Eadgyth’s face was calm in repose. Janna kissed the tips of her fingers then put them to her mother’s lips. “I’m sorry I was angry with you,” she whispered. “Forgive me.” She gazed down as a lifetime of memories crowded into her mind. Her mother had raised her, and had taken the trouble to pass on her knowledge of herbal lore and leechcraft even if she hadn’t allowed Janna to practice it. But she was not given to praise, nor to demonstrative acts of affection. Janna couldn’t remember ever being kissed or comforted by her mother, not even as a child. Perhaps, she thought now, Eadgyth’s ability to show love had died when Janna’s father had abandoned them? Now, her mother’s hard and lonely life was over, and she would take her secrets with her into the grave.
With bitter regret for all that had come between them, Janna took one last look at Eadgyth, noticing again the traces of vomit on her kirtle and cheeks. Could her mother have taken, by mistake, some of the aconite mixed with oil that she made up as a rubbing lotion? It hardly seemed possible, particularly as her mother only made it fresh when it was needed and always threw out whatever remained, rather than risk keeping such a deadly poison close to her other preparations.
Janna tried to still her fears with the memory of her search earlier. She’d checked all the jars and had noticed nothing untoward, certainly nothing that resembled the rubbing lotion. The poison must have come from outside, and in a form unknown to her mother, for she would never have taken it willingly. Lost in thought, Janna carefully draped the russet cover over Eadgyth’s face once more. “Goodbye,” she whispered, and rose to her feet.
She was startled to find that she was no longer alone. Hugh was standing some distance away, watching her. As she caught his glance, he approached her. She gave her eyes a hasty scrub with the back of her hands, and faced him.
“I’ve done all I can to change the priest’s mind,” he said. “I even offered him payment, but it seems to have become a matter of principle with him that he will not allow your mother to lie in consecrated ground. I’m so sorry, Johanna.”
Janna nodded sadly. “He’s been preaching against us ever since he first arrived here. He knows he will lose face among the villagers if he gives her a burial with all the rites.”
“Was your mother not a Christian, then?”
Janna hesitated, wanting him to be on her side against the priest, wanting him to be sympathetic to her cause. Yet she didn’t want to lie to him either. “My mother believed in God, who created our world and who watches over us,” she said at last. “She believed that true goodness lies in how we live our lives, and that was how she lived her life—because she believed that healing the sick was God’s work, and a good thing to do. She told me she followed God’s law, not the priest’s. She disagreed with what he said about women, and she hated the way he told the villagers that anyone who questioned what he said would go straight to hell. The priest spoke against my mother’s healing powers and her skill with herbs, calling it the devil’s work. The villagers listen to him and some of them stopped coming to my mother when they were ill and in need of help. She was very angry about that. She blamed the priest for making the villagers suffer needlessly, when she could have given them relief.”
Hugh nodded in understanding. “I know that she saved my aunt’s life, for Dame Alice told me herself how your mother helped her when the apothecary could do nothing more.” He tapped the purse hanging from his belt. Janna heard the jingling clink of coins. “Dame Alice gave me silver to give to the priest for your mother’s burial. As he has proved so uncooperative, I will also make arrangements for the bishop to say a mass for your mother at the abbey. It’s the best I can do.”
“And I thank you from my heart, sire. Please also give my thanks to Dame Alice.” No matter how hostile the priest was to her mother, Janna knew that he would still expect payment for her burial. It was kind of Dame Alice to relieve her of that burden. Now, she struggled to find the words that might yet save her mother’s soul.
“Please, tell the bishop there was never anyone so good as my mother. She helped so many people with her healing skills; she saved their lives. She did not deserve to die, nor does she deserve to lie out here in the wasteland. My mother will go to heaven, for certes, and I hope the priest may rot in hell for his deeds this day!” She turned away, gulping down sobs as she fought to regain composure.
