Janna Mysteries 1 & 2 Bindup Page 9

  Nothing took away from the fact that her mother had been poisoned, though, and not by anything unfamiliar either. Monkshood. Why had her mother not recognised its taste after the first mouthful, and taken steps to protect herself?

  Janna poured herself a beaker of ale while she pondered the problem. She remembered the ale she’d supped at the alehouse, how unfamiliar it had tasted. What if it had contained poison? Ignorant of how real ale should taste, she might well have drunk it all, and died as a result. Was that what had happened to her mother? Janna sniffed the ale, then took a cautious sip. It smelled the same, and tasted as it always did. Thoughtfully, she drank it down. Feeling somewhat more composed, she pulled her kirtle on over her shift, raked her fingers through her long hair to tidy it, then walked to the door and opened it.

  ‘Alfred!’ she called, expecting to find the cat waiting for her, miaowing and hungry. There was no sign of him, so Janna stepped outside to look around. ‘Alfred!’ she bellowed, startling a woodlark. Its sweet trilling ended abruptly, replaced by a fluttering of wings as it flew off.

  A glimpse of something hanging from a tree in the distance caught her eye. The dark formless shape shifted and changed as she watched. For a moment she stared at the object, not fully comprehending what she was seeing. As her brain caught up with her vision, she let out a long, ragged cry and began to run.

  Alfred was tied to the tree, his limbs stiff and his fur stained with blood. A swarm of flies buzzed around him, grouping and regrouping as they searched for wounds to feed on. Janna tried to brush them away so that she could find out how he had died. A cord had been looped around the tree trunk several times so that the cat was stretched out as if crucified. His throat had been cut. He must have died sometime during the night.

  Janna began to shiver. Her teeth chattered as she forced herself to touch her pet. Alfred’s fur was matted and sticky. She’d disturbed the flies; they buzzed around her in a thick black cloud and then settled once more on the cat’s body. Looking down, Janna saw that she’d stepped into a puddle of blood that lay directly beneath the dead animal. Her thoughts splintered into fragments of grief as she tried to come to grips with her pet’s fate.

  It seemed clear that he had been killed right here, next to the tree, and then strung up straight away. She looked at the smudged footprints around the dark red puddle congealing underneath the cat’s body. Her own, or did some of them belong to whoever was responsible for Alfred’s death? Janna examined them carefully; the prints of her own small boots were superimposed on other, larger prints. Whose? Large or small, the prints were now so muddled it was impossible to tell. Head bent, Janna traversed the ground nearby, but grass, leaves and weeds all seemed undisturbed. The earth near their cottage bore faint marks of boots: hers and her mother’s, and their visitors: the groom from Babestoche Manor, Fulk and Godric. And here, staining a patch of leaves, was another splatter of dark red blood. She looked across to where she’d found the cat, some twenty paces away. Had the killer first cut Alfred’s throat, and then looked for a tree from which to hang the dead body so that it would be the first thing Janna saw when she walked out of the cottage? Suddenly anxious, Janna swung around to scan the forest in case the killer was still lurking somewhere nearby. But she could hear only the churring of turtle doves as they puffed themselves up in the warmth of the sun.

  Dry-mouthed, trying not to panic, Janna hurried back to Alfred and began to wrestle with the tight knot around his neck. As she tugged and pulled at it, tears began to run down her face. She was crying for the kitten with the will to live, who had struggled so hard to survive. The cat would have had no chance against a man with a knife in his hand, and hatred in his heart. Who could have done such a thing? Who could have anything to gain from Alfred’s death?

  Godric! The thought was sudden and shocking, and Janna immediately tried to push it out of her mind. It would not go away. Yet she couldn’t believe it, didn’t want to believe it. Could he betray her like this? Surely it wasn’t possible!

  The evidence hung before her, grisly and gory and only too real. Who else could have done such a thing, if not Godric? He had visited her in the night, had held her tight and offered help and comfort. And instead of being grateful, she’d flung his kindness back in his face and made it quite clear that she wouldn’t consider him as a husband. Had he taken out his anger on Alfred?

