Stolen Child: The Janna Chronicles 2 Read online

  “I’m behind with everything here because of this cursed pox. The sheep are still to be washed and shorn and the hay to be cut, just as soon as we get some sunshine. There are new ditches to dig, and hedges to repair around the growing crops. But you can begin by weeding the wheat, breaking up clods, and picking large flints from the fallow fields, clearing them of anything that might get in the way of the plow. You will also spread them with the sheep’s dung to make next season’s crops grow better. I shall arrange for you to sleep with the servants in the hall, and break your fast with them. Mistress Tova, the cook, will give you food and ale to take out into the fields for your dinner and supper. I don’t want to see you back at the manor until it’s dark. Understand that I’ll be keeping an eye on you and how hard you are working, for I am out every day keeping watch over everything in my lord’s absence.”

  Janna groaned inwardly. With the sun rising early, and the summer light fading ever later from the sky, it made for a long day’s labor. But at least they’d be meeting new people, any of whom might know the way to Winchestre. Besides, their service here could not last forever; sooner or later they would be given permission to leave. The thought cheered her somewhat.

  Edwin gave her a hard nudge. “What?” she asked, startled out of her reverie. He began to walk with exaggerated strides, swinging his arms manfully by his side. Puzzled, Janna stared at him, then became aware that Serlo was watching them both and frowning. Suddenly catching on, she squared her shoulders and lengthened her stride. “He’s only young,” Edwin called, as he drew nearer to Serlo, “but he’s strong.” He jerked a thumb toward Janna. “He’s a good worker, you’ll see.”

  Another grunt met this observation, but Serlo finally turned and set his horse for home. Edwin flashed a grin at Janna and she pulled a rueful face at him. It was so easy to forget her new disguise. So easy, and so dangerous.

  Chapter 4

  After a few days out in the fields, Janna ached all over. Her fingers were torn and bruised from picking up sharp flints and uprooting thistles, while her back felt bent out of shape from bending over to beat out hard clods of earth with the heavy mallet. The stink of sheep dung permeated everything. Although she’d washed her hands and feet in the river before coming in for the night, she could still smell it. She stretched out on her straw pallet, trying to find ease for her tired body and her unquiet mind. To stop herself from recalling her past life with her mother in their small cot at the edge of Gravelinges forest, which always brought with it a slow burn of anger coupled with tears, she thought instead about Urk and what had happened that day while she was out culling weeds.

  Urk was by far the oldest of the group of children who had been sent into the fields to scare away the crows, rooks and other scavengers that swooped down to eat the ripening wheat. The youngest of them, aged three or four, banged drums and shouted. Older children carried slingshots, and it was a matter of competition and pride between them who could fell the most birds. Behind the children came Urk’s mother, cutting weeds and keeping an eye on the youngsters to remind them of their purpose should their natural high spirits lead them astray.

  Urk was tall and heavyset, and slow by nature. He reminded Janna of a scruffy hen she’d owned, called Laet because it was always last to get to the feed. The hen would not have thrived without her special care. She suspected that Urk’s mother might also need to give her oldest son special attention. Yet he was a merry lad, with a sweet smile and a willing nature. He was also the most accurate of them all when it came to using the slingshot. This day he’d had the misfortune to bring down a dove in front of Serlo, and had his ears severely boxed as a result. Janna cringed as she remembered how Mistress Wulfrun had pleaded on her son’s behalf.

  “Please don’t punish him, Master Serlo. He really doesn’t understand what he’s done wrong.”

  “It was eating the wheat, Master Serlo,” Urk chimed in. “You told us to kill all the birds who eat the grain.”

  Serlo glowered at the unfortunate boy, then gave him another clip across the ear. “Doves are for my lord’s sport, not yours,” he shouted, as if the boy was deaf rather than slow. “Don’t you dare kill another dove. Don’t ever touch them again, or I’ll take your slingshot from you and you’ll never get it back!”

  Urk’s lip quivered; he looked on the verge of tears.

  “And no more playing with fire either!” Serlo turned on his heel and marched off.

