Blood Oath: The Janna Chronicles 1

by Felicity Pulman

  There was no point asking Hugh. He’d already admitted he didn’t know what was wrong with the infant. Eadgyth had said that the babe was weakened by the long birth, and would not suckle, but was that all that ailed him? If so, Janna knew what steps to take to ease the problem. If it was something worse, however, she was in trouble, deep trouble and she struggled to decide what to do for the best. Finally she came to the reluctant conclusion that she would not know until she could see the child herself. Hopefully she would recognize the symptoms and be able to find the herbs to treat him in Dame Alice’s own garden. Otherwise she would have to ask Hugh to take her back to the cottage.

  Desperately, passionately, Janna wished that her mother was still alive. If only she had her mother’s experience! She closed her eyes. “Help me,” she whispered, her plea unheard against the drumming of the horse’s hooves. “Please, help me.” She wished the ride could go on forever, so that she would never have to confront the dying child and his distraught mother—and her own ignorance. But all too soon they were flying through the gateway and dismounting in the yard.

  Almost the first person Janna saw as she hurried up the stairs and into the great hall was Aldith. She stopped, dismayed. The midwife’s apron was clean, but Janna knew the dangers of the grubby skirt beneath.

  Aldith gave her a reproachful glance. “What are you doing here? Tending mothers and their babies is the work of a midwife. Your mother knew that full well, although that didn’t stop her pushing her nose in. Now that she’s gone, you must allow me, as having more experience than you, Janna, to take care of Dame Alice and her new babe.”

  “Dame Alice has asked for me,” Janna retorted. “That’s why I’m here.”

  “But I am come prepared to help my lady.” The midwife held up a flask, the movement accompanied by the sound of sloshing liquid. Her lips twitched up in a smile of triumph as she glanced at Janna’s empty hands. “Go home,” she advised. “There is naught for you to do here.”

  Hugh frowned at Aldith. “You’d better wait here. Dame Alice wishes to see Johanna without delay.” He brushed past the midwife, not waiting to hear any further argument. Janna kept her head bent as she scuttled after him. All her suspicions had been aroused by Aldith’s presence at the manor. The midwife had hardly waited to see her rival safely interred before hastening to take her place. Janna hoped the woman would wait in the hall, as instructed. She had questions to ask the midwife, questions that would reveal either her guilt or her innocence.

  Her emotions were so close to the surface that tears came to her eyes when she entered the bedchamber. The lady, red-eyed from weeping, clutched the limp body of her baby to her breast. With shaking fingers, she was trying to guide his mouth in a desperate effort to make him suckle. “Please, help us,” she implored as she caught sight of Janna. “If my child would only feed, I am sure he could be saved.”

  “Drink some wine, dearest.” Robert of Babestoche was a handsome man, Janna thought, with his shock of dark hair and the ruddy complexion that spoke of a great enjoyment of all the good things that life at the manor had to offer. With great solicitude, he poured some red liquid from a glass bottle into a silver goblet. Janna looked at the bottle, fascinated by both it and its contents. She had never seen such a beautiful bottle before, nor had she ever tasted wine made from grapes. This looked so fine it must have come by ship from Normandy.

  Robert held the goblet out to his wife. “This will strengthen your blood and, I am sure, give strength to our son as well.”

  With an impatient exclamation, Dame Alice knocked his hand away. The goblet fell, spilling its contents in a red stream. The wine looked like blood on the fine linen sheets. Janna gasped, horrified at the waste.

  Robert’s lips tightened in anger. He retrieved the goblet and set it carefully on a chest close to the bed. “Try not to distress yourself, my love,” he said, and bent down to brush a kiss on his wife’s forehead. “We are in God’s hands now.”

  He left the room, acknowledging Janna’s presence with a brief nod as he passed. It seemed that he, along with the priest, was ready to give up. But Janna was not; she was here to fight for the life of Dame Alice’s infant. Although trembling with fear, she forced a confident smile as she approached the bed. First calm the patient, Janna thought, and cast her mind back to recall what Eadgyth did when faced with an angry or distressed villager. Although she knew she was taking a great liberty, Janna laid her hand on Dame Alice’s arm and tried not to betray her fear.

