Authors: Felicity Pulman
Sudden alarm twisted Odo's face. 'Master Anselm pointed him out to me as the man he wished his sister to wed,' he said, after a long pause.
'Why? For what purpose?' It seemed to Janna that the answer to everything was right there, if only she could grasp it.
Odo moistened his lips with his tongue, as if to coax a convincing explanation from his mouth.
Odo, Anselm – and Hugh. Odo hadn't hesitated to use his knife on Anselm. Had he already had some practice with it? Janna thought it time to take another chance, for she was suddenly sure that she was close to solving the mystery that most bothered her. 'It was you who knifed my lord Hugh, wasn't it, Odo?' she accused. 'I saw you. You were hiding in the group surrounding the musicians, and I remember you because mostly there were women and children dancing around, not men.'
It was a lie, a trick, but it seemed to work for Odo did not deny it. Speechless, he stared at Janna.
'Show me your knife!' Hugh demanded. Janna realised that they were now thinking as one. When Odo made no effort to unsheathe it, Hugh stepped towards him. 'Show me!' he demanded.
Reluctantly, Odo drew it out. Perhaps fearing a sudden attack, the steward grabbed it out of his hand and held it out of his range. Janna moved to his side, followed by Hugh. Together, they all examined the knife.
It had been carefully washed. The blade was unnaturally clean, although dark stains in cracks in the hilt might well have come from the shedding of blood. But Janna knew there was no way of telling whether the blood was animal or human. Nevertheless, it was worth trying a further bluff, if it brought forth the truth.
'There is blood on this knife, my lord,' she said, pointing out the stains to the steward. 'I'll make a wager of my own: that you'll find my lord Hugh's blood has stained the hilt, as well as Master Anselm's. I know you have ways of ensuring that truth will prevail, very painful ways so I am told.'
Odo gave a whimper of fright, but said nothing.
Janna turned to him. 'If you were to speak up, to freely confess the full extent of your misdeeds . . .' Janna left the suggestion hanging in the air. The steward looked somewhat bemused. He gave a grunt which could have meant just about anything at all.
Hugh jumped in quickly. 'There is no doubt you will hang for the murder of Anselm,' he told the cowering man. 'As you cannot die twice, you may as well save yourself being tortured until you confess the rest of your crimes. It is true, is it not, that you are also responsible for the attack on me?'
Looking thoroughly frightened and miserable now, Odo nodded. 'I was only following orders,' he said sullenly.
'But . . . but why?' Emma cried. 'Why would you attack Hugh? And on whose orders? What nonsense is this?'
Odo heaved a weary sigh. 'I acted for your brother,' he said bitterly. 'All along, I did what I was told, and see what harm has come to me!'
'You weren't told to slit Anselm's throat.' Emma's eyes flashed with indignant fire. 'And I'm sure you weren't told to try and kill Hugh either!'
'Not kill. Wound.'
'Wound? But why?'
Odo didn't answer Emma's question, but his confession confirmed what Janna had guessed. She marvelled that a brother's love could have unravelled so badly, and with such devastating consequences. And yet it must have seemed a simple scheme at its inception.
Emma still waited for Odo to explain himself, but he remained silent, fully aware at last of the awful fate that awaited him.
'I think I know how it might all have come about.' Janna paused, realising that her words would upset Hugh and destroy Emma's faith in her brother. But, for her own peace of mind, and her safety, she needed to know the truth.
'I believe Master Anselm's prime mission here at the fair was to speak to you, sire, about his sister, and to beg you to marry her?' Janna directed her remarks at Hugh.
'That didn't work, and so he made another plan: to win some money at the cockfights, in the hope that increasing Emma's dower might change your mind. But he didn't win, he lost instead. So says Odo, and I have no reason to doubt his word for I saw Master Anselm at the cockfights myself, and so did Emma. It was apparent that things were going badly for him.' Janna paused as she tried to work out how best to word her argument so as to cause the least possible pain to both Emma and Hugh.
