Blood Oath: The Janna Chronicles 1

by Felicity Pulman

  Tears welled into Cecily’s eyes once more. “Your mother was in good health and good spirits when I left her. She was making up the new elixir for the baby, and she told me she’d see how I fared when she got back to the manor house.” She began to weep, knuckling her fists into her eyes like a small child as she tried to conceal her distress. “It was such a long walk back to the manor, I truly thought I would die before I could get here.”

  Janna put her arm around Cecily to steady her. “I am sorry you had to bear that alone. It must have been hard for you.” She was touched by Cecily’s grief, knowing that it reflected an anguish of mind and spirit even more than the memory of her physical discomfort. She had seen the effect of her mother’s potion on other young women who had come to her in secrecy. It could be no easy thing to cross the Church’s teaching and take the life of a child. Janna felt great sympathy for this lonely young woman. “You have my silence, I give you my word on it,” she promised.

  “I thank you.” Cecily pulled away from Janna. She scrubbed her eyes and nose across her sleeve, gave a mournful sniff, and walked in the direction of the kitchen. Janna watched her go. All her instincts told her that she could trust Cecily, yet the young woman had given her no proof of her innocence, nor could she. She and Eadgyth had been alone in the cottage. Anything might have taken place between them. All Janna knew for certain was that her mother did not die by her own hand.

  The manor seemed hushed and still, drowsy in the mid-afternoon sun. It was past dinnertime and Janna’s stomach growled with hunger. She debated going home, back to the cottage, for her questions were all done. Her spirits drooped at the thought. She could not give up, not yet. Surely the answers must lie somewhere here, at the manor house, where her mother had spent her last hours. If only she knew who to speak to, and where to look! While she pondered her next move, Janna walked to the well. She could slake her thirst, if not her hunger.

  The cool water refreshed her. She sat down on a bench beside the well, and closed her eyes, the better to focus on the events surrounding her mother’s death. Lifting her face to the sunlight, she felt its warmth enter her body, giving new life and hope to her exhausted spirit.

  The sound of a warning cry interrupted her musing. She opened her eyes, and saw an elderly woman and a little boy approaching her. The child ran ahead, ignoring his nurse’s cries to slow down. He was all smiles as he raced up to Janna. “My name is Hamo,” he announced. “What’s your name?”

  “Janna. Johanna.” The child had the look of his mother along with the dark Norman coloring of both his parents. He was only five or six years now, but he would grow up to be a heartbreaker, Janna thought.

  “Who are you?” Hamo eyed Janna’s coarsely woven kirtle and rough boots curiously. Her appearance seemed not to faze him, however, for he remained smiling and friendly as he continued, “Are you a friend of my mother and father? Or my cousin Hugh?”

  “None of them.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “I came to help your baby brother. I tried to make him better.” Janna found it hard to tell a lie or even to soften the truth under the direct and trusting gaze of the child.

  “My brother died. There’s only me left now,” he answered matter-of-factly.

  “I know. I am sorry for it.”

  Hamo studied her. “It’s just as well,” he said candidly. “My brother would have to be a soldier and go to war or enter the church for a living, for all my mother’s property and wealth will be mine when she dies. I am her first-born son, you see.”

  “What about your father? Will you inherit his lands and wealth too?”

  “No, he’s got nothing to leave anyone. All this belongs to my mother.”

  Janna stared at Hamo in amazement. She had paid homage to Robert of Babestoche, as was his due as lord of the manor. Yet it seemed he had married well, far better than he might have expected, in fact. Still, it made no odds whose wealth it was, except perhaps to this precocious child and any future siblings he might have. On reflection, Janna concluded this was unlikely, given the lady’s sad history. It seemed Hamo’s inheritance was safe. She wished him joy of it.

  Hamo’s nurse had caught up with him and now she gave him a reproving glance. “You will not indulge in idle chatter with servants,” she said sternly.

  “I want Janna to play ball with me.”

  “You do not play ball while you are in mourning for your brother.”

  “How can I feel sad about my brother when I didn’t even know him?”

  “You will do what is expected of you.”

  Hamo stamped his foot. “But I want to play ball.”

