Day of Judgment: The Janna Chronicles 6

by Felicity Pulman

  “Who is he?” Janna’s heart leaped with joy at the thought that Godric might have come to town.

  But Sybil just smiled. “You’ll see soon enough,” she said. “Maybe he can advise us. But in the meantime, tell me how it is to live like a lady!”

  Janna laughed. It had taken a little while to persuade Sybil not to call her “my lady.” She was pleased that the taverner had reverted to their old friendly footing. She was in the middle of bewailing the fact that her father found it necessary to find a husband for her when a huge dog pounced on her, almost pushing her off the stool.

  “Brutus!” She put her arms around the animal and gave him a big hug, smothering a smile in his rough fur as she recalled how frightening he could be to anyone he regarded as a foe. But she had long ago won his affection, and he gave her a great slobbering lick to confirm it. “Ugh!” She pushed him away and wiped her face on her sleeve, then turned her attention to the dog’s owner.

  “Ulf!” She jumped up to give him a hug, but he took a step away from her. He began to bow, noticed her frown, and opened his arms wide instead. “I am so glad to see you!” She walked into his embrace. If not Godric, Ulf was the person she most wanted beside her now. They had been through so much together, and he had proved himself a loyal and entertaining companion on more than one occasion.

  After the flurry of greetings and exchange of news, at Sybil’s urging, Janna once more recited the problems she was having with her family, being careful to omit any mention of her visit to Oxeneford and what had transpired there.

  Ulf was thoughtful when she finally fell silent. He scratched his chin, stubbly with grey whiskers, and raised the brimming mug that Mary had set down in front of him. “It’s all of them against you, lass,” he mused. “It seems even your father is not wholly on your side. So I ask myself: if we can’t appeal to their better natures – ”

  “That won’t work, they don’t have any,” Janna interposed.

  Ulf nodded and continued, “How can we scare them into treating you with proper courtesy and consideration?”

  “Scare them?” Janna laughed at the very notion.

  “There’s more than one way to call their bluff.” Ulf bent down and grabbed his heavy pack. He heaved it up onto the table in front of him and began to root around inside. Janna watched, still amused, as first a roll of parchment was dropped on the table, followed by several fat parcels wrapped in linen and then a couple of small boxes. Ulf was a relic seller, and judging by the girth of his pack, he had a bumper haul of bits and pieces to sell to those who wanted the comfort of knowing that a saint was on their side. She waited to find out what was on Ulf’s mind.

  Sybil watched in some bemusement. She’d not come across Ulf’s treasures before, but Janna was willing to wager that she would not be conned into making an offer for any of them either.

  “Aha!” Ulf withdrew a shiny gold box, far grander than anything else that had already landed on the table.

  “What’s that?” Sybil asked, before Janna had a chance to open her mouth.

  “The small toe from the right foot of St Swithun, Winchestre’s very own patron saint,” Ulf said proudly.

  Janna wondered if she could believe in this relic at least. Certainly it was housed in far grander style than anything she’d ever seen before.

  “And you want it for…?” Sybil asked cautiously.

  “Janna’s stepmother.” Ulf turned to her. “What do you think? If you can make sure she sees me, I guarantee she’ll part with many coins for this. And once she has – ”

  “Made a donation?” Janna interrupted. Ulf grinned at her. This was a long-standing jest between them.

  “Once she has expressed her gratitude in a material way, then – and only then – will I tell her the story of how I came by this sacred relic.”

  “What story?”

  Ulf settled himself more comfortably on his stool and stretched out his legs. “The relic once belonged to a poor merchant who lived a good life but who had encountered much misfortune along the way,” he began. “His wife died giving birth to their first child, and the child died too, much to the merchant’s grief. His troubles were made worse when he was ambushed and robbed, and then his stall caught fire and all his goods were burned to ash. Indeed, he was at his wits’ end. All he had to show for his life’s work was a precious gem set on a chain that once had belonged to his wife. It was of no practical use to him, but it was a reminder of her, and of happier days, and so he kept it until the time came when he knew that he must either sell it or starve.”