“I will speak to the abbess about the priest,” he said firmly. “And I will make sure your mother has a mass said for the repose of her soul.” He looked at her with kindness. “God keep you, Johanna,” he said, and stepped back to join the priest and a small group of villagers who had now gathered nearby.
Janna’s glance swept over them. Her face hardened when she saw Godric. He was standing a little apart from them all. She turned abruptly so that she would not have to look at him. With head held high, she waited for the priest to approach the grave, and the funeral rites to commence.
The priest beckoned Godric forward. Aghast, Janna watched as he carefully lowered her mother’s body into the gaping hole and then bent to pick up a spade. She was filled with rage and contempt. Not content with trying to frighten her into his arms, he was now going to earn a penny or two as a gravedigger. She had once thought him honorable, kind and brave. How could she have been so completely wrong?
It seemed to Janna that there was no more desolate sound in all the world than the scrape of the shovel and the soft thump of falling earth as slowly, so slowly, the cloth-wrapped body of her mother began to disappear from view. Her throat ached from unshed tears. “I will seek out the truth. I will make sure that justice is done.” She whispered the vow as Godric dropped another shovelful of dark earth into the hole. In spite of her good intentions, her eye was drawn to the sun-burned skin of his neck, the knotted muscles of his arms as he drove the spade once more into the earth piled beside the grave. Anxious for distraction, she glanced around the assembled villagers, curious as to why they had come. Mistress Hilde, the miller’s wife, stood among them, looking sullen and resentful. As she caught Janna’s gaze, she gave her a vicious glare. The woman really seemed to hate her. Could she truly believe that Janna was a threat to her happiness?
Torold, the blacksmith, and his three children had also come to witness the burial. He was paying no attention to the grave; instead, he was staring at Janna, his eyes hot and hungry. Uneasy, she shrank into herself, knowing she no longer had her mother’s protection from unwanted suitors—anyone could come calling. And if they wouldn’t go away there was nothing she could do about it, for she was but a young woman, no match in strength for any man determined to have his way with her. The village was too far away from the cottage for her to run for help; it was too far for anyone to hear her cries.
Janna was appalled as she came to a full understanding of her predicament, and how vulnerable she now was. Godric had understood. He had offered protection, and she had refused it, had flung his offer back in his face. But it was too late to unsay the hasty words that had led to such a shocking outcome. After what Godric had done she wanted nothing more to do with him. He was beyond her forgiveness.
Torold was smiling at her now. Leering at her. Janna hastily looked away, but not before she caught him licking his lips. Her glance fell on the village midwife. Mistress Aldith had no reason to be here; in fact, she had every reason to rejoice in her rival’s death. Eadgyth had made no secret of her contempt for the incompetence of the village midwife. She had certainly taken away some of the midwife’s business. Had Aldith come to make sure Eadgyth was truly dead and safely interred? Janna watched the woman for a moment, searching her face for any show of triumph or pleasure, but the midwife continued to contemplate the earth steadily piling up in the grave, her expression serious. Perhaps, like so many mourners at these times, she was not thinking of the recently deceased but contemplating instead how brief and fleeting was life on earth, and how long a death awaited them all.
Next to the midwife stood Hugh, with a lady by his side. Cecily. Her small face
was pale. Was she clinging to Hugh’s arm for comfort, or to show possession? Janna felt an unexpected pang of disappointment at the thought of Hugh being already attached and out of reach.
He’ll always be out of my reach! Janna knew she would do well to remember it. Yet he had been kind to her and she valued that, while acknowledging it was a kindness he might have shown to anyone, even a stray dog. She eyed Hugh and the tiring woman thoughtfully, and came to the conclusion that he supported the lady from necessity. She seemed ill, and in some distress. What was she doing here? Why had they both come to witness this sorry scene? Janna could not pride herself that Hugh had stayed on for her sake. It was his commission from Dame Alice to ensure that her mother was properly interred. And Cecily? It must be kindness that had brought her to the graveside, the same kindness that had prompted her to wash Eadgyth’s face and try to ease her dying moments.
