Blood Oath: The Janna Chronicles 1 (11 page)

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.

“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 soured 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!”

Janna’s lips twitched to hear her mother’s opinion of the apothecary repeated by the midwife. Curiosity prompted her to ask, “And once Fulk is out of the way, what then would you have me do?”

“Become my assistant,” Aldith answered promptly. “I’m aware that you lack experience so there is much I can teach you, just as I believe that your mother will have taught you much that I do not know. We can learn from each other.”

Janna hesitated, tempted by Aldith’s offer. It seemed far more genuine than Fulk’s offer to her mother, and its benefits were manifest. Under Aldith’s protection she would find a place and acceptance in the community, as well as gaining the experience she needed. Yet Aldith had been Eadgyth’s rival, and was about to reap the benefits of her death. While her offer might be kindly meant, Janna cautioned herself to stay on guard. Aldith was not off her list of suspects yet.

Aldith was waiting for her answer. Undecided, Janna wondered what her mother would have advised her to do. She looked down at the midwife’s apron. It was clean and freshly laundered for the occasion, but the kirtle underneath was somewhat grubby and stained. There was her answer—or was it? If Eadgyth had only bothered to explain, the midwife would have understood why cleanliness was so necessary for the health of mothers and their babies. Aldith seemed more than willing to learn—and so was Janna. If sharing their knowledge would benefit the villagers, her offer was surely worth consideration. About to say yes, a further thought stopped Janna. If she accepted, it would tie her to this place just as surely as she’d been tied by her mother and their life here. Was that what she truly wanted?

“It’s kind of you to think of me, and I thank you,” she said, searching for the words to frame a more gentle refusal than her mother would have done. “Please give me time to think about it, for I know not what the future holds for me. It’s too soon to make plans. Who knows, I may even find someone to wed, and move away from here.”

It was an attempt to sound light-hearted, but Aldith nodded in immediate understanding. “Eadgyth told me that it was her dearest wish that you would find happiness with a good man.”

“Why should my mother wish for me what she never knew herself?”

“I think it’s because she wanted to keep you from making the same mistake that she did,” Aldith said quietly.

“Did you know my father?” Janna could hardly breathe from excitement.

Reluctantly, Aldith shook her head. “I never met him,” she admitted. “I only know the very little your mother confided to me when first she came here, swollen with child and needing somewhere to stay.”

“Where did she come from?”

Aldith shrugged. “I don’t know. She never said.”

“Why did she come here? Did she tell you why she chose this place?”

“She came to see the abbess, I believe. She had little money or jewelry to give in return for shelter, but the abbess did well out of the exchange for the cot you live in was derelict, and the small piece of land beside was not large enough to support a villein and his family. Not only did your mother repair the cot and render that land fruitful, she also paid rent to the abbess in return for that act of charity. Your mother was no beggar, Janna.”

“Did she ever speak of her family, or her past? Please, please tell me everything you know,” Janna begged.

“I can’t tell you much. Your mother and I weren’t close, as you know. I gave her shelter while she repaired your cottage, for she had no money to hire a laborer for the task. We exchanged some confidences then, but I think she later regretted even the little she’d told me. And she repaid my kindness by stealing my patients!”

Janna was silenced by the bitterness in Aldith’s voice. Her mind teemed with the questions she wanted to ask, questions that Aldith probably couldn’t answer. She became aware that Aldith was studying her intently. “You have your father’s eyes,” she observed.

‘How can you know that? I thought you’d never met him.”

“I didn’t. But your mother was a Saxon beauty with her fair hair and gray eyes. You have your mother’s fair hair, but your eyes are dark brown.”

“Then I must be ugly. I would rather look like my mother than a father I don’t know and who doesn’t want to know me!”

“I suspect he doesn’t know you even exist.”

“Did my mother tell you that?” Janna was worried now that she’d utterly misjudged her father.

“No. From the very little she told me about her circumstances, I gained the impression that your father might be someone wealthy, important. Perhaps too important to wed a woman of no consequence like your mother?”

“Surely, if my father was wealthy, he could have helped my mother live a better, more comfortable life than she did!” Janna’s anger blew like a straw in the wind as it shifted between her mother and her father. She longed to know the true circumstances of her heritage and her birth.

“Perhaps he was already betrothed to another and would not—or could not—break off that alliance?” Aldith suggested. “Your mother may well have decided to leave rather than beg for his help when she discovered she was carrying you!” As she noticed Janna’s stricken expression, her voice softened slightly. “Your mother did not hold a grudge against your father, for all of that. In fact, she spoke of him with great love—such a love, I think, that prevented her from taking any other man to her bed thereafter.”