  “I will do all in my power to help you,” she said, speaking low and slowly. “First, I need you to tell me all that you have seen and observed since the baby’s birth.” She looked down at the infant cradled in his mother’s arms. He was swaddled tight in a woollen wrap. A strap kept the wrap in place; it was crisscrossed around his tiny body. His head, too, was covered. Janna could see nothing but his tiny face. What she saw did not reassure her. His eyes seemed blank, without life, and there was a bluish tinge to his lips.

  “He was perfect! A beautiful, healthy child who was taken away from me.” The lady sounded desolate, but there was an edge of anger beneath her words. At first, Janna thought the anger was directed at her mother, until she followed Dame Alice’s gaze and noticed what she’d missed before. Fulk was standing in a shadowy recess, watching her, watching them both. Now he hurried over to the bedside, ready to defend himself.

  “My lady, you know right well that it is common practice for ladies of high birth to appoint a wet nurse to suckle their babies.”

  “Common practice it may be, but I deeply regret that I did not follow the herbwife’s advice to suckle the child myself. Now I fear I am too late, for he will not feed.” Tears welled up in the lady’s eyes and spilled down her cheeks.

  “Who’s been looking after the baby since his birth?” Janna queried.

  A slight young woman stepped forward, looking haggard and careworn. Janna sympathized with her. She must also have a new baby of her own, if it lived, and would be in need of a husband or her family to support her. Should the baby die, she would carry the blame and would be dismissed. Without anyone to speak on her behalf, she would be unable to find work anywhere else.

  “Tell me about the baby. What did you observe while he was in your care?” she asked. She was sorry to put the woman in a difficult position, but she had to know the answer. She already suspected part of it. Knowing Dame Alice’s situation, Eadgyth would not have suggested that the lady suckle her own child unless she was worried that he might not thrive.

  The wet nurse gave a nervous glance around the room as if testing whether or not it was safe to tell the truth. If she confirmed Dame Alice’s statement, she would most certainly be blamed should the baby die. If she spoke the truth about its ailments, she risked the wrath of the mother, who believed her child perfect in every respect.

  Fulk broke the silence with a cough. “You were in no position to suckle the child yourself, my lady,” he said. “The birth was long, and very hard. There was an excessive amount of bleeding. Far better that you rest and recover your strength and leave the nourishment of your child to someone else.”

  Dame Alice glared at him. “Get out,” she said. “Pack your bags and be gone. Had I listened to you alone, and done as you suggested, you would be getting ready to bury me along with my son.”

  “But I—”

  “Go!” Dame Alice commanded, her voice rising in hysteria as she cried, “You have done enough harm. I will not see you again.”

  Angry and resentful, the apothecary shouldered Janna aside and left the room.

  Janna felt her skin crawl at his touch, understanding the anger behind the violent movement. He was her enemy now, as well as her mother’s. She turned her thoughts back to the more pressing problem. “Please, tell me everything you can about the baby,” she prompted, hoping answers from the nurse might guide her to the truth of the baby’s condition.

  The woman glanced nervously at her mistress, then looked quickly away. “The child
’s skin was deadly pale, he was almost blue when I first saw him,” she whispered. “After she tied the cord, Mistress Eadgyth bade us give him a warm bath and wrap him tight. His skin flushed more pink in the warmth, but he still seemed somewhat distressed. Your mother asked us to place some lavender next to his cradle, which she said would soothe and calm him, and she collected herbs for the cook to make into a syrup with some honey. She instructed us to give the baby a small sup of it every few hours.”

  “And did you do that?”

  “Yes. At once when the mixture was given to me, and again in the morning. The lavender is still beside his cradle.”

  “Did you have syrup enough for only two doses?”

  “The apothecary ordered me to throw it away. Your mother brought a different potion back with her, but Master Fulk told me to destroy that too.” The girl looked uncomfortable. Janna wondered if she’d done what she was told. She must have a baby of her own, a child who might also be ailing and in need of a healing potion. Yet Janna was sure the nurse would not give her a straight answer in front of Dame Alice.