  Mistress Wulfrun placed her arm around her son and gave him a hug. “Don’t take it to heart,” she comforted him. “Master Serlo doesn’t mean it.”

  Feeling sorry for the boy, Janna had bent once more to her task. Mistress Wulfrun moved to work beside her, with Urk a pace behind. “Master Serlo is usually more patient with him,” the woman confided, as she stooped to cut weeds. She glanced at Urk. “And you don’t play with fire, do you, son?”

  “No.” Urk stood still, watching them. Janna wondered if he was too afraid now to use his slingshot.

  “He sometimes wakes up and goes outside,” Mistress Wulfrun explained further. “We stop him if we can, but on this occasion no-one heard him leave. He said he wanted to look around the manor in the moonlight, while everyone was asleep. He was quite young at the time, but still he had the good sense to take a rush light so he could see his way. But when he tried to explore the byre, a cow mooed and frightened him. He dropped the light into a pile of hay, and the byre caught on fire. He didn’t do it on purpose—and there was no harm to the animals,” she added quickly, forestalling Janna’s question. “But my son got such a fright he started screaming. Everyone came running. The animals were led to safety, but the byre burned to the ground.” She looked at Urk, concern scoring deep lines across her pleasant, homely face. “Of course, he shouldn’t have gone near the manor, but my lord was very good about it, very understanding. Only Serlo was angry, I suppose because he feels responsible for whatever happens here. He is usually fair in his dealings with us, but it seems he has neither forgotten the fire nor forgiven my boy.” She looked up at Janna. “I can’t be with him all the time. Will you also keep watch over him out in the fields, John, when I’m not here?”

  “Of course I will, mistress.” Janna didn’t know what else to say to comfort the woman or her son, but she wished now that she’d thought of something, anything, to ease the situation, to make Urk feel better about himself, and his mother less worried about him.

  She yawned, and shifted on the straw pallet, trying to compose herself for sleep, but her bed was prickly and her whole body ached. Contributing to her unease was the crowded hall she shared with all the servants of the manor, most of them men and boys. Edwin had set their pallets in a corner, away from the crowd around the fireplace. He’d put Janna next to the wall, keeping himself between her and the others. She was grateful for his protection, but even so she lay awake, unaccustomed to the night noises, the sighs and murmurs, the cries of nightmares, and the odors of farts and sweaty clothes and dirty feet.

  When at last she fell asleep, her dreams were full of endless fields waiting for her attention. She stooped over them, with the smell of animal excrement in her nose and the knowledge that her tasks would never be done. And so it seemed still when she woke to yet another gray dawn and a new day before her, and one after that, and then another and another. She groaned softly. Hot tears stung her eyes.

  Edwin stirred beside her. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” Janna was conscious of the servants nearby, any one of whom might be wide enough awake to carry the tale to Serlo if she confessed to Edwin how sad and desperate she felt. She wiped her eyes on the back of her sleeve, and tried not to sniffle.

  Edwin seemed to understand. “My body is one big ache, and my arms feel like they’re on fire,” he muttered, as he stood up and squared his shoulders to face the day.

  “At least our bellies will soon be full!” Janna felt a little more cheerful as she stored her straw pallet in an alcove off the hall. She looked around, but there
was no sign of the bread and ale with which they normally broke their fast. The table stood bare, and Janna’s stomach rumbled with hunger. Beckoning Edwin to follow her, she hurried down the stairs to a stone building nearby. There might be other pickings waiting for them in the kitchen, a scrap of bacon perhaps, or even a pasty. Saliva flooded Janna’s mouth at the thought, and her steps quickened.

  She loved going into the kitchen every morning to fetch the dinner they would eat later, out in the fields. It was a source of wonder to her that anywhere could hold such an abundance of food. She took a deep sniff, anticipating the delicious smells of meat roasting on a spit over the fire, newly baked bread, the rich aromas of a bubbling pottage, the spicy fragrance of herbs. Instead, she smelt a sharp and acrid stink. A young maid stood at the large table in the center of the room, chopping onions and weeping over her task.