'I believe that, at that point, Anselm hit on yet another plan to bring his mission to a successful conclusion. I believe he pointed you out to Odo, my lord, and told him to take cover within the crowd around the musicians, and to wound you with his knife as soon as he came close enough.'
'No! Anselm would never ask a thing like that of anyone. Never!' Emma cried.
'He couldn't do it himself, for my lord Hugh would have recognised him.'
'But why should Anselm want Odo to wound Hugh? The whole idea is preposterous!'
'I don't think he meant Odo to wound my lord as badly as he did. I think his idea was that, with my lord wounded and in need of care and attention, you might provide that attention, mistress.' Now Janna looked at Emma. 'I think your brother hoped that being in close proximity with my lord Hugh, and he with you, would kindle your affection for each other and become something much more lasting. But that plan also went awry for, instead of you taking him back to your home to recuperate, my lord was brought here to the abbey and so was put out of your reach.'
'Is this true?' Hugh's incredulous glance went from Janna to Odo. 'Is that how it happened?'
Odo shrugged his shoulders, seemingly resigned to the fact that he could do nothing now to prevent his fate.
'Oh!' Emma's hand went to her throat again. Her face had lost all colour and she looked about to faint. Janna took a quick step to her side, and put her arm around the young woman to steady her.
'Borrowing money from Odo to gamble on the cockfights was your brother's last chance to buy your happiness,' she said, in the hope of comforting Emma. 'It was you he thought of, mistress, not himself.'
'If he thought of me, he would have given me his blessing to marry Peter!'
'Are you sure about this?' Hugh asked Janna. His eyes were troubled, yet she thought he already knew the answer to his question. Before she could say anything, he reached out and grabbed hold of the front of Odo's tunic. 'Tell me,' he demanded. 'Tell me if this is true.'
'True enough,' the villein muttered sullenly. 'I did as Master Anselm ordered. I'd intended to give you only a small flesh wound but you, Sister, you stumbled against my lord and pushed him onto my knife.' He glared at Janna as if it was all her fault that his knife was open and ready to slice Hugh's side. But it seemed his grievances were not yet over.
'Master Anselm owed me a reward, after all I'd done for him. But when I asked him for my share of his winnings, he refused. When I demanded it as my right, he told me that if I continued to threaten him, he would inform the steward of my part in wounding you, my lord. He said the steward wouldn't believe me if I told him I was acting under his orders, for you were all friends from childhood and Master Anselm had no reason to want you harmed.'
'Oh!' Faced with this final evidence of her brother's dishonour, Emma began to cry. She slumped down beside Peter, who tried in vain to loosen his shackles enough to comfort her. Seeing his struggles, the steward gestured at the guard to free him, and to put the fetters on Odo instead. The purse was refilled and given to Emma. 'No compensation for the loss of your brother, but the money was his and now it is yours,' the steward said awkwardly.
'He did what he did for you, Emma,' Hugh said, when Emma made no move to take the purse. 'He would have wanted you to have it.'
'It's tainted with his blood!'
'Take it. If you don't wish to use it for yourself, put it to a good cause.'
Emma stretched out a reluctant hand for the purse, and then turned to Peter. He wrapped his arms around her to comfort her. She clung to him, needing his support as she mourned the loss of her brother.
Janna looked at Odo. She could understand the rage and the feeling of helplessness that must have possessed him when faced with Anselm's double-dealing. She, too, knew the rage and frustration of being powerless when faced with an injustice, although she was determined that it would never lead her to murder. But Anselm's behaviour had been worse than Janna had realised. While she didn't regret bringing the truth to light, and setting her own fears to rest, she was sorry to have blighted his memory in the eyes of his sister and his best friend.
She beckoned Godric over from where he had been standing by the door, watching the proceedings. Godric hooked his arm through Hugh's to support him back to the infirmary, for Hugh looked stricken and sick at heart. If Peter's life hadn't been at stake, Janna knew that all of them would have preferred to remain ignorant of the truth of Anselm's last day on earth. And so she stayed silent as they left Odo's cell, for her part in solving this mystery was done.
