Blood Oath: The Janna Chronicles 1

by Felicity Pulman

  Perhaps she should talk to Cecily again. She’d seemed anxious. Perhaps there was something she did not want to say in front of Hugh? Janna resolved to win her confidence and find out all she knew. She must also question the cook, who had run her out of the kitchen in spite of Hugh’s instructions to take care of her. Why? Did the cook have something to hide?

  No-one would believe her if she spoke her suspicions out loud; she must find proof before she could accuse anyone. So she would ask questions, and find out what she could. And she would not stop until she had discovered the truth, along with the evidence she would need to bring to justice whoever was responsible for her mother’s death.

  It was a solemn vow, one that Janna knew she must keep if ever she was to know peace of mind again.

  Chapter 6

  The journey that had flown by on the back of a horse was long and frightening on foot. Spooked by shadows and plagued by dark suspicion, Janna was shaken and sick at heart. As she came to the cottage she’d shared with her mother, she was surprised to find the door open. She remembered, then, her hasty departure. She walked into the cottage, half-expecting to find her mother stirring something over the fire, or perhaps drowsing in her fine chair. Grief shook Janna anew as she surveyed the empty room. She felt especially wretched as she recalled their argument.

  She’d never been so angry, so outspoken before. Through her childhood she’d trusted and respected her mother’s wisdom and her skills with herbs and healing, and had been keen to learn all she could. It was only lately that she’d begun to feel constricted, to suspect that she could do more with her life, for there was so much of the world outside their cot for her to learn about and see. Now, when it was too late to explain how she felt, or to make amends, she must live forever with the knowledge that she and Eadgyth had not parted on friendly terms. It was too late to apologize, and beg forgiveness. Worse, it was too late now to learn the secrets of her mother’s past and her father’s identity.

  Hot tears welled in Janna’s eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She dashed them away, but they continued to fall until at last she crumpled into the large chair and buried her head in a cushion to smother her sobs. Even though there was no-one around to hear her, she needed to hide the sounds of her own distress from herself. If only she could stifle her cries and pretend that all was as it should be, then perhaps life might continue as it had always done. The truth of her situation was much too huge and frightening to think about.

  Janna cried until there were no tears left to shed. She had never, ever, felt as lonely as she did now. There was no-one she could talk to, no-one to whom she could turn for help. Finally, exhausted, she blew her nose and mopped her sore eyes one last time. Then she stood up, knowing that she could postpone the future no longer. She would have to face it, no matter how bleak. One day at a time.

  But a day seemed too long and too hard; even an hour was too much of a trial.

  Moment by moment then, at least for now.

  Janna took up the tinder box and produced a spark from flint and steel, to ignite the kindling and start the fire again. Light and warmth seemed a good way to begin the rest of her life. Her task accomplished, she glanced around the room, seeking Alfred. The cat was nowhere to be seen. She was surprised he hadn’t already come to greet her.

  Janna remembered her hasty flight, the open door. He would have escaped outside, delighting in the opportunity to go hunting at night. Janna felt a cold frisson at the thought that, in turn, the cat might find himself hunted. They always kept him shut in at night for that very reason. But Alfred was a survivor, just like the king after whom he’d been named. She went to the door. “Alfred!” she called.

  She listened intently, but there was no answering miaow.

  “Alfred! Tssss-sss-sss-sss.”

  Silence, broken by the lonely hoot of an owl. Janna comforted herself with the thought that, like the owl, Alfred would be busy chasing field mice and voles and other small creatures, and stuffing his belly full of wild food. She looked into the silent forest, its silvered treetops, its dark and secret depths. Soon enough a new day would dawn, marking the beginning of her new life. Briefly, passionately, Janna wished that she could turn back time. She would rather face the boar without Godric than face the future alone.

  She called the cat again, searching the inky blackness for a gleam of silky fur. Through the noises of the forest she strained to catch any sound of the cat’s presence.

