skivvy with instructions to first cleanse the dog’s paws and then wrap them tight to protect them from becoming dirty and infected once more. ‘Keep Bones tied up and out of trouble,’ she said, adding, ‘and get someone to hold the dog’s jaw tight so he won’t bite you.’ Ignoring the skivvy’s horrified expression, she gathered up a fresh paste of healing herbs for the big, black destrier that awaited her in the stable.
She was pleased to find no sign of Hugh, while his mount seemed much better. She summoned the surly stable lad to hold up the hoof while she unwound the bandage to check. The wound was healing nicely, and she felt a sense of satisfaction as she washed it with lotion and applied the new paste. Human or animal, it mattered not who or what she treated so long as she could heal them, she thought, as she bound up the horse’s hoof once more.
Bright sunshine had burnt away the early morning mist. Janna emerged from the dimness of the stables and stood blinking in the sunlight. Shearing was still underway and she knew she should go down to the fold to help, but for a moment she lingered, enjoying a moment’s rest in the warmth of the sun.
A flock of geese disturbed her reverie. Honking and hissing, they swarmed around her. Janna drew back, alarmed by the close proximity of the big birds with their sharp, serrated bills. The harassed goosegirl flapped her arms and shouted at them, doing her best to round them up and drive them on through the manor gate and down into the stubbled water meadows to feast on frogs and grasshoppers. Janna kept quite still until they had moved on before following them through the gate.
Her path to the sheepfold took her past the young goatherd. She was surprised he was still in charge of the little flock but then noticed how subdued he looked. Even if Hugh hadn’t taken a switch to the boy, his father probably had. In fact, the boy might have had a beating from both of them. Janna felt a little sorry for the lad. It was clear that he’d learned a hard lesson from it all. She gave him a smile as she walked past, and earned a scowl in return.
Dogs yipped and barked as they circled the sheep penned into the fold. All was chaos and confusion. Frightened lambs and sheep baaed in protest as they were caught and thrown to the ground, while the villeins cursed as they fought to hold them still long enough to bind their feet so that they could be shorn. The shearers also cursed the struggling sheep, and tried not to nick the animals’ skin as they clipped the wool with heavy, one-handed shears, for the skin could be used as vellum for writing on and was therefore valuable. Excited children laughed and ran about and got in everyone’s way, harried by the irate shepherd who was trying to bring some order to the proceedings. Janna looked around, without much hope, for Edwin, but there was no sign of him.
Undecided what she should do, and whether she had the strength to wrestle even one sheep to the ground, she looked to the shepherd for guidance. He surveyed her with a critical expression, obviously sharing her doubts. ‘You, John,’ he said. ‘’Tis said you have the healing touch. Some of my flock have fly sores. They’re over there.’ He jerked a thumb at a small fold which had been hastily erected out of hurdles roped together. It was packed with shorn and shivering sheep. ‘Get one of the children to help you.’ He beckoned Urk to come forward. The boy smiled happily at Janna, pleased to be singled out for such an important task.
‘Take each sheep out of the pen and bathe the sores with that mixture.’ The shepherd waved a hand towards a large wooden trough propped beside the fold. It was full of a yellow liquid. Janna sniffed the air, picking up what she’d missed before among the stink of animal dung and dust: the distinctive stench of ragwort.
She nodded and let herself into the small fold, followed by Urk. Sheep pressed around her, baaing lustily and pushing at her from all sides. Urk grabbed hold of a ewe and marched it out and over to the trough. He looked at Janna, awaiting instructions.
‘Well done, Gabriel.’ She hastily followed him out of the fold. ‘I’ll bathe its sores if you’ll stay in the pen and bring the sheep out one by one?’
The boy nodded acceptance and handed over his charge. Janna held onto the ewe by its horns. After a moment’s thought she picked up the handful of wool that stood next to the trough and dipped it in, wrinkling her nose at the stink as the liquid swirled about. There were a few nicks and smears of blood on the animal’s skin. Janna bathed them first to get rid of the flies which were already harassing it. Wincing at the sight of the ulcerated flesh on its nether regions, Janna gave the sores a thorough wash. The stinking ragwort would cleanse them and kill any maggots, but she thought she detected also the aromatic tang of tansy to repel the flies that had caused the problem in the first place.
Urk had been watching and, as Janna finished her ministrations, he dragged another ailing sheep out of the small fold and handed it to Janna in exchange for the ewe.
‘You can take that one back to the big pen, then bring me another,’ Janna told him. ‘And thank you, Gabriel. You’re being a great help.’
One by one, the sheep were washed and released into the fold, under the watchful eye of the shepherd, who moved about, supervising his flock. Janna was hot, tired and sweaty by the time the last sheep was bathed. Urk came out of the fold to take the animal from her, but it broke free before he was close enough to clutch hold of it. With the alluring prospect of rich grazing in the water meadows ahead, the ewe bumped past Janna and set off at speed, followed by Urk in hot pursuit.
