“How is your mother?” she asked Godric, thinking that she should make use of this time to find out more about him while Eadgyth wasn’t around to interfere. “Is she quite recovered now?”
“She is very well, I thank you.” Godric paused for a moment and studied Janna. “It was a blessed day that brought me to your door.”
And what did that mean? Was he thankful for his mother’s cure, or was he glad of their meeting? Janna wanted to ask him, but was afraid where the question might lead. To a proposal of marriage? She smiled in the darkness, telling herself not to let her imagination run away with her.
“This is not how I imagined our second meeting would be.” Godric continued to dig while he elaborated on his earlier observation. “I had intended to ask your mother if I might call on you.”
Panic prompted Janna to deliberately misunderstand Godric’s meaning. “Do you need more medication for your mother?” At once she wished she could retrieve her words. He’d already told her his mother was well. He’d think her a witless idiot.
Godric laughed. “I think you understand my meaning, Janna,” he said cheerfully. To her relief, he straightened then, and said, “The hole is deep enough. Hold up the torch so I can see what I’m doing.”
He grabbed the boar. “What a waste of good meat,” he said as he tugged and pushed it into the hole they’d dug. Suddenly hopeful, he whipped his knife out of its sheath. “Couldn’t I just slice off a little...?”
“Don’t even think about it.” Before he had time to put the thought into action, Janna scooped up a handful of earth and threw it over the animal. With a shrug of resignation, Godric sheathed his knife and set to helping her cover the boar.
Godric wanted to come calling on her! As Janna heaped earth over the dead animal, she reflected on what that meant. Courtship. Marriage? No! Although she liked Godric—liked him a lot—she did not want to wed, not yet anyway.
True, she was well of an age to marry. Most of the young women of her age in the hamlets nearby were either betrothed or already wed. One was even expecting her second child, and wore the bump of her belly like a badge of honor.
Janna knew well enough how men and women found comfort in the marriage bed. She knew what needed to happen to cause the birth of a child, but she utterly rejected it for herself. She was not yet ready to share either her body or her life with anyone else. There was still so much she wanted to experience for herself, so many new places she wanted to explore. She could not—would not—plight her troth to Godric, nor to any other man, nor would she settle to keeping a home and bearing children at the price of her own freedom, and her own dreams for the future.
Yet what were those dreams, exactly?
Janna couldn’t say, knew only how restless, how dissatisfied she sometimes felt; as if there was a world beyond the forest awaiting her, a world full of promise for the future. At such times a great longing seized her, a longing for adventure, a longing to be gone. She and Eadgyth eked out an existence from their small plot of land, and knew hunger if the season went against them. It was a hard life, but they were free to leave, to go anywhere they wished, whereas Godric, like all villeins, was bound to a liege lord and had to spend his days in service on the land so that he might have enough food to eat, and sufficient left over to pay his dues. If she wed Godric, she too would have to stay here forever. She would never know if there was something else out there, waiting for her.
Common sense told Janna she was nothing, a nobody. Her only identity came from being Eadgyth’s daughter, while her occupation, her reason for living, lay in tending their garden and animals, growing the vegetables that fed them, and the flowers and herbs for the concoctions that made up their livelihood. It was unlikely she’d ever go anywhere. In fact, she’d be lucky to find a husband at all, let alone someone as kind and brave as Godric.
Lost in her thoughts as she was, Janna was startled when Godric wiped his muddy hands over a patch of grass to cleanse them, and rose to his feet. “Do you know where we are?” she asked, as she also stood.
“Of course. I told you, I know this forest.” He plucked off a small leafy branch of hazel and swept it around the grave to hide all trace of their illicit activity, while Janna scattered armfuls of dead leaves over splashes of blood to further disguise the spot.