  She tried another tack. “What was in the mixture? Did my mother tell you?”

  “No.” The girl shook her head, not meeting Janna’s eye. Desperation forced Janna’s hand. “And did you throw it away, as you were bid?”

  The girl remained silent.

  “Come now, Dame Alice will not punish you if you disobeyed Master Fulk’s orders. In fact, I am sure she will reward you if you can bring the mixture to us now. For certes my mother knew exactly what was needed to save the baby’s life.” Janna flicked a glance toward the lady, mutely asking for her support.

  Dame Alice leaned forward. “If you still have it, I beg you to fetch it immediately.”

  The girl nodded, and fled. Dame Alice fell back against the pillows, her sigh of relief echoing around the chamber.

  Exhilarated by what she saw as a win, Janna called for a jar of honey to be brought. As soon as the girl had returned with the mixture, and the baby had swallowed a few drops of Eadgyth’s healing brew, Janna dipped her finger into the honey and then, greatly daring, spread the sticky sweetness over Lady Alice’s nipple. Another dip into the honey, and this time she picked up the baby and put her finger in his mouth.

  He turned his head away. She could hear his breath rattle faintly in his chest. The sound alarmed her, for it was the sound made by the dying. But she could not give up, not yet, and so she persisted, dipping her finger into the honey once more. Eventually, the baby responded to the sweetness and began to suck, although with little enthusiasm. At once, Janna removed her finger and lowered him into the lady’s waiting arms. Gently, she guided his mouth to the honeyed nipple, willing him to start taking nourishment. She held her breath.

  At last his lips moved and he began to suckle. Janna felt her tense muscles unclench. The knot in her stomach began to dissolve.

  “I thank you.” Dame Alice didn’t look at Janna. Her attention was focused on the small bundle in her arms. She bent to kiss the dark fuzz on top of the baby’s head. Unsure if she should stay or go, Janna hovered beside the bed. She wondered if she could ask for permission to leave the bedchamber. The baby’s rattling breath alarmed her. There were herbs that might alleviate the problem, if she could find any of them growing in the manor’s own kitchen garden. Cecily was not here to give her advice; another tiring woman was in attendance. Perhaps Cecily was looking after Dame Alice’s little boy? Janna wondered if he’d met his new baby brother yet.

  A rattling cough brought Janna’s focus back to the bedchamber. “May I take a walk in your herb garden, my lady?” she asked. “I hope to find something there to ease your baby’s breathing.”

  “Yes, go at once. But don’t leave the manor.” Dame Alice glanced briefly at Janna. “I need you here.”

  “Yes, my lady. Of course. I’ll stay for as long as you need me.”

  Janna hurried out into the hall, keeping a lookout for someone to give her directions to the kitchen garden. She hated the thought of asking at the kitchen and having to face the cook once more, but she had no time to waste and so she set off toward the outside flight of stairs.

  Before she’d taken more than a few steps across the hall, she heard her name called—Aldith had been lying in wait for her to appear. Now she stood fast, blocking Janna’s path. “So,” she said, “you have managed to push your way in here just as your mother did.”

  A flash of anger heated Janna’s blood. “It was none of my doing. You heard the lord Hugh. Dame Alice sent for me.”

  “A green, untried girl. What do you know of women’s and children’s troubles?”

  “I know what my mother taught me. Which, I wager, is a great deal more than the apothecary knows, and probably more than you know yourself, mistress.” Janna knew she was being rude. Too provoked by Aldith’s accusations to guard her tongue, she continued: “You were very quick to take my mother’s place here at the manor. ’Tis certain that my mother’s death will be good for your business.” She was about to hurry on through the hall, but Aldith’s next words stopped her dead.

  “Midwifery has always been my business. There is no blame in wanting to help a mother and her new child if they are in need. That’s why I’ve now offered my services to Dame Alice, and before that to your mother, when she told me where she was bound. She refused my offer, of course. Wanted all the glory for herself, I dare say.”

  “You met my mother on her way to the manor?”