  The crunch of leaves made her heart quicken.

  “Alfred!”

  “Janna!”

  For one wild moment Janna wondered if the cat had answered her, until reason told her that even if Alfred could talk, he wouldn’t have answered with Godric’s voice.

  “Godric?”

  He came out of the darkness. “I’m so sorry to bring you bad news, Janna. Your mother has been taken ill up at the manor.”

  “Oh, Godric!” She stretched out her hand to him, then hurriedly snatched it back as she recalled their parting words. It was not fair to encourage Godric to believe he had a chance with her. “News travels fast, it seems,” she said warily.

  “You already know about your mother’s illness?”

  “I’ve been to Babestoche and back tonight.”

  Godric looked surprised. “My informant told me that your mother has been poisoned by one of her own potions,” he said awkwardly. “But I’ve told him he is mistaken.”

  “Of course he is!”

  “But you have the knowledge and skill to aid her recovery, I am sure of it.”

  “My mother is beyond help, Godric. She is dead.” Janna’s throat ached with the pain of saying it.

  Godric drew in a quick breath of surprise. “I am so sorry, Janna. I am so sorry.” Not giving her time to retreat, he threw his arms around her and held her tight. Secure in his embrace, Janna began to cry once more.

  “Shh. It’s all right, everything’s going to be all right,” he soothed. “You mustn’t worry about anything, Janna. I am here, and I’ll do all in my power to help you.”

  Even with Godric’s help, Janna knew that nothing would ever be all right again. She broke free and wiped her eyes.

  “You’ve seen your mother? You are certain there’s no hope?”

  She nodded, unable to speak.

  “But this is so sudden! Was she ailing?”

  “No. I believe she was—” Janna stopped abruptly. Should she tell Godric of her suspicions? No, she thought, remembering the vow she’d made to herself. She would trust no-one until she could prove the truth of her words.

  “She was…?” Godric prompted.

  “…quite well when she left to go to the manor house. You’re right. Her death was very sudden.”

  Godric stood back so that he could study Janna more closely. Then he walked into the cottage and fanned the fire into brightness. Once set, he added pieces of wood to keep it burning high. He filled a pot with water from a bucket, and hung it over the fire to boil. Then he looked through the few provisions set on a shelf close by. “You need a hot drink and something to eat,” he said, and held up the leftover griddle cake.

  Janna picked up a jar and pushed it forward. Godric inspected the contents, then pulled out his knife and spread the cake with a paste of honey and crushed hazelnuts.

  “Eat,” he commanded.

  She gave Godric a shaky smile as she took the cake from him. She took a bite and chewed, relishing its sweetness.

  He smiled back at her, and settled down on a stool beside the fire, sneaking glances at Janna as she ate. A soft rustle sat him bolt upright, straining his ears to listen.

  “What is it?” Janna’s voice was indistinct through a mouthful of cake.

  “I heard a noise outside.”

  “My cat?” Janna jumped up and went to the door. She peered out into the dark night. “Alfred?” she called.

  Godric stood up and looked over her shoulder. “Fluffy!” he bellowed.

  Janna was surprised into laughter. “He won’
t come if you insult him like that,” she said. They stayed by the door, looking out into the faint light of early dawn. All was silent and still. There was no sign of the big black cat. Finally, Janna shrugged and sat down again. “There are always noises in the forest at night.” She took a large bite from her cake, and began to chew once more.

  Not satisfied, Godric ventured a few paces outside, searching for movement, for the source of the sound. But there was nothing to see and nothing to hear. He waited a few moments, then came back in and closed the door behind him.

  “A squirrel, a deer. It could be anything,” Janna said, still chewing.

  Godric nodded, and settled down beside the fire once more. Janna stuffed the last of the griddle cake into her mouth. Too late, she wondered if Godric might also be hungry. There were only crumbs left now to offer him. She licked her sticky fingers, then jumped up to attend to the pot of water steaming over the fire. She picked up the dipper and scooped water into two mugs, flavoring the hot drinks with crushed herbs and a spoonful of honey for sweetness.