“Stay close to me. I’ll look after you.” Godric picked up the resin torch, and took Janna’s hand to guide her. He began to push his way through the trees. It seemed to Janna that they were setting off in the wrong direction, but she held her peace, trusting him. Fallen logs and hidden tree roots tripped her. Several times her feet sank into boggy patches, unseen traps under the nettles, dock and bracken that carpeted the forest floor. She would have fallen without Godric’s hand to steady her. Did he really know where he was going? He didn’t seem to be following a set path; in fact she was sure they had turned through at least one circle. Once or twice he stopped, holding up the torch so he could see the way ahead. He was following the signs of his passage, she realized, understanding the significance of bruised and trampled plants, a muddy footprint, broken twigs. At last he bent and picked up a dead hare. He slung it over his shoulders and took her hand once more, this time walking ahead in a straight, sure line.
Janna was pleased that saving her hadn’t interfered with his real night’s work. All the same, she felt uneasy. She should say something, just to have things clear between them. How could she let him know how she felt without hurting his feelings?
It’s not my fault I don’t want to marry yet, she thought crossly. Why can’t he court Elfreda instead? Or Wulfrun? They would surely be pleased to have an offer of marriage from someone such as him.
The memory of her ordeal did little to add to Janna’s peace of mind as she trudged along. Her heart pumped faster and she broke into a clammy sweat as she relived the terror of the chase. She could have died tonight. Without Godric, all her fine dreams for the future would have counted for nothing. There was no getting around the fact that she owed him her life, and that she would always be in his debt. She hated that feeling of obligation, and what it might mean for her future. In fact, Janna was thoroughly uncomfortable by the time they came to a part of the forest she recognized. She was not so very far from home after all.
“Thank you, Godric.” She stopped and let go of his hand, wanting to put an end to her indebtedness to him, and to her own uneasy thoughts. “Thank you for saving my life tonight. I know where I am now. I can find my way from here.”
“I will see you safe home.” He kept walking in the direction of the cottage.
“I know this part of the forest. I’m used to walking it alone,” Janna protested.
Godric smiled at her. “I just want to make sure you are safe,” he said simply. With a sigh of resignation, Janna followed him.
The cottage was in darkness when they reached it. Janna pushed open the door, hoping to find her mother returned home and sleeping within. But the only sign of life was the black cat, which stirred and blinked one sleepy eye at them. A faint warmth came from the turfed-down fire; thin wisps of smoke added to the already choking atmosphere. Janna flung open a shutter to let some fresh air into the smoky room, while Godric crouched down and blew on the embers, helping to bring the flame to life with a handful of dry leaves and twigs kept in a crock beside the fireplace.
As the flames caught and held, the small cottage became illuminated. Janna poured some water into a bowl and added a few leaves of soapwort to cleanse her filthy hands. She beckoned Godric to join her.
“Where is your mother?” he asked, once he’d dried his hands on the cloth Janna offered him.
“Gone to look after Dame Alice.” Janna scowled at the memory.
“Is something amiss with my lady?”
“My mother has gone to help the dame recover from the birth of her babe,” she said briefly, not wanting to fuel the situation with wild rumors.
“Will you be all right out here on your own? Shall I stay with you until your mo
ther returns?”
“No! I’m quite used to being alone.” Janna turned from him, willing him to be gone. Her thoughts were in turmoil, and he was standing far too close for comfort. She could feel the heat from his body, and shivered as his sleeve brushed hers.
The black cat uncoiled and began to weave around Godric’s ankles. He nudged it aside with his boot. “Don’t!” Janna remonstrated as the cat gave an affronted growl.
Godric looked up then, his expression serious. “I know your mother has skill with herbs, and I have good reason to be grateful to her. Dame Alice’s patronage must also be seen as a mark of respect. But take care, Janna. There is talk in the village and in the hamlets around here, much talk about this cat—and about your mother.”
“What nonsense is this?” Janna snatched up Alfred and stroked him, soothing his dignity along with her own agitation.
“The new priest speaks against you for refusing to come to his church. He says that your mother meddles in matters which should be left to God.”
“I suppose he’d rather a woman die in childbirth than seek help,” Janna said scornfully.
“I understand that you and your mother seek only to heal, to bring relief to those in need, but there is a midwife at Berford. Why not leave such things to her?”