Janna became aware of silence. She looked from Godric, red-faced and sweating after his exertions, to the newly dug patch of dark, damp earth. Her mother was covered from sight now. She was truly gone.
Cold misery shuddered through Janna, but she tilted her chin, defying the motley collection at the graveside. She did not want their pity, she wanted acknowledgment of her mother’s true worth. “Requiescat in pace,” she prayed quietly, and waited for the priest to echo her words, to commend her mother’s soul to God so that she might rest in peace. Surely he could not refuse her this small comfort? But the priest remained silent.
His silence goaded Janna to action. She had meant her ritual to be private, but his petty meanness spurred her to make a public farewell to her mother, to show them all that she honored her mother’s life—and death. She stepped forward, holding the bright flowers that now seemed inappropriate for this sad, rubbish-strewn wilderness. She laid them carefully at the place where she judged her mother’s heart to be. Then she straightened and held aloft the rosemary so that all might see what she carried.
“This is rosemary, for remembrance,” she called, her voice sounding high and clear above the quiet murmurings of the assembled gathering. She knelt down and carefully inserted the plant into the soft, damp earth. She pushed the stem in deeper and patted the earth firm around it to keep it secure, so that it might take root and grow, and mark forever the site of her mother’s last resting place.
The assembly had fallen silent, waiting to hear what she might say next. Janna rose from her knees and faced them. Willing her voice not to tremble, she said, “With this rosemary, I pledge to remember my mother, just as all of you who knew her will remember her for her healing ways, and for the aid and comfort she has given you over the years.” It was a command, not a wish. Janna hoped they recognized the difference. She took a deep breath.
“My mother’s death was an accident.” She looked directly at the priest, daring him to contradict her. Wisely, he kept silent. Janna wished that she knew more, so that she could tell them the truth of what had really happened, and still their wagging tongues forever. But it was too soon; she didn’t know enough yet. She looked down at the rosemary on her mother’s grave. This was her pledge to herself: to find out the truth, and bring whoever was responsible for her mother’s death to justice.
She had one last thing to say. She gave herself a moment to marshal her thoughts. “Here, under the open sky, I commend my mother’s spirit to God, for I know that she believed in Him and in His great mercy. I know also that she will rest peacefully out here in His green garden. My mother always told me that God was everywhere around us, and I would rather she rest out here in open space, and in the sunlight of His love, than be confined within the demesne of a mean and narrow spirit.” Janna’s last words were addressed to the priest, her intent unmistakable.
“How dare you show so little respect!” His eyes bulging with fury, the priest stormed away in the direction of the churchyard gate. Seeing that the priest was leaving, the villagers hastily crossed themselves and set off after him. Torold lingered momentarily, perhaps hoping to press his claim.
“Go away!” Janna tried to keep the fear from showing in her face. He hesitated, took a look at Godric and hurried off, dragging his children behind him. He was followed by Hugh and Cecily. Janna was left alone to face Godric across her mother’s grave.
“I suppose you were paid well for your toil this morning.” Her voice was sharp with contempt.
Shocked, Godric took a step backward, recoiling as if her words had been a physical blow. “Janna, I thought it would be some small comfort to you if I dug…if I…” Unable to spell out his intentions, he stuttered into silence.
She faced him down. “I don’t want your comfort, Godric. Not after your deeds last night!”
“But…but…” Now his face showed only bewilderment. “But my offer was kindly meant, Janna. And my mother would have welcomed you, I am sure.”
“I’m not talking about that!”
“What then? I don’t understand.”
“You crucified my cat!” Janna could not stem the rushing torrent of anger as she relived the horror of finding her pet’s dead body. “You cut its throat and strung it up on a tree, knowing I would find it hanging there in the morning. My cat. A poor, defenseless creature that never did anyone any harm! How could you do that, Godric? How could you?”