  “’Tis too late now. I will play ball with you tomorrow.” The nurse cast a glance at the sun, perhaps praying for nightfall. The fiery orb was past its zenith, edging down to the west and tinting fluffy lambswool clouds with a rim of bright gold. Janna judged that there was still plenty of time for a game of ball. She winked at Hamo and he, delighted, grinned back at her.

  “I don’t want to play ball with you,” he told the nurse. “You’re too old. You never catch it and you won’t run after it either.” He turned to Janna. “Will you play ball with me?”

  She glanced at the nurse, seeking permission. The woman shrugged, clearly unwilling to take responsibility for an activity she deemed unseemly. Yet Janna thought she might be quite pleased to have a break from her demanding charge for a while. The woman was getting on in years. Truly, she looked utterly exhausted.

  “Do you have a ball?” she asked Hamo, wondering if a child of the nobility would also play with a pig’s bladder stuffed with straw, as the street urchins did.

  “Yes!” With a squeal of excitement he dashed off to find it, leaving Janna with his nurse.

  “I am sure the boy truly appreciates your company and is grateful for your care of him,” she said softly.

  “He is too clever for his own good.” The nurse looked sour. Janna felt sorry for Hamo. Surely cleverness was to be encouraged rather than frowned upon? But he would escape his nurse soon enough, for in only a few years he would likely be sent away to another manor house, or perhaps a lord’s castle or even the abbey. He would learn to read and write, how to fight and how to serve the king. Janna envied Hamo for his wealth and the freedom that would allow him to do exactly as he pleased in the future.

  “Catch!” Hamo had returned, and now he threw a ball at her, its flight swift and true and finding its mark hard against her belly.

  “Oof!” Winded, Janna fumbled to catch it, but the ball fell at her feet. It was made of leather and, by the sound of the rattle inside, it was stuffed with dried peas or beans. It was round enough to fly through the air and to roll a distance should she miss catching it. She would have to watch it more carefully next time. “Catch!” she cried in turn as she copied his motion and sent the ball flying back to Hamo.

  He caught it, and in one movement sent it hurtling back to her. It was a little high and Janna had to jump for it. She missed, and the ball went flying onward. With a chuckle, she picked up her skirt and chased it.

  “Catch!” Her throw was clumsy, and the ball went off to one side. Quick as a flash, Hamo went after it, diving to grab it before it hit the ground.

  “Well done!” Janna clapped her hands together. Hamo smiled with delight. Janna thought he might not get too many compliments, especially not from his crabby nurse. He didn’t let this one turn his head though, sending the ball straight and true to Janna once more. Again she fumbled and missed, and again she had to chase it. She bent to pick up the ball. A pair of boots planted themselves in front of her. Panting and out of breath, she straightened. She found herself staring into a smiling face and dancing eyes. Hugh.

  Janna blushed as she hastily tried to straighten her kirtle and smooth her hair. What must Hugh think of her, rushing about like a street urchin? This thought was followed hard by another: Hugh already knew what she was. Why should a ball game with a child make any difference to his opinion of her? And w
hat about her opinion of him? If he really was responsible for Cecily’s unborn child, she had no high opinion of him whatsoever. Yet she shouldn’t leap to judgment—at least, not yet.

  “I thought I’d come and keep my cousin company for a while, but I see he’s in good company already.” Without asking permission, Hugh took the ball from Janna and threw it back to Hamo. “Catch!”

  With a squeal of excitement, Hamo leaped into the air and caught the ball with both hands.

  “Well done!” Hugh exchanged an amused glance with Janna as they both clapped the boy’s efforts. Hamo smiled, suddenly shy. He put the ball behind his back, and began to scuff the earth beneath his feet.

  “Don’t you want to play anymore?” Hugh asked.

  A great beaming smile spread across Hamo’s face. “Yes!” And before Hugh could change his mind, the ball sped like an arrow toward him. Hugh caught it deftly and returned it, while Janna retreated to safety. The ball seemed to have become a deadly missile in the hands of the cousins. As she watched the two exchange banter while each tried to out-throw the other, she reflected on how lonely the boy’s life must be here at the manor, with only a crotchety old nurse to care for him. The company of a cousin must seem like a gift to him—as Hugh’s company had been a gift to her. She was seeing a side of him she had not expected. He was showing the heart of the child he once was, evidenced by the loud crow of glee he uttered when he threw a carefully angled ball just a little too high and Hamo missed it. The child scampered after it, seemingly unperturbed until he sent back a return, so low and so fast that Hugh fumbled and dropped the ball. Now it was Hamo’s turn to chuckle and taunt Hugh for the butterfingers that had let the ball slip through his grasp.

