Stolen Child: The Janna Chronicles 2 Page 10

  Janna had met one of Bertha’s sisters when she’d taken medicaments to cure her of the pox. Now she looked with interest at the rest of Bertha’s family.

  “Bertha’s little sister wants to meet you, John,” Edwin told her, with a sly smile. “She thinks you’re very handsome. Perhaps you might like to dance with her later?”

  Janna choked on a piece of fish, and began to cough. Edwin thumped her on the back. Scarlet in the face, she took some ale. “Fish bone,” she spluttered, by way of explanation.

  Bertha smiled in ready sympathy. “I had an uncle who choked to death on a fish bone,” she said, and embarked on a long story, giving Janna a chance to recover her equilibrium.

  Only when every last morsel was eaten were the tables cleared and stacked, and benches placed along the sides of the hall. Now I can leave, Janna thought, but Hugh still stayed seated at the high table, gazing serenely at the scene in front of him. Gytha leaned over him to pour wine into his goblet, her arm against his, her breast almost brushing his cheek. Janna clenched her hands and turned away, knowing she was trapped for the while. Several villeins stood together at one side. Janna recognized the shepherd with his pipe, then noticed that the others also carried musical instruments. Occasionally she’d heard someone playing a tune in the marketplace; sometimes people sang words to the music, or even danced around. Janna hadn’t paid them much mind. Music had never been part of her life, so she could hardly contain a gasp of surprised pleasure now as, with one accord, the musicians turned to the eager crowd gathering around them and began to play a carol. The shepherd held his pipe to his mouth and blew through the holes in it, dancing his fingers up and down to produce the sounds. Another villein struck a small drum, setting up a rhythm for the dancers who were now swirling around in pairs, stamping in time to the beat and shrieking with delight. The third member of the party held a wooden bowl with a long neck along which several strings were tied. His fingers plucked and stroked the strings so that his sounds and the sounds from the pipe spoke to each other, sometimes blending together and sometimes taking turns to create different sounds altogether. Janna listened, enchanted, while her feet tapped in time to the rhythm.

  “John? I would have a word with you.”

  Hugh’s voice dragged Janna from her reverie. She gave a start of surprise, and looked anxiously for Edwin and Bertha to save her, but they had joined the throng of dancers and she sat alone. She leaped to her feet and bobbed her head.

  “Sire,” she murmured, remembering to keep her voice deep. She did not dare look at Hugh. Instead, she moved closer to a shadowy recess where the light from the candles scarcely reached.

  “I believe I have you to thank for ministering to my workers when they were ill with the pox. I am grateful to you. Serlo tells me we would have been even further delayed but for your cures.” He was addressing her in the Saxon language. Although Janna was sorely tempted to prove that she was something better than a lowly serf, she knew it would be folly to answer him in the Norman French in which they had conversed before. She hoped that speaking Saxon to him now might further disguise her true identity. Hugh seized her hand. Something round and cold was pressed into it. Janna looked to see what he had given her. A dull glint told her what it was: a silver penny.

  She thrust it into her purse. “I thank you, sire,” she stammered, glancing quickly at him before looking away again.

  “I have a horse gone lame—a nail awry in a loose shoe. Will you see if you can do aught to help my steed? Arrow is in pain, and I fear he may become crippled if the wound festers.”

  “Yes, my lord. Of course I’ll do all I can.” Janna’s heart lurched at the thought of ministering to Hugh’s destrier under his watchful gaze. She kept her head bent.

  “Come to the stables tomorrow, after you have broken your fast. I’ll wait for you there.”

  Janna nodded. “My lord,” she whispered, wishing that he would go and leave her alone yet wanting him to stay, wanting to prolong this moment alone with him.

  “You have no need to fear me, John.” Hugh’s voice was kindly. But his next action filled her with alarm. He reached out and tilted up her chin so that she had no choice but to look full at him. “I thought so,” he murmured, peering more closely at her in the shadowy darkness. “You remind me of a young healer I once knew. Her name was Johanna. Do you know of her, John? Was she perhaps a sister, or a cousin to you?”