Knocked off balance, Janna fell against the edge of the wooden trough. It tipped, splashing its contents over her smock and breeches. Janna surveyed the damage in dismay. Her clothes were filthy, and she stank. She saw that Urk had managed to capture the absconding animal and was bringing it back to shut in with all the other sheep. Her task was over. She looked towards the cool, flowing river, and got to her feet.
‘By your leave, I’m going to rinse this stinking mixture off my smock,’ she told the shepherd. Not giving him a chance to argue, she hurried on down to the water. She untied her girdle and laid it and her purse on the river bank before leaning over to wash the stain from her smock. She sneaked a quick look around to see if anyone was paying attention then leaned further until she overbalanced into the river. The shock of the icy water on her hot skin took her breath away for several long moments. Recollecting her purpose, she began an opportunistic floundering, determined to make the most of this chance to give herself and her clothes a hasty rinse. She also took a long drink of water, reli
shing its coldness as it slipped down her dry throat. Finally, she regained her footing and emerged from the river. She made her way towards the place she’d dropped her belongings, wringing the water from the front of her smock as she walked.
The last of the sheep were being tied and shorn, while other villeins carried the fleeces back to the manor. There, women were already combing the fleeces smooth with the dried heads of teasels, which were prickly as hedgehogs. The best fleeces would be sold at the annual fair at Wiltune. Janna had been to the fair once, and still remembered the excitement of it all. It was the high mark of the year, both because it was a holy time to commemorate the death of St Edith, but also because merchants and travellers came from miles around to sell their wares.
Revelling in her clean skin and clean clothes, Janna picked up her girdle and purse and tied them safely around her waist.
‘Where is your brother, John?’
Janna jumped. She hadn’t noticed Serlo’s approach. His gaze rested quizzically on her wet smock. She quickly crossed her arms over her chest lest he see the shape of her breasts mounded beneath the fabric. ‘He must be working elsewhere about the manor, Master Serlo. Perhaps my lord Hugh has given him a task?’ she improvised quickly.
Serlo frowned. ‘He should be here, helping with the shearing,’ he said.
‘And so I shall tell him, just as soon as I see him.’ Janna gave an exaggerated shiver. ‘I fell into the river and I’m cold. May I have your leave to run in the fields until I am dry?’
With a reluctant nod, Serlo waved her away. Feeling relief, Janna retraced her steps to the sheepfold to retrieve the sack of food, and took off up into the fields. She kept up the pace until she was hidden from his sight by a field of growing wheat. She slowed to a walk and looked about for somewhere to eat her dinner, while she pondered what to do next. Edwin had seemed so keen to stay at the manor. What had happened to change his mind? If he’d run away, why hadn’t he asked her to go with him? He knew she wanted to leave, and that it was only his wish to stay that was keeping her here. It didn’t make sense. Even if he’d left without her, he could at least have said goodbye.
If Edwin really had gone, she might as well leave too, she concluded. There was certainly no future for her here, in spite of Hugh’s kind offer. She sat down in the shade of a patch of brambles, and opened up the sack of food. She munched on some bread and sheep’s cheese while she considered what had been happening here on the manor. Years of standing about and watching Eadgyth treat her patients had taught Janna to look, to listen and to learn. As she ate her dinner, she thought through the incidents she’d witnessed, racking her brains to make sense of it all. Was there anything to link the incidents together, other than the posies of rue?
No, there was not, she concluded. Perhaps she should approach the problem from another angle. Why the rue? What was the reasoning behind the incidents?
Janna cast her mind back to everything her mother had told her about the herb. ‘It’s known as “herb of grace” to Christians, for they believe rue is a symbol of the true repentance that leads to God’s grace,’ Eadgyth had said. But it was clear to Janna that the culprit repented nothing, for the incidents kept on happening. Not repentance, then. What else had she been told? ‘The Romans thought they’d gain a second sight and see visions if they took the herb, but others have used it to curse their enemies.’ Eadgyth’s eyes had twinkled as she’d continued. ‘You can also wear rue for luck, for protection, or as a cure against disease. In fact, daughter, it seems the ancients couldn’t quite make up their minds whether the herb should be used for good or ill. For myself, I believe the herb has many good uses, and these I will show you.’ And so she had, Janna thought, remembering the many medicaments to which rue could be added.
She sighed. She was no nearer to working out the truth of the matter, but she was sure that something else was going to happen, perhaps worse than all that had gone before. She wondered what the next disaster would be, and felt a shiver of premonition.
Something niggled at the back of Janna’s mind; something she’d seen, something important that perhaps could tell her who was responsible. She closed her eyes, the better to recall what she’d seen or heard, but the memory remained elusive.