  “Indeed I did. She was looking inordinately pleased with herself. I asked where she was bound and she told me.” Aldith put her nose in the air and gave a contemptuous sniff, trying to hide her jealousy.

  “And you offered assistance? Did you tell her what to do to help the lady and her babe?” Janna tried to placate the angry midwife with flattery—and in the hope that she, in turn, might also be offered some guidance.

  “I gave advice, yes. After all, I have been here before to attend Dame Alice and I have witnessed her troubles.” Aldith hesitated a moment, struggling between boasting or telling the truth. “Your mother wouldn’t listen to me, of course. She told me she already knew all she needed to help Dame Alice and her babe.”

  Janna didn’t like to point out that Fulk the apothecary had only been called because, under Aldith’s care, the babies had all died. “Did my mother perhaps take any of your syrups or potions, even if she wouldn’t take your advice?” Janna held her breath. The answer to her mother’s death lay in Aldith’s reply.

  Aldith’s face darkened. “She took no advice, and she spurned the tonic I offered. But she wasn’t too proud to ask for some of my special cordial to drink.”

  “You gave her some cordial?” Janna kept her voice under control as she asked, “Did my mother drink it?” Her hands felt clammy; she sweated with the need to know the truth.

  “Of course she drank it! My mint cordial is renowned for its cooling and reviving properties.”

  “Of course it is!” Janna agreed hurriedly. “What herbs do you use, mistress, to make it so special?”

  Aldith looked coy. “It’s a secret recipe.”

  “Mint. And perhaps a few drops of poppy juice?” Janna probed.

  “I will not tell you my secrets.”

  “A little hemlock to dull the senses? A mite of monkshood, perhaps?”

  “Are you accusing Mistress Aldith of poisoning your mother?” The deep voice of Robert of Babestoche startled both Janna and Aldith. They had not seen him enter the hall. Janna wondered how long he’d been standing there, listening to their conversation. Now he strode forward, and pinned Janna with a fierce gaze. Beside her, Aldith had sunk into a deep curtsy. Janna hastily copied the midwife’s action.

  “I-I know my mother was poisoned. I am trying to find out how it happened, sire,” Janna stammered, as she rose to her feet once more. She was dismayed at having to explain herself when she’d hoped to keep her suspicions secret.

  “If your mother was poisoned, it was certainly none of my
doing.” Aldith drew herself up, looking deeply offended. Janna silently cursed the lord’s untimely appearance. She could understand Aldith defending herself, but knew she would come no closer to the truth while he was present. Still, she had to defend her mother’s reputation in front of him.

  “My mother knew and understood herbs and their properties—especially the poisonous ones. She was very particular with her potions; very careful when she collected the ingredients and especially when she mixed them. She would never knowingly have ingested monkshood, and yet she died of its poison.”

  “Just so am I particular with my mint cordial.” Aldith glared at Janna. “You cannot hold me to account for your mother’s death. I vow I will make you sorry if you try!”

  Janna looked from Aldith to Robert, reading anger and condemnation in both their expressions.

  “You do wrong to spread false accusations,” Robert said coldly. “I can only thank God that my dear wife has suffered no harm at the careless hands of your mother. Let this be a lesson to you not to meddle with nature or the Lord’s will. It was at my wife’s request that you were brought here, Johanna, but I will not have you spreading slander and lies about the manor. You may consider yourself dismissed!” Turning on his heel, he strode through the hall in the direction of the bedchamber, leaving the two women to confront each other.

  “I offered your mother my advice and my cordial in friendship and as an act of Christian charity, hoping to ease her thirst and her fatigue,” Aldith hissed as soon as they were alone once more. “I will not forget or forgive your accusations. They are made worse by the fact that you tried to blacken my name in front of the lord of the manor.”

  “I did not know he was there, listening to our conversation.” Janna wondered how far she could trust Aldith’s protestations of innocence. The cook, and everyone else, claimed that her mother had taken no food or drink on her return to the manor house. Aldith’s cordial was the only clue to her mother’s death that Janna could find, yet the midwife’s anger and dismay seemed genuine.