  “No! No, sire. My brother and I come from Wales.” Janna’s voice shook as she told the lie. She longed to confess to Hugh, and also to ask if he had kept his promise to her, but she dared not. “We have no living kin here in England that we know of for certain,” she said, in case he still harbored any suspicions.

  “You look so like her,” Hugh mused, adding as if to himself, “but Johanna is dead.”

  And are you sorry? Janna pressed her lips firmly together so that she could not ask the question, although she burned to know the answer. It was some comfort that Hugh remembered her; she took additional comfort from the regret in his voice when he said, “Johanna had a great gift for healing, and so did her mother. They are greatly missed at the manor of Babestoche, as well as in the neighboring hamlets, for there is no-one now to physick the sick and help the dying.”

  “Surely there is a midwife in the village with some healing knowledge, my lord?” Janna knew he was mistaken about the villagers’ regret, but she was curious to learn what had become of Mistress Aldith, one of the few of her mother’s acquaintances who had shown her any kindness.

  Hugh shrugged. “Her business is to birth babies, but my aunt has little faith in her ability, that I know.” His eyes narrowed as he inspected Janna. “Where did you learn your healing ways?”

  “From…from my mother, sire.” Janna knew she must stick to her story. Others had heard it, and could repeat it to Hugh if he asked. It would increase his suspicion if she told him something different now. “She was Saxon born, but when she wed my father she went to live with him in Wales. He died when we were still quite young, but my father had a cot and enough land to keep us so my mother stayed on, for she believed her own family were either dead or had moved and she knew not where to find them.”

  “I thought Serlo told me your mother worked in an alehouse?”

  “So she did, sire, for she had us to help her about our home and in the fields,” Janna improvised rapidly. “As soon as he was old enough, my brother tended the fields, planted crops, and looked after our sheep and goats. I helped by growing vegetables for the pot, and herbs for my mother’s medicaments. My mother was settled in Wales. It was her home. And ours, until she died.” Janna knew she was gabbling, but hoped that the wealth of detail might serve to convince Hugh. She hated lying to him, hated it, but their safety depended on her lies.

  “Why, then, did you leave Wales?”

  Janna gulped. “I…er…my oldest brother has wed. He has taken the land and the cot for his own, so Edwin and I decided to seek a living in Winchestre and, perhaps, find out if any of our kin are still alive. We are free born, sire,” she added for good measure.

  “This isn’t Winchestre,” Hugh commented dryly.

  “No. No, my lord, it isn’t. But we have no money of our own so we are forced to find food and shelter along our way, which we repay with our labor.”

  “Then I wish you both good fortune.” Hugh paused a moment. “I’ve watched you and your brother. You are both hard workers, while your skill as a healer is also welcome here. You may stay here as long as you desire.”

  “Th-thank you, sire.” Janna stepped away from Hugh and bowed her head, desperate for him to leave. To be so close and not tell him the truth was torture to her. When she looked up again, he had returned to his place at the table but he watched her still, his face screwed up into a thoughtful frown. Knowing she must act, and quickly, Janna turned to a young girl standing nearby. She was Bertha’s young sister and she was looking at Janna with a hopeful expression on her face. Without giving herself time to think, Jann
a grabbed the girl’s hand and led her into the throng of laughing, dancing villeins.

  Just as she had no notion of music, so Janna didn’t know how to dance either. It didn’t seem to matter among all the noise and confusion, but still she tried to imitate the actions of those around her, clapping her hands and stamping her feet in time to the beat. When the villeins linked arms or whirled their partners around by the waist, so did Janna, and when they formed into a long line and danced around the high table, Janna joined them along with Bertha’s sister. She hoped Hugh was still watching and that he was satisfied she was who she claimed to be. But in truth, she thought, as she stole a quick glance at him, it was Gytha who had his attention now, for she held a plate of sweetmeats before him, tempting him both with the delicacies and with her eyes.