“My mother has far more skill and knowledge than Mistress Aldith,” Janna retorted. “She says the midwife knows more about burying mothers than bringing babies into the world. That’s why Master Fulk was summoned to the manor house. And that’s why he came to fetch my mother and not Mistress Aldith tonight.”
Janna stopped abruptly as she remembered Godric’s position at the manor house. “If Aldith has been speaking against us, it is because most women respect my mother’s knowledge and seek her out rather than place their safety in the hands of an ignorant woman!” she added hastily.
“I have not heard Mistress Aldith blacken your mother’s name, but others do. There is talk that your mother communes with the dead, and that she is even able to take on their appearance.” Godric pointed at the cat in Janna’s arms. “’Tis also said by some that this is the devil in your home.”
“Alfred?” Janna’s arms tightened around the cat. “You can’t be serious!”
“And that’s another thing,” Godric said awkwardly. “They’re angry that you’ve given your cat the name of the greatest king that Wessex has ever known.” He smiled then. “Couldn’t you just call it Fluffy, or something?”
“No, I could not.” It was because of what had happened to the cat that she’d come to name it Alfred. She wouldn’t change the name for anything.
“Well.” Godric moved to the door. “I mean no harm in repeating what people are saying. It’s nonsense anyway. I just wanted to warn you. But perhaps a warning isn’t necessary if Dame Alice has called on your mother’s skill to aid her. That should be enough to stop any ill-natured tattle.”
He opened the door, then quickly turned, seized Janna’s hand and kissed it. “Farewell,” he muttered. “God be with you, Janna.”
“God go with you, Godric. Thank you for saving me tonight.” Janna put her hand behind her back, feeling the mark of his lips burn like a brand on her skin.
“Shall I ask for a reward?” he said cheerfully. His face brightened. “Shall I ask for more than just your thanks and a kiss on the hand?”
Janna’s face flamed scarlet. Godric grinned at her. “We shall meet again, Janna, and soon,” he promised, and padded off into the night.
Chapter 3
The cottage seemed too quiet after Godric had gone. Janna stared into the golden heart of the fire, reflecting on his words. Did the villagers really fear them, fear Alfred? She set the cat down, then collapsed onto a stool, for her legs were trembling and weak. She still felt shaken after her encounter with the boar, but her encounter with Godric had left her even more unnerved. There was no doubt as to his intentions, but what did she really owe him for his deed this night? Was she willing to pay with her heart, her body, her life and loyalty?
Alfred nudged her hand, his intention plain. Janna bent to stroke him and he purred loudly. She smiled down at him, remembering how, so many months ago, she’d found him struggling in the river, along with the rest of the litter that had been thrown in to drown. She had tried to save them all. This was the only kitten to survive, so she’d decided to call him Alfred after the great king who had never given up, who had continued to fight the Danes until he’d succeeded in driving them out of Wessex.
Patiently she had set out to befriend the cat, and tame him. Step by step, Alfred had allowed Janna to touch him, to stroke his fur, to pick him up for a cuddle. Shut in on the long winter evenings, he had finally come to Janna in the midnight hours, when the fire had died down and the cottage was cold. Together and warm, they had slept through the night, and for many nights thereafter.
She picked him up and stood to place him on the straw pallet where she and Eadgyth slept. Next, she unfastened her girdle of plaited fibres and laid the purse of strawberries upon the table. They had cost her dear—how dear she could not tell her mother, for she knew the questions that would follow if she spoke of her encounter with Godric. She would not answer to her mother, or to Godric, until she knew the truth of her own heart, she decided.
She removed the long, gray, coarsely woven kirtle that covered her under-tunic and lay down beside the cat. She shivered, and pulled an old moth-eaten fur coverlet over her body, snuggling into its folds for warmth and comfort. The black cat curled up beside her, purring loudly. She raised a hand to stroke his glossy fur, then gave a sudden snort of laughter as she recalled Godric’s warning. Could the villagers truly believe that Alfred was the devil? How could they be so ignorant, so superstitious! She longed to be free of them all, free to follow her destiny. What fun it would be to take to the road and have adventures, maybe even go as far as royal Winchestre. She could find work along the way. It wouldn’t matter what she did, so long as she could earn her keep. And if she worked hard, perhaps she might become a somebody instead of a nobody. She might meet a handsome nobleman…or perhaps the king himself…
Janna’s hand stilled upon the cat’s soft fur. There was a half-smile upon her face as daydreams dissolved into the phantasmagoria of sleep.