T
HE ALARUMS
OF the attack on Hugh, the death of Anselm and the arrest of first Peter, and then Odo, had caused waves of shock to run through the close abbey community. While Janna continued silent over her part in what had happened, tongues continued to wag long after it was all over and the principals departed. Hugh, now healed, had accompanied Emma and Peter back to their manor for Anselm's burial, leaving Godric to keep an eye on things at Hugh's own manor. Odo was still shut away, awaiting such time as his lord could come to the abbey, bringing witnesses for his trial. To all intents and purposes, life at the abbey had returned to normal, but Janna missed the buzz and excitement of the fair, the comings and goings of the merchants and pilgrims. Most of all, she missed Hugh and Godric.
The days grew shorter. Green leaves turned to red and gold, and floated downwards, forming mushy piles underfoot in a mean, drizzling rain that seemed as if it might last forever. Janna was glad she had shelter, for the nights were long, and bitter with cold. Frost sparkled in the garden in the mornings, and her breath puffed out in misty clouds when she went outside. She was grateful that Sister Anne had insisted that she stay on to help in the infirmary. And she reassured herself that while she was here she continued to learn for, true to her promise, Sister Anne had initiated her into the mysteries of bodily humours and the remedies to keep them in balance. Janna had come to learn how to feel a pulse and check urine, as well as such techniques as cupping, purging and bloodletting. She was also learning the prayers and chants that accompanied some of the cures, and the healing properties of precious stones. Sister Anne had mentioned astrological charts, but she hadn't shown Janna how to calculate and draw them. Janna was under the impression that the nun didn't approve of such things. But she had allowed Janna to splint a broken arm after one of the young oblates was surprised climbing a tree and fell out of it in her haste to obey Sister Grace's command to 'come down at once!'. She had even stitched an open wound together, after draining it of pus. And with the cold weather, there was such an outbreak of ague and aches, colics and colds, she and Sister Anne were kept ever busier ministering to the sick and the elderly.
With her growing skill and experience in dealing with the sick came a growing confidence, and yet, underneath it all, Janna was seized with a wild impatience. Her purpose for coming to the abbey, to learn to read and write, seemed still beyond her reach, while her search for information about her mother had come to a dead end. The company of women, the sense of being continually watched, and judged, further chafed her spirits. She had tried to put her case to Sister Grace, and to the chantress, but had been refused. Sister Grace had tried to soften their rejection. 'As a lay sister, you have no need for this sort of knowledge,' she said. 'Unfortunately you have no dower, but you do have special skills that could benefit the abbey. Perhaps if I spoke to our abbess about you? Perhaps if you took your vows . . .?'
Janna knew that she couldn't. She'd spent long enough in the abbey to respect the belief that had prompted the nuns to give up their temporal lives in the service of God. But she did not share that unquestioning belief, and could not make such a sacred vow without it.
She looked to Agnes to cheer her, but the lay sister's ready wit and sense of humour seemed also to have deserted her. Janna thought she knew the cause, but when she ventured to put in a good word for the bailiff, Agnes snapped at her and walked away. Thereafter she seemed morose and lacking in spirits. Try as she might, Janna had been unable to lift her friend's depression. She was sorry for it, and felt sorry too, for Master Will.
Mindful that she'd never gone back to the fair to give him Agnes's answer, she manufactured a reason to visit the apothecary in the hope that she might encounter the bailiff on her journey. Sister Anne was dubious at first, but Janna insisted that she needed some special oils that only an apothecary could provide, to mix with the herbs she'd cut and dried, for the two of them were laying in a store of medicaments to last through the cold, dead months of winter.
'And we also need a new supply of galangal,' she said persuasively. 'It's so good for helping Sister Angelica's heart and chest pains. She says it's hot enough to waken the dead!'
Sister Anne nodded in grudging agreement. 'But you cannot go alone, I will come with you,' she said, adding, 'and we shall see if Master Fulk can also provide us with a cooling jasper stone. That, too, is helpful for alleviating heart pain.'