  Janna looked quickly away and concentrated on following the pattern of the dancers. She was just beginning to enjoy herself when a loud cry sounded above the music.

  “Fire!”

  At once there was pandemonium. Some began to scream, some froze to the spot with terror, while others pushed past and over them in a desperate effort to get through the door and down the stairs to safety. It took some time for the hall to clear and everyone to see that the danger lay not in the manor house but outside in the fields.

  One of the haystacks was alight. They could see the glow above the palisade of sharpened stakes that fenced the manor house and yard. Cold dread gripped Janna as she listened to new cries of alarm. If the fire moved on and destroyed the other haystacks, the winter fodder would be burned and the animals would starve. Yet everyone milled around, waiting to be told what to do until Hugh shouted out above the hubbub: “Follow me to the stream!” He raced ahead through the gate, and all fell into line behind him.

  Janna saw that he had already left instructions with Serlo for he, with a group of his own, ran to the shed where all the farming implements were housed. Undecided how best to help, Janna followed the crowd through the gate and up into the field, then stopped to watch. In the light from the flames, she saw that Hugh was now dividing the villeins into two groups, sending some to the small stream that ran down into the river, and beckoning others to follow him to the flaming haystack. As Serlo and his helpers raced to the stream with leather buckets from the shed, the villeins formed into a long line, making a chain that led from stream to haystack. At once they began to fill the buckets and pass them from hand to hand up the line. Serlo stayed by the stream to keep the buckets moving, while Hugh took up station beside the haystack to direct the flow of water to where the flames were fiercest.

  Once the contents were thrown, the buckets were thrust at a knot of children waiting nearby. They took turns to race back with the empty buckets to the stream to be refilled. Janna noticed Urk among them, carrying two buckets at a time and racing faster than anyone. Had he been in the hall with everyone else before the haystack caught alight? She couldn’t be sure. All her attention had been on Hugh, and then on her dancing partner as she tried to convince Hugh that she was a youth. It was certain that Urk was on the spot now, and doing all he could to help put out the fire—but had he set it in the first place? It seemed unlikely when he was making such an effort to help now. Or was this part of his repentance for his act?

  Janna looked about. Was anyone missing? Who else might have fired the haystack? She had little doubt that this was no accident, but she feared that Urk would be blamed for it. After all, he’d set fire to hay once before. Serlo would certainly believe he was capable of doing it again.

  She stepped closer to scrutinize the chain more carefully. Hugh was beside the burning haystack, his face illuminated in the blaze as he directed the villeins to throw the water where it would be most effective. Serlo was still down beside the stream, keeping a watchful eye on the buckets moving up the chain, and also on the children to make sure they ran back to the haystack once they’d handed over the empty buckets to be filled. There was order amid the panic, for everyone knew how vital it was to keep the fire from spreading. Janna’s glance narrowed as she tallied off the line of peasants laboring to pass along the heavy buckets without spilling their precious contents. There was no sign of Edwin. Where was he? She was filled with dread as she moved along the line to search for him.

  “You! John! Get down to the stream and help fill those buckets!” Serlo had seen her. Janna knew that to disobey him would invite his wrath as well as his suspicion. She hastened to do as she was told. There was barely enough light from the flickering flames to make out the identity of her companions. But Edwin was not among them, she was sure of it.

  She bent to her task, grabbing buckets from the children, sweeping them through the water to fill them, then heaving them up and into a pair of waiting arms. It was back-breaking work, but Janna had been toughened by her weeks in the fields and she knew she felt the strain less than the women who worked beside her. But they carried on without complaint, desperate to save the fodder that would keep their animals alive through winter, with meat on the table for themselves and their families.

  “Give me a bucket.” She heard Edwin’s voice beside her, and turned to him with a mixture of relief and fury.

  “Where have you been?” she hissed. He hung his head. She thought he looked guilty, and feared the worst. “What’s going on?” She grabbed his shoulder and shook him hard. “Did you set fire to the haystack?”

  “Of course not.” He pulled away from her and leaned over to fill a bucket. “I came to help as soon as I realized what was happening.”