*
The cottage was empty when she awoke. She sat up, feeling a moment’s alarm until she realized that her mother must still be with Dame Alice. It meant things must be going badly for, with an important visitor to see this morning, her mother would surely have returned by now. Unless she and Fulk were busy making plans for their new partnership? Janna scowled at the thought, but it was followed quickly by another, more interesting idea. If Eadgyth spent most of her days in Wiltune looking after Fulk’s patients, wouldn’t that give her, Janna, more freedom to look after the villagers here on her own?
Janna was excited by the prospect. She began to regret her hasty exit the night before.
Alfred was waiting by the door. She jumped up to let him out, then followed him outside to peer across the green downs in the direction of Babestoche Manor. An approaching figure told her that Eadgyth was on her way home. She set about rekindling the fire, and hung a pot of water to boil, while she waited impatiently to question her mother about their future.
“And did you gather the strawberries after you left us so rudely last night, Janna?” Eadgyth’s tone, as she opened the door, was cool, unforgiving. She did not look at her daughter but instead busied herself untying her cloak and hanging it from a peg. Janna’s face flushed with embarrassment.
“And are you now in partnership with Fulk the apothecary, Mother?” She mimicked Eadgyth’s tone, sulky with resentment.
“Hold your tongue, foolish girl.” Her mother caught sight of the purse and moved to the table to inspect its contents.
The night’s adventure was still vivid in Janna’s mind. She wanted to tell her mother how dangerous gathering strawberries had proved, and ask her advice about Godric. But her mother had cautioned
her to be silent and so she would. She, too, could keep secrets.
“I have spent the night with Dame Alice, although Fulk would have been present in my lady’s chamber if he’d had his way, if I had allowed it.”
“How is it with the lady? And the new babe?” If Eadgyth was trying to make peace, then Janna was prepared to meet her mother halfway.
Eadgyth frowned. “Dame Alice is recovering her health and her spirits, but I worry that the baby may not survive. He is weak after the lady’s long labor and will not suckle. I suspect there may be more wrong with him even than that. I’ve done what I can to make him comfortable, and I shall make up a special tonic for him and call in after noon to see how they both fare. Indeed, I would rather have stayed on at the manor and made my physic there if it were not that I have agreed to see—” She caught herself before she said the name.
“You must go to the mill at Bredecumbe, Janna,” she said instead. “We are in need of flour. You may take the usual crock of honey in payment.” She considered for a moment. “It would be best if you seek out the miller’s wife to conduct our business. I’ll give you a balm of comfrey for her ulcers, for I know the poor woman suffers sorely.”
“And why may I not stay and meet Mistress Whoever-she-is?” Janna said hotly, resentful at being sent away when her errand was not so very urgent.
“Because she has impressed upon me the need for the greatest secrecy. No-one must know of her coming, she told me. No-one. That includes you, Janna. Instead of being quarrelsome, make yourself useful. Go out and pick me some pennyroyal and also some houseleek. And bring me some sprigs of tansy and lavender to freshen the rushes on the floor.”
“What of Fulk? How do matters rest with him?”
Eadgyth gave a short laugh. “Dame Alice knows my true worth, even if Fulk does not. I discovered that it was she who sent Fulk to fetch me. All that talk of wanting me to work in his shop was to cover his ignorance and bolster his pride. The man is a turnip head. I could never work with him, I have far too much to lose. So I’ve sent him on his way, with a flea in his ear for how he has treated his patient and instructions to summon me earlier next time he is called on to deal with such problems.” She gave her daughter a brief, bright smile. “You and I will continue as we were, Janna, as we have always been.”
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