  Janna sniffed again and realized that it wasn’t onions she could smell, but smoke and burnt offerings. Bewildered, she looked around for the cook, but there was no sign of Mistress Tova, only Serlo and the kitchen servants. Hands on hips and face red with anger, Serlo was berating one of the skivvies. Feeling sorry for the boy, yet reluctant to attract the reeve’s attention, Janna stopped abruptly.

  Edwin crashed into her. “What are you…?” His words died on his lips as he took in the situation. But it was too late. Serlo had seen them.

  “The cook has gone and got the pox now. She’s all over spots,” he said, by way of explanation. “And no-one seems to know anything about baking bread.” He flung out a hand toward some flat, blackened rounds that must once have been small loaves.

  “I can bake griddle cakes, Master Serlo,” Janna said quickly, hoping to keep the young boy out of trouble, and themselves too. She noticed the flare of surprise in his eyes as he turned to her, and realized, with a sinking heart, that she’d have done better to hold her tongue. “My—our mother taught me how,” she added, sneaking an anxious glance at Edwin as she did so.

  “Hmph,” Serlo grunted. He cast a glance around the kitchen, at the silent kitchen hands and lowly skivvies huddled near the door, waiting only a chance to disappear from his sight. His glance settled on a young woman, and he reddened slightly. “Hasn’t your mother taught you how to cook, Gytha?” he demanded, in a softer tone than he’d used with the boy.

  “No, Master Serlo, she has not.” The girl tossed her long dark ringlets. Janna waited for an explanation or an excuse for her lack of skill, but none came.

  Curious, and rather impressed by Gytha’s impertinence, for Janna judged the girl even younger than herself, she leaned slightly to one side for a better view. Gytha was beautiful, she decided with a pang of envy and of pain, as she recalled her own lost locks and her rough disguise. Evidently Gytha was the cook’s daughter, yet Janna hadn’t seen her in the kitchen before. Now she faced Serlo with pride, secure in her own beauty and a position that seemed equal to his own.

  He’s smitten with her, and she knows it! Janna hid a smile. But Serlo was well in command of his emotions when he turned his hard gaze back on Janna.

  “Make some griddle cakes then, John, quick as you can. There’s much work to be done today.” With a last suspicious glance at her, he hurried out.

  “I’ll help you.” The beauty moved toward Janna with a friendly smile. “I wouldn’t admit it to him,” she jerked her head in the direction of the disappearing reeve, “but my father taught my mother the arts of the kitchen while he was alive, so she was able to keep his position here after he died. In turn, she has taught me all she knows. I can cook, and cook well, but I will not be a skivvy to the likes of Serlo. I have set my sights much higher than the reeve.” A dreamy smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

  “You plan to cook for the lord of the manor when he returns?”

  “No, indeed. I shall do more, much more, for my lord than cook for him.”

  What did Gytha mean? Janna’s insatiable curiosity prompted her to probe further. “Are you the lord’s mistress then?”

  “Certainly not!”

  “I beg your pardon,” Janna apologized hastily. “I meant to ask if you were betrothed to him?”

  “Not yet.” A calculating expression briefly marred the young woman’s beauty. “But it’s only a matter of time before he sees that our destiny lies together.” Head tilted to one side, she studied Janna. “You’re new here, aren’t you, John?”

  “Yes, mistress.” Janna answered without thinking. “Yes,” she said again on a deeper note.

  “My name’s Gytha.” She took Janna’s hand. “Come on, I’ll show you where everything is kept. It’ll be a blessing if you can look after the kitchen while my mother is ill. Not for anything will I have Serlo tramping around after me, breathing down my neck and telling me what to do.”

  Yet you have no hesitation in shifting the burden onto my shoulders, Janna thought. With a wry smile, she acknowledged that she would far rather slave in the kitchen all day than break her back out in the fields. She rinsed her hands, and began to rub fat into the flour, noticing how fine and white it was compared to the gritty brown flour that was all she and her mother had been able to afford. She poured some goat’s milk into the mixture. Edwin sidled over, edging closer to Gytha, looking hopeful. Gytha fluttered her eyelashes and gave him a demure smile.