  Ulf paused to take a deep draught of ale. Janna knew that he delighted in spinning out his stories and so she waited, wondering where all this was leading and if there was any point to it.

  Sybil was not quite so kind. “What’s this to do with Janna and her problems?” she snapped impatiently.

  Ulf set down his mug and wiped his mouth. “The merchant didn’t want to sell the necklace,” he said, ignoring Sybil’s protest. “But then he met a relic seller, who offered him the toe of St Swithun in return for it. He was so sure his luck would change with the saint on his side that he happily agreed to the swap. And so it went. His luck did change. He found employment with an elderly jeweler and became so invaluable to him that he inherited the business on the jeweler’s death, the man having no close kin to lay claim to it. And the merchant prospered. He opened a larger shop, and began to travel overseas to all the big fairs in Europe. In fact, he was on his way home from one such when the ship foundered and sank, taking all of the merchant’s goods down with it. But the merchant managed to survive. He grabbed a floating plank and clung to it, until eventually he found his way to safety. He was ruined, but he still had the saint’s toe in his purse, along with a few coins.”

  “Get on with it,” Sybil muttered.

  Ulf grinned, took another long swallow of ale, and carefully replaced his mug. “Although the merchant was ruined he was not dismayed, for he still had the blessing of the saint. But by now he had a high position in the town and a reputation to maintain, and so he began to take short cuts, ordering goods and promising payment when he knew that his coffers were empty. He hoped to trade his way out of trouble, but word got around that he wasn’t paying his bills, and even that he was selling stolen goods, although he swore on the saint’s relic that it was not so. But he lost those customers who previously had given him a good income and guaranteed his reputation. Finally he was arrested and sent to trial for his misdeeds. So far as I know, he still rots in prison somewhere.”

  Janna shuddered, but Sybil had reached the end of her patience. “What’s the point of this? It’s Janna’s problems we’re interested in now.”

  “I watched his arrest. As the guards came for him, he reached into his purse, pulled out this sacred object, and flung it at me. ‘Take it,’ he shouted. ‘It will bring you good luck, but only if you are an honest man.’”

  Janna smothered a smile. Ulf, honest? She didn’t believe a word of it, but was sure Ulf was leading somewhere with his story. Sybil had no such illusions. She leaned forward, clicking her tongue in angry frustration. “What has this gibble-gabble to do with Janna?”

  “Everything. I went to visit the merchant where he was being held captive. I was curious to find out what he meant, although I was a little nervous that he might ask for the relic’s return. But he seemed to think it was cursed, that he had cursed his luck when he had used it to do wrong. He told me the whole story, just as I have told you – and just as I shall tell your stepmother, but only after she’s given me a donation for it.”

  “That the relic is cursed?”

  “That the relic is cursed if she does wrong while it’s in her possession.” Ulf sat back with a satisfied smile, and drank down the rest of his ale.

  “Brilliant!” Janna clapped her hands in admiration.

  “Brilliant.” Ulf bobbed his head in mock humility.

  Sybil laughed. “Brilliant,” she agreed, and beckoned Mary over to refill their m
ugs.

  After much discussion, their plan was decided. “You must not know me,” Ulf reminded Janna. “It’ll make your stepmother suspicious if she sees you hab-nabbing with the likes of me. Just bring her down the high street tomorrow after dinner, and express an interest in seeing what I have in my pack, should she insist on moving on. You can leave the rest to me.”

  “I shall,” Janna promised, adding with a twinkle, “and I hope her donation is a large one, Ulf.”

  “The larger it is, the more anxious she will be to heed my warning. Fear not, Janna. I trust you’ll lead a trouble-free life after this.”

  “It seems you are always coming to my rescue. How can I ever thank you enough?” Janna reached out and gave the relic seller a hug.

  “No thanks are necessary. Just have your stepmother out on the street tomorrow after dinner – or failing that, on the following day.”

  Getting back into the family’s lodgings without detection exercised all Janna’s ingenuity, but getting her stepmother to agree to go out into the town proved even more difficult. “If I need anything, I summon traders to come to me,” Blanche said haughtily.