  Godric cleared his throat beside her. “Janna,” he said, and took hold of her hand. “I came to escort you to the manor house to see your mother. I’m so sorry I arrived too late. Now that I know your mother is gone, I’m worried about you. You are so far from help, should you need it. We don’t know each other very well, but I wonder if you’d consider—”

  “Please don’t ask me to be your wife!” Janna snatched her hand away. “I don’t want to marry you, Godric.”

  The surprise on Godric’s face was quickly masked by a guarded expression that told Janna she’d hurt him.

  “I don’t want to marry anyone—not yet, anyway,” she added hastily.

  “I wasn’t going to offer marriage,” Godric retorted. “This is certainly not the time for such a question. But it seems, from what you say, that I would be foolish even to consider such a thing.” There was a rough edge to his voice. Janna deeply regretted her thoughtless outburst. Eadgyth always said that her quick tongue would get her into trouble, and she was forever being proved right! But Eadgyth would never say such a thing to her again, Janna remembered. Utterly cast down, hardly knowing what to say to redeem the situation, she studied her boots intently.

  Godric broke the silence. “I was actually going to suggest that you come and stay with my mother and me for a while. For your own safety.”

  “Oh.” Janna couldn’t look at him for shame and embarrassment. “This is my home,” she mumbled. “This is where I wish to stay.”

  “Then I’ll trouble you no further.” Godric’s earlier warmth was gone, replaced by a cool courtesy. He set down his mug, stood up and moved to the door.

  “Thank you for your offer, Godric. I’m sorry if I—”

  “I thought we were friends, Janna. After last night and tonight, I hoped that one day we might become something more. A fool’s dream, I see that now. I shall not trouble you again.” He walked out of the cottage and slammed the door behind him.

  Godric had every right to be annoyed. Janna remembered how she had clung to him for comfort, and how tenderly he had held her. She wished now that she had gone with him. But she didn’t want to give him false hope, nor did she want to be beholden to him and his mother. She didn’t want to be beholden to anyone. Even though it was frightening to face the world on her own, she knew she would have to get used to it. Only hours before she had longed for freedom, yet now it had come to her, and so unexpectedly, she shrank from it. She lay down on the straw pallet and pulled the covers over her head. If only she could sleep a little, perhaps things would look better in the morning. This thought was followed by a desperate wish that she might wake to find out that this was just a bad dream.

  She closed her eyes. Tears began to flow once more. She sniffed and tried to wipe them away, but they continued to flow until, at last, she fell into a troubled sleep.

  Chapter 7

  The sun was already up when Janna awoke. A beam of light slanted through the window slit, brightening the room and warming her face. Joyously, she sprang from her bed to greet the day.

  Memory struck her with the force of a body blow. She crumpled back onto the straw pallet, holding her stomach and gasping with the pain of it. Not for one moment would she accept that her mother had been poisoned by one of her own potions. So who could have given the poison to her, and why did her mother not recognize it for what it was? Surely she would have known the truth when she was dying. Why did she not speak out?

  Perhaps she did! Janna tried to recall Cecily’s words. Eadgyth had complained of feeling cold. Numb. She’d had difficulty speaking, but had called for a monk. Why?

  Cold. Numb. Janna searched her memory for her mother’s instructions on the herbs she used, particularly her warnings about poisonous plants. Hemlock was one. It caused paralysis and loss of sight, but Cecily hadn’t said anything about her mother going blind.

  Deadly nightshade? Her mother sometimes ground the tiniest portion of the plant into a powder to relieve a toothache. Janna knew there’d been no call for such a remedy recently, so it was unlikely that she’d had it to hand—but others might. The plant was common enough, and most people would know that it could be dangerous. If too much was ingested, rapid breathing was followed by convulsions and death. Not nightshade then. Cecily hadn’t mentioned anything about panting or fits. She’d said her mother had complained of feeling cold. Numb. And she was vomiting. Cecily had said she could barely speak, but it seemed she’d stayed conscious until the end.