Janna nodded slowly as she came to understand the truth behind her mother’s lonely life, and her desire for her only daughter to marry and be safe. “My father’s name? Did my mother ever tell you it?” she asked.

To her utter disappointment, Aldith shook her head. “Your mother kept her secrets, Janna.”

“From me, as well as from you. And now she’s dead, I’ll never know the truth about my father.” Janna felt her throat clog thick with tears. With a huge effort, she struggled to stay dry-eyed and calm.

She took Aldith’s hand. “I am grateful to you, more grateful than I can say.”

“Think over my offer.” Aldith pressed Janna’s hand between her own. Janna felt ashamed of her mother’s past treatment of the midwife, for she believed that the woman was kind, and that she meant to bring comfort. “We’ll talk again,” Aldith promised, and slipped away.

Head bowed, Janna stayed motionless, thinking over what she’d just learned. Her father was likely highborn, too important to wed her mother. Which meant that by now he would surely have wed someone else, a lady, and he would probably have children of his own. She longed to know more about him. Why had her mother kept his secret, never gone after him, never asked him for anything in spite of the hard times she and Janna had lived through? Pride? Or was it love and the need to protect his good name with his family that had kept her away?

Aldith had told her she had her father’s brown eyes. She might have inherited more from him than that, Janna thought, for her fair hair and her skill with herbs were the only characteristics she shared with her mother. As well as resembling her father, did she have his temperament too? What sort of man could he be to inspire such love and devotion in proud Eadgyth, and yet abandon her so completely? Janna frowned, rejecting any part of her own nature that could ever be so brutal.

What would her father say if he knew he had a daughter? Would he welcome her, or was his own family so important to him that he’d deny her and send her away?

Saddened by her thoughts, Janna walked slowly along the narrow street that led through Berford. It seemed to her that several people turned aside as she passed, or ducked into doorways or down lanes rather than meet her face to face. She looked back to check if her suspicion was true, just in time to see a young boy making the sign of a cross with his fingers, as if to ward off evil. Acting on impulse, Janna made the sign back at him. His eyes widened and he scuttled off. Janna looked after him, feeling troubled and angry that the villagers seemed so against her when her mother had always done her best to help them.

The priest and his sermons, and the fact that he would not bury her mother in consecrated ground: that news must be out already. Truly the priest had succeeded in turning her and her mother into outcasts.

Lost in thought as she was, Janna did not at first pay attention to the slender woman in the long green gown walking ahead of her. It was only when the woman glanced behind her, and their gazes met, that Janna saw who it was. Not bound by any notions of maidenly modesty, she picked up her skirt and raced after her.

“Mistress Cecily!” she shouted. “Please wait for me!” There was no reason why a highborn tiring lady should pay any attention to her, Janna understood that, but her need to ask questions was greater than her need to worry about propriety. “I want to ask you about my mother,” she called.

The young woman stopped. Slowly, reluctantly, she turned around. Her face was pale, her eyes red-rimmed as if she’d recently been crying. Janna wondered where Hugh had gone, and if the lady was weeping because of him. She quickly banished that disturbing thought from her mind. She needed all her wits to find out what she could from the last person to see her mother alive.

“Forgive me.” She bobbed an awkward curtsy. “I called after you because I wanted to thank you again for looking after my mother while she lay dying. I’m trying now to piece together the last hours of her life, so that I may truly understand what happened to her.” The tremor in Janna’s voice was real, and Cecily responded with sympathy.

“I thought your mother seemed out of sorts once she came into my lady’s bedchamber, but I put it down to the fact that there was a heated argument between her and Master Fulk over the best potion to help Dame Alice. Fulk had prepared a posset, you see, but your mother threw it out and told him to leave the room. Fulk appealed to Dame Alice, but she said he should do what he was told. He was very angry with Eadgyth. He blamed her for everything.” Cecily cast a timid glance at Janna, then modestly lowered her eyes.

“Did my mother have anything to eat or drink after she arrived at the manor?”

“Dame Alice offered her a beaker of water. I suppose she thought your mother would be hot and thirsty after her long walk.”

“That was kind of her.” Janna hesitated, wondering how to phrase the question without offending Cecily. “Did my mother say anything about the water? About its taste?”

“No. She thanked Dame Alice, and drank it straight away.”

“Could the water have been—” Janna was going to say “poisoned,” but stopped in time. “Foul? Polluted in some way?”

“Not at all!” Cecily bristled in indignation. “It was poured from the very jug that Dame Alice herself uses. But your mother became sick soon afterwards.”

“Who gave the water to my mother?” Janna had visions of Fulk slipping aconite into the beaker, but then remembered that he’d been banished from the bedchamber.