  Janna joined in their laughter, and was surprised. She’d thought she’d never feel happy again. It was greatly reassuring to think that life could go on and that joy was still possible. She watched the two together, man and boy, united in their enjoyment of their game. Hamo had a mother and father, but what about Hugh? Janna remembered that he’d told her he’d come to make a report on his custodianship of Dame Alice’s property. Did he have family and lands of his own to inherit, or was Dame Alice his only living kin? And was Hamo all that kept Hugh from a large inheritance? If so, it was certain that Hugh would desire his aunt’s good opinion above everything, and would do all in his power to keep it, including denying Cecily an offer of marriage, or even his comfort and support.

  Another and far worse question came into Janna’s mind: How far might Hugh go to keep his liaison with the tiring woman a secret? Admittedly, she had no grounds for suspecting his involvement in her mother’s death, for on his own admission, Eadgyth was already dying by the time he and Robert were summoned to the bedchamber. Janna told herself she was jumping to conclusions about Hugh and Cecily, conclusions that might well prove utterly false. She found some comfort in the thought.

  A sudden howl interrupted her reverie. She looked up to see Hugh sprinting toward Hamo, who was clutching the side of his face and trying not to cry. The lethal missile-thrower was but a little boy again. The red welt on the side of his face spoke of what had happened even as Hugh broke into an apology.

  “It’s my fault,” he said. “I’m sorry, Hamo. I shouldn’t have thrown the ball so hard. After all, you’re just a child.”

  A forlorn hiccup greeted this tactless observation. Ignoring the outraged clucking of the nurse, Janna pulled a reproachful face at Hugh over Hamo’s head and enfolded the boy in her arms to comfort him.

  “Of course, you’re so big for your age, and you throw the ball so hard and so well, it’s not surprising I thought you were a lot older than you really are,” Hugh added hastily, doing his best to retrieve the situation.

  “Everyone says I’m big for my age.” Hamo broke away from Janna and squared his shoulders as he faced Hugh. “I’ve been riding with the groom and practicing with my own sword every day so that I shall grow up to be a fine soldier just like you.”

  “I expect you’ll be a far greater soldier than I can ever be,” said Hugh, and earned a watery smile for the compliment.

  “I knew this would end in tears,” the nurse muttered darkly, and tried to take hold of her charge. Hamo backed away and hid behind Hugh.

  “Would you like to come with me to the kitchen garden, Hamo?” Janna asked. “We’ll crush a comfrey root to soothe that sore swelling on your face where the ball hit you.”

  He nodded, and slipped his hand into hers.

  As they walked to the garden, Hugh fell into step beside them. Wearing a frown of disapproval, the nurse followed.

  “How is Dame Alice faring, my lord?” Janna asked.

  “We have left her to rest.”

  “And Mistress Cecily?” Janna watched Hugh closely for any sign that she meant more to him than merely being his aunt’s tiring woman. “Is she now recovered from whatever ailed her?”

  “She’s doing well enough, I think,” Hugh said casually, seeming not at all troubled by the question. Instead, there was warmth and concern in his voice as he asked, “And what of you, Johanna? How do you fare, with so much to burden you?”

  The thunder of hoof beats prevented Janna from having to answer. Hugh quickly scooped up Hamo and sprang aside to safety. Janna looked up at the horseman, and felt a shaft of anxiety as she recognized the lord of the manor. For one fearful moment she thought Robert was going to run her down. She leaped out of his path, landing awkwardly and wrenching her ankle as she did so.

  Robert jerked on the reins, forcing his horse to a sudden standstill. His eyes were hard and angry as he stared down at her. “Why are you still here? I told you to go home before you do any more harm, and I’ll thank you to do as you’re told.” His glance flicked from Janna to her companion. Ignoring the child clasped in Hugh’s arms, he said, “Make sure the girl leaves the manor at once.” He dug his heels viciously into the horse’s flank. Startled, it reared and then took off at speed.