  “But it’s exciting to be out in the street, seeing the sights,” Janna urged, with a quick glance at Rosy. She’d ensured the child was present, knowing Rosy’s curiosity would make her add her voice to Janna’s plea. “There are street stalls and peddlers selling everything from spring vegetables and spices to gloves and candles, and even wares from across the sea.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I remember it from before,” Janna said, without thinking.

  “I believe you were a common serving wench in a tavern?” Blanche looked down her nose.

  “Did you work in a tavern, Johanna?” Rosy’s eyes were round with wonder.

  “Yes, I did. I needed to earn my keep.” Janna kept her voice carefully neutral as she continued. “I need a new gown. I thought to visit the cloth makers to choose something I like.” As she glimpsed Blanche’s frown of disapproval, she added hastily, “If you prefer, I can make it up myself.”

  There was a long silence. Then Blanche said frostily, “We do not go out into the town like beggars. Cloth makers bring a selection of their wares for us to choose, and the garment is made up to specification. That’s how we do things in this household, Johanna.”

  Fortunately, Janna’s words had worked their magic on Rosy. “Please can’t we go out, Maman?” she begged. “It would be so exciting just to go for a walk down the high street. I’m tired of staying here day after day doing the same old things.”

  “Rosy can come with me if you don’t wish to go,” Janna said quickly, sure that Blanche would consider her far too disreputable an influence on her daughter. She held her breath until, at last, and with bad grace, Blanche agreed to accompany them, along with Richildis and Giles.

  *

  The one thing the conspirators hadn’t planned for was Brutus. As soon as he saw Janna in the street, he raced forward and jumped up, putting his paws on her shoulders and licking her face.

  “Down, Br – bad dog!” Janna pushed him away, hating having to use such a scolding voice. “You have a very boisterous hound,” she said grandly, giving Brutus a surreptitious pat to make up for scolding him.

  “I do beg your pardon, my lady.” Ulf swept them all an elaborate bow. “’Tis astonishing! I have never seen him so friendly before. You must have a winning way with animals, my lady.”

  Janna hid a smile. “He is a handsome hound, I grant you. And a good watchdog, I warrant.”

  “Not if he greets everyone like that,” Blanche muttered.

  At once, Ulf switched his attention to her, and bowed again. “I see you have a keen eye and discerning judgment, my lady.” As he spoke, he held out a hand to Rosy, with a coin nestled in his palm.

  She hesitated, not quite sure what she was supposed to do. Giles shoved forward, about to snatch the coin, but with a smile, Ulf rubbed his hands together and displayed them again. The coin had disappeared. As Rosy stared at him, he reached forward and produced the coin from behind her ear. She laughed with pleasure and clapped her hands. “Show me how you do that!” she squealed.

  But Ulf was now busy unfastening his pack, once more facing Blanche. “I can see that you’re not wanting in good fortune, my lady, but – ” he produced a small square box and held it up, “ – you may well wish for a saint’s protection to guard you from harm and illness.”

  Alarmed, Janna wondered what had happened to the gold box and its contents. This wasn’t what they’d discussed at all.

  Blanche pushed Ulf out of her way with an impatient hand. She was about to stride on when Rosy tugged on her mother’s sleeve, stopping her progress. “Please, Maman, let us see what’s in the box,” she pleaded. Janna sent up a silent prayer of thanks for Rosy’s intervention.

  But Ulf had put the box away. He stared intently at Blanche and then, in a low voice, muttered, “Not for you the comforts of the common folk, not for someone of your status, my lady, I see that now. But I do have in my possession something I never thought to see in my lifetime, the most costly relic I have ever possessed.”

  Blanche leaned closer, intrigued in spite of herself.

  Ulf shook his head. “No,” he said. “What was I thinking? It has brought me so much good fortune I cannot bear to part with it.”

  Aghast, Janna watched as he began to tie up his pack.

  “Maman!” Rosy wailed.

  Blanche hesitated. “Show me what you have in there, peddler,” she commanded, while beside her, Rosy jigged up and down with excitement.