Fulk! Janna and her mother had fallen foul of the posturing apothecary when he'd attempted, and failed, to care for Dame Alice and her newborn babe. Janna knew he would not welcome her into his shop, but her circumstances, now, were different. Fulk would not dare to take her down while Sister Anne was present. And so, accompanied by the infirmarian, Janna marched into the apothecary's shop, made confident by the knowledge that she had coins to spend and that her habit would protect her good name and reputation.
Fulk didn't recognise her at first, and behaved with equal obsequiousness to both of them. A dawning recognition brought a frown to his face, but whatever he might have said was instantly repressed as he met the stern eye of Sister Anne. He and Janna both went along with the pretence that they'd had no previous dealings with each other, and so their transaction was conducted with courtesy on Fulk's part, and secret glee on Janna's.
Master Will waylaid them on their way back to the abbey. 'May I have a quick word with your young apprentice, Sister?' He addressed Sister Anne, who nodded and walked on. But Janna noted that the elderly nun kept close enough to overhear their conversation.
'Have you spoken to Sister Agnes?' he asked eagerly. Janna put a warning finger to her lips, and glanced at Sister Anne. 'Does she look favourably on me and on my request?' he asked, in a lower tone.
Janna was at a loss to reply. Yes, she looks favourably on you, but no, she won't think about marrying you, even though she wants to and it's tearing her heart out? It was the truth, but it offered no answer and no comfort to the bailiff.
'Yes, I have spoken to her.'
Master Will's eyes lit with hope. 'And?' he asked eagerly.
'She is afraid, Master Will, afraid to leave the abbey. You must give her time.' Janna hoped she wasn't raising his hopes unnecessarily.
'But I can't see her! I can't speak to her! How can I state my case, how can I woo her while she hides in the abbey?'
Janna shook her head. 'Have patience,' she urged. 'Perhaps if you seek her out at haymaking, or the next harvest . . .?' She hurried on to catch up with Sister Anne.
Together, they passed through the gate, which clanged shut behind them, closing out the world, closing them in. She wondered if Sister Anne would refer to the conversation she must have overheard, but the infirmarian said nothing, although she looked thoughtful when next she encountered Agnes.
They were working in the garden when Janna told Agnes of the meeting with Will. They were busy, for there was always much to do. Fruit and berries had been picked and laid up in store or preserved in syrup. With the weather growing ever more frosty, seeds had been collected and cuttings taken. It was time, now, to dig the ground over and make it ready for planting once spring warmed the earth once more.
Janna spoke low to Agnes so that others might not hear what she had to say. Agnes averted her face as she listened to Janna's account. 'It makes no matter what his wishes might be,' she said, although her voice trembled slightly, giving the lie to her words. 'I will not renounce my vows, I will not leave the abbey.'
Janna sat back on her heels. She wondered what she might say that would change Agnes's mind. She remembered something. She glanced around to check that no-one was watching, then raised the hem of her habit and groped underneath for her purse. 'Look what I found in the forest one day,' she said, and drew out the small statue of the mother and her child. She handed it to Agnes.
Agnes's expression softened as she cradled the figurine in the palm of her hand. 'She looks so loving,' she murmured, as she gently traced the mother's face with a grubby finger.
'You, too, could have a child of your own to love. And you told me yourself that the bailiff's youngest has need of a mother.'
'Don't talk nonsense!' Agnes thrust the figurine into Janna's hands. She jerked upright and stamped off to the kitchen garden.
'I saw you with those children at harvest,' Janna called after her retreating back. 'You have so much love to give, Agnes. Don't waste it!'
Agnes made no reply, but hurried on. Janna sighed, conscious that she'd done her best but that her best wasn't good enough. She picked up the sharp knife she'd brought with her, and set about pruning some fruit bushes, cutting their bare branches right back so that they looked like small brown skeletons. It calmed her to work in the garden. Being outdoors gave her an illusion of freedom, and she revelled in the hard labour that ensured she slept well at night. She felt as if she was part of the rhythm of nature, almost as if she was one of the shrubs she pruned. Their stark, bare branches looked dead, belying the promise of the life within that, come spring, would burst forth into exuberant growth once more. Like the shrubs, she, too, was biding her time. For Janna was resigned, now, to staying at the abbey through the winter. She knew she would perish if she left, if she tried to survive in the forest on her own.