  Behind Robert, riding more decorously, came the priest. He nodded at Hugh and Hamo, but could not hide his displeasure at the sight of Janna. Compressing his lips, he followed Robert out through the gate.

  Hugh put Hamo down when he judged it was safe to do so. The boy looked indignant.

  “I’m not a baby, you know!”

  “I know, Hamo, but I wasn’t sure your father had noticed you. I didn’t want him to run you down.” There was a steely glint in Hugh’s eye as he looked after Robert and the priest, but his expression softened as his glance shifted to Janna. He seemed to be making an effort to hold himself in check. Janna wondered if he was working out how best to follow Robert’s orders to get rid of her.

  She decided to help him out. “My lord,” she said, “I must go home, as I’ve been told.”

  “No. Stay and find a balm for Hamo’s cheek, I pray you.” Hugh gave a rueful laugh. “I fear I will feel the lash of his mother’s tongue for hurting him, but at least I will be able to say we did what we could to ease the pain.”

  Janna nodded, encouraged by his confidence that she would be able to help. Child of the forest she may be, but she was not so ignorant as he might suppose. “Where do the lord and the priest go so late in the afternoon?”

  “The priest has gone to make arrangements for the baby’s interment and to instruct the villagers to attend a requiem mass for the child’s soul. My aunt wishes it.”

  “And Lord Robert?”

  Hugh shrugged. “Perhaps he needs to report the baby’s death to the shire reeve.”

  “Why does he hate me so?”

  “Who? Robert, or the priest? Or the shire reeve?”

  “Lord Robert. Truly, my mother and I did all we could to help Dame Alice and her infant son. Dame Alice understands that and seems grateful, but her husband has turned against me.”

  Hugh was silent for a moment. “He blames you for his son’s death,” he admitted at last.

  “But I—But we—”

  Hugh held up his hand to silence her protest. “I k
now,” he said simply. “I know.”

  Once in the garden, Janna looked about for the hairy leaves and stalks of comfrey. She was certain such a useful plant would be cultivated here and she soon found it, and in some quantity. She dug down, seeking the spread of roots below.She broke off a portion of thick root, and showed it to Hamo. Black on the outside, it was white within and full of a glutinous juice.

  “Erk!” he said.

  “It’ll help, I promise.” Janna applied the cool mixture to the boy’s smarting cheek, then turned to his nurse. “Take these roots and some leaves from the comfrey, and ask the cook to boil them up. When the water has cooled, bathe Hamo’s bruise with the decoction. It will soothe his skin and help to bring down the swelling.”

  The nurse gave a reluctant nod.

  “See to it,” Hugh said sharply.

  She bobbed a curtsy and set to picking some leaves.

  Hugh turned to Janna. “You have your mother’s skill with herbs, I see.”

  “She taught me all she knew—and she knew a great deal.”

  “Where and how did she gain her knowledge?”

  “I know not,” Janna confessed sadly. “She would not speak about her past.” Fearing Hugh’s pity or, even worse, his judgment, she added quickly, “I must go now, sire. I want to be home before dark.”

  “You could stay here tonight, at the manor.”

  Janna flashed a sidelong glance at Hugh, suddenly suspicious of his motives.

  “In case my aunt has need of you,” he added quickly.

  “You heard the lord. He bade me go, and I must obey him, sire.”

  “Then I will take you home, and also fetch the palfrey while I am there.” Hugh swerved off toward the barns, closely followed by Hamo, who still clutched the gummy root to the side of his face. “Go with your nurse, Hamo.” He bent down and gently pushed the child in the direction of the kitchen. “We’ll play ball again tomorrow,” he promised.

  Reluctantly, and with many a backward glance, Hamo did as he was told. “Come.” Hugh beckoned Janna and together they went to reclaim his large destrier from a long wattle-and-daub shed. The horse blew softly from a stall at the far end. Janna looked about her as Hugh saddled the horse. Above her head was a trapdoor. Wisps of hay suggested that the space was a storage house through winter, while saddles and bridles and empty stalls told the use of the space below.