  “This is my older brother, Edwin,” Janna said, amused. Gytha might have designs on the lord of the manor, but it seemed she also enjoyed flirting with any other marriageable prospects. “What ails your mother and the villeins, mistress?” she asked, thinking it was possible she might know of a preparation that could help them to heal.

  “They burn with fever and they’re covered in itchy spots. They are too sick to leave their beds.” Gytha looked genuinely concerned now, and Janna could understand why. She’d seen the ravages of this disease before, how it could scar skin and destroy hearing and sight, and even kill. No wonder Gytha looked frightened. Her ambitions for her future were dependent on her youthful beauty.

  “You must stay away from your mother if you can. I hope it’s not too late,” Janna advised. “Once one gets the disease, it’s likely everyone else around will get it too.” She hung a flat tray over the kitchen fire and waited for it to heat.

  Gytha whisked into a larder and came out with several eggs cupped in her hands. “Put some eggs with that.”

  Trying not to look too impressed by such riches, Janna cracked them open and spilled the contents into the bowl. Once the eggs were beaten into the milk and flour, she ladled the mixture in small dollops onto the hot tray.

  “My mother looks so ill. She burns with fever, while the spots plague her and she can’t stop scratching them. Now they ooze yellow matter and look even worse,” Gytha confided. She seemed genuinely concerned. “I bathe her with cool water, but it doesn’t seem to help.”

  Janna thought of the potions she had made up for her mother when a similar disease had struck down a number of villeins in a hamlet near their own. “If you wish, I can brew a decoction for the fever and make up a lotion to soothe and heal the spots,” she promised. “But you must help me first,” she added quickly. “These cakes are almost ready. Could you please fetch the ale and take it up to the hall?”

  “And what would a youth like you know about fevers and lotions?” Serlo’s voice made Janna jump. She hadn’t heard him return.

  “Our mother was a—a wortwyf, a healer,” she stammered, thinking it safest to keep as close as possible to the truth. “But she also worked in an alehouse,” she added hurriedly, as she recalled what she’d first told Serlo.

  “She was renowned as a healer, Master Serlo,” Edwin cut in swiftly. “People came from all over to see her when they had a pain or a disease.” Edwin spoke the truth—even if he couldn’t possibly have known it, Janna thought sadly.

  “Then let your brother do the cooking, and you can see about making my villeins well again,” Serlo told him. “The sooner they are able to go about their tasks, the sooner you can both leave th
e manor farm.”

  “I… have not my brother’s talent for healing,” Edwin stuttered. “I can’t cook neither.” He brightened as he thought how best to embroider the tale. “In fact, our mother always said that young John here was by far the more skilled when it came to indoor work such as this. I am more use out in the fields.” He raised an arm and flexed the muscles to make his point.

  “Then you can work alone in the fields today. Your brother will stay here and brew his concoctions—and also make sure that my people are fed.” Serlo gave them a curt nod, and stepped back to watch their final preparations. Even though most of his attention was reserved for Gytha, Janna could understand how the proud beauty sought to avoid him. Such close proximity to Serlo was making her nervous, and that in turn made her clumsy. She stifled a cry as her wet, greasy fingers slid off a bowl and it crashed into pieces on the floor. Scarlet with shame, she kept her head bent as Serlo berated her for her carelessness. Her gratitude toward the reeve was waning; she was beginning to wonder if they might even have been wiser to take their chances and keep running from the forester.

  Once they’d all broken their fast, the men left to go about their work while Gytha returned to the kitchen to supervise the servants over preparations for their dinner at midday. Janna made her excuses, and escaped out to the kitchen garden to seek the herbs she needed to bring relief to the cook and the manor’s villeins. She was pleased to recognize several familiar plants from her own garden. She plucked feverfew, intending to add it to a syrup with mint and valerian; it would help to dull pain and cool the fever. She continued to browse among the herbs, searching for marigold, septfoil, elecampane or mallow. All or any of them could be useful in a lotion to soothe the itchy spots and help them to heal.