  It all went just as Janna had hoped, and by the end of it Blanche was the proud – if somewhat chastened – owner of the toe of St Swithun, while Ulf had scored coins enough to keep him in comfort for quite some time to come. Janna lingered to whisper her thanks, and he gave her a wink and sauntered on, summoning Brutus to his side with a whistle.

  Rosy was still staring after them when Janna caught up with the party. “I wish I had a dog like that,” she said wistfully. “You liked him too, didn’t you, Johanna?”

  Blanche sniffed. “Nasty, dirty brute.”

  “Well, I liked him,” Rosy said firmly, and took hold of Janna’s hand as they continued to walk along.

  Chapter 5

  Thanks to Ulf and the toe of St Swithun, the next months did indeed pass without incident. In fact, Janna was almost inclined to believe that the saint’s influence extended to all areas of their lives, for with the arrival of a new load of building stone, the house was soon almost ready for them to move in, while the garden bloomed and burgeoned in a most satisfactory way. Her father’s family, if not exactly taking her to their bosom, now appeared to tolerate her, and the days passed happily enough, and uneventfully. Janna hoped that Blanche would soon remove her family to Normandy, but it seemed she preferred to keep an eye both on her husband and her family’s inheritance, for she continued to find excuses to delay their departure. Meanwhile, the poisoned pastry and the missing brooch were never referred to; it was almost as if they’d never happened. What pleased Janna most was her growing closeness and ease with her father. It was almost time to trust him with the secret of her mother’s death and ask for his help in bringing the murderer to justice.

  It was her father who, innocently and with all good intentions, brought the influence of St Swithun to an end. Once more he bade them wait on after dinner, for there was something he wished to say to all of them.

  “The time has come for me to settle my daughter’s future,” he told them, when the servants had cleared the table and they were alone.

  “Which daughter?” Blanche asked, while Richildis sat straighter and patted her hair into place.

  “Johanna.” John turned to Richildis. “Your future is already secure, my dear.” He frowned as his gaze moved from her pale face to her slim body and fragile wrists. “She’s still not eating enough,” he told his wife, before switching his attention back to Janna.

  �
��I’ve been watching you these past months,” he told her, “and I’ve been impressed by what I’ve seen. I have decided to let my steward continue to manage my estates here in England until such time as you are married and have a husband’s protection, after which the responsibility for my affairs will devolve upon you, my dear. No!” He held up a hand to silence Giles, who’d uttered a loud squawk of protest. “Johanna is more educated and therefore more capable than any of you to take on this task. And I shall watch how she goes, for I intend to bequeath to her all my estates here in England, along with their income, when I die.”

  A shocked silence greeted John’s announcement. Even Janna had difficulty taking in what she’d just heard. All her father’s estates! She would be wealthy beyond her wildest dreams. More, this showed how highly her father esteemed and loved her. The thought warmed her heart.

  “To this end, I shall need to see the king, to secure his agreement that he will honor my intentions at the time of my death. I understand he has moved to Wiltune, so that is where we shall go, Johanna. It is more important than ever that you meet the king, for I need to find a suitable husband for you, someone befitting the granddaughter of the old king and a wealthy heiress in her own right.”

  Janna watched Richildis’s shoulders slump and understood the cause. Her father intended to find someone more noble for Janna than the man to whom Richildis was betrothed. Once again, the cuckoo in their nest would triumph at the family’s expense. Her elation ebbed lower as it became clear that her father’s intention to elevate her would put Godric even further out of her reach.

  And then the full import of her father’s words struck home with the force of a thunderbolt: He intended to take her to Wiltune to see the king! And only a mile or two from Wiltune was her family home, and the manor belonging to her mother’s murderer. Hugh was there, and Godric. God must have sent her this chance to see her quest through to a successful conclusion. Janna bowed her head in a brief prayer of thanks, even while she was seized with an equal mix of fear and elation at the thought of going back to her old home. But she resolved to say nothing to her father of this, not until they had arrived there, when it would be too late for him to find reason to prevaricate.