“In truth, Janna, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t try to pretend you are innocent of this crime! I found Alfred’s dead body this morning. You warned me about him, and when you left my cottage in anger just before dawn, I suppose you thought killing him would be a good way to punish me for not bending to your will.”
“This is dreadful news, Janna, but I know nothing—”
“Of course you do! Who else would do such a thing if not you?”
“Janna, I swear to you on your mother’s grave that I—”
“Don’t you dare swear on my mother’s grave. You are not worthy even to speak of her!” Janna drew a sharp, agonized breath. “And I never want to speak to you again, either. Go away, Godric. Stay out of my life. I hate you for what you’ve done.” She whirled around and set off toward the arched doorway in the stone wall of the churchyard, walking with fast, determined steps.
It was over, all over. She’d never felt so alone, so miserable. She wanted to throw back her head and howl like a dog. Instead, she scratched up the tattered remnants of her courage, and marched steadily on.
Chapter 8
“I would speak with you, Janna.” The hissed whisper startled Janna. She stopped, wondering who had addressed her.
Aldith stepped out from behind a clump of bushes at the side of the church and put her hand on Janna’s arm to draw her behind the bushy screen. Curiosity prompted Janna to follow her.
“What do you want with me?”
“What are your plans for the future?” the midwife asked in turn.
Janna blinked. She had no plans. There’d been no time to think of the future, no time to think beyond trying to fathom the mystery of her mother’s death.
“I had great respect for your mother’s knowledge,” the midwife continued, perhaps hoping to ingratiate herself. As Janna stayed silent, she continued. “I know you helped your mother prepare her herbal potions. You must have learned a great deal?”
Janna dipped her head in acknowledgment, wondering where this was leading. The midwife sighed.
“Your mother was a proud woman, and arrogant with it. She put me in the wrong whenever she could for I have only a midwife’s knowledge, whereas she seemed to know almost as much as any skilled physician!”
As Janna sucked in a sharp breath, ready to spring to her mother’s defense, the midwife continued, “My business is birthing babies, and Eadgyth had knowledge of herbs and healing practices that would have helped the mothers and babies in my care. When I asked if she would teach me, she said only that I should wash more often and keep myself clean. In fact, she brushed me off as if I was no more than a fly come to irritate her.” An old resentment soure
d the midwife’s voice. “I hope you have not inherited your mother’s arrogance, Janna. I’m asking you to share your knowledge with me, just as I am prepared to share my experience with you. I’m hoping that perhaps we may work together in the future?”
“But…” Janna struggled to find the words to defend her mother. “But…” She remembered the impatience and contempt her mother had shown both Fulk and the priest, and the way she had spoken of the midwife. Could there be some justice in Aldith’s accusation?
“I suppose Fulk will make much of helping Dame Alice with the birth of her child,” Aldith observed. “But I suspect they’ll be calling for my services soon enough—once they’ve discovered for themselves his ignorance of women’s troubles.”
“It was my mother who saved the lady and her child—not that weasel!” Janna said hotly.
The midwife nodded in agreement. “I believe you, but ‘that weasel’ is doing all in his power to take the credit, while laying blame on your mother for trying to poison Dame Alice.”
“My mother would never poison anyone!”
“I believe you,” Aldith said again. “And I’m sure that, whatever the cause of her death, it was not by her hand.”
Hearing Aldith’s words, Janna could have wept with relief. Here, at last, was vindication for her mother.
“But that will not stop Fulk from telling everyone what he would like them to think,” the midwife continued. “Be careful, Janna. No man cares to be seen as a fool. He was a danger to your mother while she was alive; he may yet be a danger to you.”
Fulk! He was top of her list of suspects. It was a comfort to have her suspicions echoed by the midwife.
“I advise you to stay in your cottage for a few days, keep well away from him,” Aldith continued. “He’ll be returning to his shop in Wiltune soon enough. With his new exalted opinion of himself, he may even move on to Winchestre to ply his trade!”
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