  The spice merchant’s face flickered into Janna’s mind. Why was he important? He’d had a whole selection of herbs and spices on display, some of them exotic substances she’d never seen before, but which were on sale to any who could afford them. Could her mother have been poisoned by something like that up at the manor house; something unfamiliar and therefore dangerous?

  The only substance the spice merchant had warned about was his rubbing oil. Aconite was common enough. Prized for its pretty blue flowers, it grew in gardens everywhere. Most people would know its poisonous properties, although they would be more likely to call the plant by its common name: wolfsbane or monkshood.

  Monkshood! It caused numbness of the face and tongue, making speech difficult. It also caused nausea and severe pain, leading to death. Eadgyth hadn’t called for a monk at all. She was trying to tell someone she’d been poisoned!

  Anguish jerked Janna upright, and she cried out as she recalled how she’d gone into the forest, how she’d been so afraid of the boar that she’d grabbed at the strawberries and stuffed them into her purse. Had she been so hasty that she’d also pulled off bits of the poisonous plants growing alongside them, not noticing what she was doing in the darkness of the night? Her mother might well have eaten the fruits that were left over from the potion, not knowing that she was also swallowing bits of the monkshood that grew close by.

  In her mind, Janna had accused everyone but herself. Now, she was faced with the knowledge that she alone was responsible for her mother’s death. Time and again Eadgyth had warned her of the need to be careful; warned her that she should never underestimate the power of the herbs they used. Now her mother had died as a result of her carelessness.

  Janna didn’t know how it was possible to feel so much pain and fear, and still be able to breathe. She jumped up from the pallet and rushed over to the shelf that held Eadgyth’s medicaments. Her hands shook as she began a desperate search for any sign of the strawberries or the potion that may have contained them.

  A new horror forced itself into Janna’s consciousness. Her mother’s important visitor! Had she also taken poison along with the strawberry mixture? Was she also lying dead somewhere?

  Janna almost dropped jars and dishes in her haste to open stoppers and sniff the contents. Some she tasted before setting them aside to continue her search. Her heart gave a sudden lurch as she spied a rough earthenware dish pushed toward the back of the shelf. It contained several small, ripe strawberries. Janna i
nspected them carefully. Their bruised and torn flesh bore testimony to the haste in which they’d been collected and bundled into her purse. Yet they were quite clean, sitting in a small puddle of water that indicated they’d been washed.

  Relief swept over her, leaving her feeling dizzy. She sagged onto a stool, blinking back tears of gratitude. Her mother had washed the strawberries before using them. Of course she had! How many times had Janna witnessed that very act, the careful washing of all roots, leaves, flowers, seeds, fruits and nuts she’d gathered. Her mother had always insisted on it.

  Nothing took away from the fact that her mother had been poisoned, though, and not by anything unfamiliar either. Monkshood! Why had her mother not recognized its taste after the first mouthful, and taken steps to protect herself?

  Janna poured a beaker of ale to break her fast. The first mouthful reminded her of the ale she’d supped at the alehouse, and how she’d wondered why it tasted slightly different from their own. What if that ale had contained poison and she knew not how ale should taste? She might well have drunk it down and died as a result. Was that what had happened to her mother: that the taste of the poison had been masked by something else? Janna sniffed the ale, then took a cautious sip. It smelled the same, and tasted as it always did. She quickly slaked her thirst and ate the remaining strawberries. Feeling somewhat more composed, she raked her fingers through her long hair to tidy it, then walked to the door and opened it.

  “Alfred!” she called, expecting to find the cat waiting for her, miaowing and hungry. There was no sign of him, so Janna stepped outside to look around. “Alfred!” she bellowed, startling a woodlark. Its sweet trilling ended abruptly, replaced by the fluttering of wings as it flew away.