  “I just hope no-one else noticed your absence! Don’t you see, Edwin, we are the last to come here so we must be the first they will blame when they understand that these are not accidents but deliberate attempts to harm the manor and those who live here.”

  “Don’t be silly! This was an accident, surely.” Edwin handed over a brimming bucket and grabbed another from a waiting child.

  “How could it be an accident? Why would a haystack suddenly catch fire in the middle of the night?”

  “Sometimes they overheat, especially if the grass is still green. It happens.”

  It was true. Janna hadn’t thought of that, but in her heart she was sure it hadn’t happened that way. “What about the dead lamb?” she asked. “That wasn’t an accident.”

  “A fox? A wolf?”

  Janna shook her head. “A wild animal would have eaten the lamb, not killed it and left it for someone to find. Besides, its wounds were made by a knife, not teeth.”

  “Yes, ’tis true.” Edwin’s forehead knitted into a frown.

  “And the cows that got out and the fox that got in? And the lord’s lame horse? Do you really think all those things were accidents?”

  “What happened to the horse?” Conscious that Serlo was keeping an eye on the water chain, Edwin hastily dipped his bucket into the stream. His frown deepened as Janna told him what she’d seen and found at the stable.

  “These things have all happened since the lord returned to the manor,” he interrupted her recital. “It seems he’s not as good at managing the farm as his reeve.”

  So Mistress Tova was still spreading her poison. This time Janna was determined to defend Hugh. “That’s not true. You can’t blame my lord for any of this.”

  “I’m only saying what everyone else says.”

  Janna shook her head. “These are not accidents, they’re deliberate actions by someone wanting to cause harm.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because of the posies of rue left behind at the scene.”

  “Rue?”

  “For regret. And for repentance. That’s what the old ones say, anyway. I wondered at first if the rogue felt regret for his actions after he’d done the deeds, but now I’m not so sure.” Without meaning to, Janna looked for and found Urk. He was coming their way, an empty bucket dangling from each fist. In spite of the gravity of the situation, his face creased into its customary cheerful smile as he thrust the buckets at Janna and Edwin.

>   “He looks happy enough. Maybe it’s him,” Edwin commented.

  “No, it isn’t.” But Janna wasn’t as sure as she sounded. She decided it was time to voice her concerns. “Actually, I wondered if it might be you.”

  “Me?” Edwin looked astonished. “Why in God’s true name would I do something like this?” He gestured toward the haystack. “What have I got to gain by it? Truly, John, I think your wits have been addled by the ale you’ve drunk tonight!”

  “Where were you when the fire started, can you tell me that?”

  Edwin shook his head, and did not answer. He bent to fill another bucket and passed it along the line.

  “Tell me!” Janna insisted.

  “I swear by a snake’s tits this is nothing to do with me,” he said, and grabbed another empty bucket.

  Wishing she knew who or what to believe, Janna turned away. She glanced up at the haystack, aware that the flames were dying at last. Smoke and the stink of wet, burnt hay tainted the air, but it seemed the remaining haystacks had escaped the fire. Janna stood up and stretched, easing her cramped, sore muscles. “If you won’t tell me your secrets, then I shall just have to go on suspecting the worst,” she said.

  Chapter 7

  Worry kept Janna wakeful and restless through the night. Her eyes felt puffy and pricked with tiredness when she finally rolled off her pallet and prepared herself to face Hugh. She longed for a wash, for her monthly courses had begun. She’d managed to scavenge some rags to use, but maintaining her disguise was proving difficult. Although she could wash out the rags, there was no privacy to wash herself and preserve her modesty along with her true identity unless she left the manor farm—and that she couldn’t do, not without Serlo’s permission. Nor could she sneak out at night and plunge into the river, for if anyone saw her undressed they would find out the truth. So she sighed, and wet her fingers and tried to smooth the singed stubble that covered her head, which was all she could do to make herself presentable. With a catch of alarm, she realized that her hair was growing long again. She patted the knife in its sheath. She must ask Edwin to cut her hair this very night.