She was thoughtful as she walked back down to the fold, where the last of the sheep were being sheared. If Edwin was gone, she should leave too. But not now; she couldn’t risk Serlo seeing her go. He was already suspicious enough. If she left, it would confirm Serlo’s belief that she and Edwin were behind the so-called ‘accidents’. They would be pursued, and by the forester too. Janna had no doubt Serlo would carry out his threat to raise the hue and cry. Nor would he willingly let her go if she asked to leave, not when she was one of his suspects; not when it was his intention to get more work out of them in return for his silence. Uneasy and afraid, she wondered if she should make a run for it anyway. Whatever her decision, Janna knew she must wait until nightfall. If there was no sign of Edwin by then, maybe she could sneak out while everyone was snoring. But in which direction should she go?
Janna resolved that whatever she chose to do, she must first find out the way to Winchestre. But as she asked her question, she found herself more confused than ever by the responses.
‘Winchestre lies that way.’ One shearer stopped clipping to point downstream. ‘No, you’ll find the road over there,’ said another, and jabbed a finger in the opposite direction. ‘It’s behind us,’ said a villein, who was busy making his mark on his own sheep. He took time to poke his thumb back towards the fields.
She would go over the fields and see what lay beyond them, Janna decided, as she picked up an armful of rolled-up fleeces and laboured back to the manor with her burden. Even if the road took her in the wrong direction, it would lead her away from the manor, and also from Babestoche where Dame Alice and Robert lived. It would lead her to safety. She could always ask about Winchestre along the way, and change direction at a crossroads, if need be.
All these thoughts left Janna’s head as, with the day drawing to its weary end, she suddenly heard a bell begin to toll. She recognised the sound. It came from the church at nearby Wicheford and, on Sundays, it summoned the faithful to mass, including those villeins from the manor who felt like making the journey across the downs. But today was not Sunday, and the bell rang on and on, clanging its urgent appeal long past its usual recording of time or occasion. The villeins hurriedly gathered up the last of the fleeces and hastened to the manor to find out the cause of the summons, Janna among them.
‘Hamo.’ She heard the boy’s name mentioned several times as they came closer to the confusion and bustle in the yard. It was said with annoyance, impatience, and also with anxiety. Janna’s steps quickened. Surely he couldn’t have gone missing again after such a narrow escape last time? But it seemed that he had. A cry of alarm had gone out and everyone was being pressed to search for him. The yard was full of servants and labourers, all milling around and discussing what to do. At their centre, trying to organise the comings and goings, and looking distraught, was Hugh. Janna noticed several unfamiliar faces amid the throng, strangers from neighbouring Wicheford. United in adversity and drawn by a sense of community, they too had come to join in the search for the missing boy.
Hugh raised his voice. ‘Hamo was last seen playing with his ball here by the undercroft,’ he shouted above the hubbub. ‘I want the women and children to search the gardens and all the buildings of the manor. The rest of you will comb the fields and search along the river, up and down. Pay careful attention to the mill, and also the marsh. I, myself, will take a small party into the forest. Although the fence-month has passed, the does will still be guarding their young. Should any of them stray into the fields do not, on any account, do anything to startle or harm them, or the forester will call you to an accounting before the king.’ With chopping motions of his hands, he began to divide the villeins into groups, ready to send them off in different directions.
Janna hurried
up to him. ‘Where is the dog, my lord?’ she cried. ‘You should also look for Bones.’
Hugh glanced down at her. ‘I haven’t seen it, have you?’ Janna shook her head. Hugh raised his voice once more to shout: ‘Look out also for a stray dog.’ His face was tight with worry as he continued to issue instructions to the villeins.
‘I hope you find him soon, my lord.’
Hugh nodded. Janna stood back, and waited to be told where to go. A sudden thought came into her mind, and she sidled forward once more. A quick glance confirmed her fears and struck dread through her heart. A small posy of rue lay on the doorstep of the undercroft.
JANNA BENT DOWN and picked up the posy. Her first thought was to show it to Hugh, and tell him what she thought it meant. Her second thought urged caution. The posy, in itself, proved nothing, for all the other posies were either gone or had been destroyed, some by Janna herself. She had nothing, now, to prove that these acts were deliberate and that Hamo had not wandered off by chance. This time he must have been taken, and by someone who wished him harm.
Janna felt sick. She longed to spill out her worries to Hugh, but a question stopped her even as she opened her mouth. Who stood to gain by Hamo’s disappearance – perhaps even his death? The answer had been spelled out to her, only too clearly, on her first meeting with Hamo.
‘All my mother’s property and wealth will be mine when she dies,’ he had told her. ‘I am the first-born son, you see.’
Janna Mysteries 1 & 2 Bindup Page 36