The arrival of Odo's lord along with a handful of witnesses was the first sign that the abbess had convened a special court to bring Odo to trial for the death of Anselm. Odo was still held captive at the abbey; it was said that the abbess resented paying for his upkeep and wanted the matter dealt with as quickly as possible.
To Janna's dismay, these first visitors were quickly followed by another party: Dame Alice and her husband, Robert of Babestoche, along with Mus and several other villeins. None of them looked happy about being there. Her heart felt heavy, for she took no pleasure in seeing either Odo or Mus again, nor did she relish having to face them in court knowing that, even if she was allowed to speak, it would be her word against theirs. But her spirits lifted when Hugh and Godric arrived shortly afterwards, accompanied by Cecily. She would not be short of friends if it came to speaking out against the pair.
The cases against the accused were heard within the confines of the abbey itself, in the chapter house, which was more used to hearing the tittle-tattle of the abbey than the serious crimes which were now being aired. Mus was brought in first, attended by Robert of Babestoche along with those others from his manor who had come to testify on his behalf. Looking them over, Janna wondered how much money the witnesses had been paid to speak of the mouse's good character, for she had no doubt they had all been hand-picked with care by Robert and rewarded accordingly. She quaked as she met Robert's malevolent stare. It was her word against his and his men.
To Janna's surprise, the steward presided over the court; the abbess was nowhere to be seen. A roomful of men would not, perhaps, be sympathetic to a woman's plight – particularly when they heard how Janna had managed to defend her honour! She needed a woman to speak up for her, someone highborn, whose opinion would be listened to and respected. Someone like Dame Alice. But the dame sat quietly on her own at one side of the chamber, looking as if she wanted no part in the proceedings. Nevertheless, Janna comforted herself that the lady was present, and would hear what Janna had to say. After all, she had right on her side. Although she was bound by Cecily's secret, surely Mus's actions must count against him.
Janna's spirits rose slightly as she noticed Will, the bailiff. She recognised several of the people with him, and realised they too would be called on to bear witness as to what had happened on that day. The bailiff knew the truth of the matter, and so did they. They would corroborate what she said, while the bailiff could also give evidence of his own: finding the noose in Mus's scrip, the noose meant for her own neck.
Casting her glance further, Janna saw Hugh and Godric in the crowd. Cecily was with them. She looked serene, even happy. Janna was glad that the tiring woman seemed to be over her disastrous relationship with Robert. They were looking her way, and she raised her hand to them and smiled, pretending a confidence she could not feel. Her heart hammered painfully; her breath came short. She longed for the ordeal to be over.
Although Robert and his villeins spoke in glowing terms of Mus's character, to Janna's great relief Mus's appeal met with little sympathy from the steward. Then it was Janna's turn to bear witness. She defended her honour with vigour, backed by the word of the bailiff and his men, who produced damning evidence that Mus had asked after 'the new sister called Johanna' as soon as he arrived, even before he'd met her out in the fields. Several pairs of sharp eyes had noticed how quickly he'd taken up position beside her while they were working, and Will's description of the noose found in his scrip set the final seal on his guilt.
Janna stole a glance at Dame Alice. She was sitting back, looking thoughtful. The abbess had come in, and had taken a seat beside the dame, both of them onlookers of the unfolding drama. But when Robert offered to pay amercement for Mus's release, Dame Alice spoke up at last.
'I will not have that man in my employ,' she said firmly, 'and I will not have him set free to prey on this unfortunate young woman or, indeed, on any other. Take him to the castle at Sarisberie. He can stay in the dungeon until such time as he ceases to be a menace to our community.' From the dame's tone, it was clear that she believed that time would come only when Mus was dead. Janna was jubilant, until it occurred to her that Robert might well find some way to pay the money for Mus's release without Dame Alice being aware of it. She sneaked a glance at him, and reminded herself to stay on her guard, just in case. Her fear increased for, as Mus was dragged out of the chapter house by the guards, he spoke to her.