  Janna remembered how he’d nudged the animal aside with his boot, and how he’d slit the boar’s throat without even blinking. Perhaps, like the villagers, he believed Alfred was the devil and that it would be right to kill him. Tears almost blinded Janna as she tugged and pulled at the knots binding her cat, but a new thought filled her with a scalding anger. With such an act, did Godric think to frighten her out of the cottage and into his arms? She would rather scratch out his eyes! How could Godric have done such a thing to a defenceless animal? She would never forgive him, never!

  Unable to vent her anger on Godric, she fought with the knot instead, until finally she managed to untie Alfred and bring him down from the tree. She laid the body carefully on the ground then went off to fetch a spade to dig a grave.

  Should she save the body as evidence, in case she could call down justice on Godric’s head? She paused, resting on the spade while she thought about it. To whom could she report this crime? Godric’s liege lord would not punish him for the killing, not if it came to his word against her own. The villagers certainly wouldn’t support her. She was an outcast, and they thought the cat was the devil. It seemed to Janna that if she wanted justice, both for the death of her mother and for Alfred, she would have to find it in her own way.

  Starting with Alfred. She didn’t need his body to challenge Godric. He would know what she was talking about – and she would make him suffer in every way she could. She began to dig, driving into the earth with angry jabs as she thought of how she might make Godric pay for what he had done.

  She had cried all the tears she could cry. Now she felt achingly empty and sad. And angry. Her anger added iron to her backbone and gave her the strength to do what had to be done. She rubbed her cheek against Alfred’s soft fur, then tenderly laid him down into the hole she had dug. The cat stared up at her, his wide eyes clouded now by death. Janna leaned down and gently closed them. She stroked Alfred’s glossy fur one last time, then covered him over with damp, dark earth. As a last gesture, she gathered up some late bluebells and red poppies to brighten the grave. So, too, would she find something to place on the grave of her mother.

  Her mother! Janna straightened hastily and scanned the sky, noticing the sun’s position that told her what time it was. By now, her mother’s body would have been brought down to the church and the priest would be waiting for her. She ran inside to wash her dirty hands. She snatched up a basket and hurried outside again.

  Her mother’s livelihood had come from the herbs and flowers that she cherished, so it was only fitting she have some on her grave for her last journey. Janna made a careful selection: poppies and creamy purple pansies for a splash of colour, and a small plant of rosemary to mark what was in her heart.

  Regretting that she hadn’t left hours earlier, Janna set off at a run down through the fields towards the village. Although the sun was shining just as it had the day before, she could take no comfort from its warmth. Everything seemed black, full of shadows, full of anger and despair. She hurried on, not pausing to draw breath or ease the stitch in her side, until she came at last to the small stone church in the centre of Berford.

  She raced inside, pausing only to cross herself before looking about. There was no sign of her mother’s body. Just as Janna’s taut muscles relaxed somewhat, the light from the open door was blocked by the batwing form of the priest. He advanced towards her.

  ‘Johanna,’ he said. His narrow face was closed and hostile. Janna instinctively recoiled. ‘Your mother’s body lies outside, beyond the pale. You’ll have to go outside the churchyard walls if you wish to say your last farewells to her.’ />
  ‘Beyond the pale?’

  ‘I cannot bury your mother in consecrated ground. You remember, I am sure, what happened the last time you and your mother came to church.’

  Yes, Janna remembered only too well. The trouble with the priest had started as soon as he came to Berford. She and her mother had attended the first service that was held in the new church. Before it was built, a preaching cross had served as a place of worship as well as being a focus for the exchange of news and gossip. An old priest had come regularly from Wiltune to hold a mass in the open air. Gentle and mild, he had welcomed them all and had happily absolved them from sin and given them his blessing every month.

  At this, the new priest’s first service, he had gazed around his small congregation, taking their measure. It seemed he had taken the trouble to find out about them, for his gaze lingered longest on Eadgyth. His knowledge of the nature of his flock became certain when he began to address them from the pulpit. It was a long rant against the dangers of breaking God’s commandments, and it seemed to be aimed directly at Eadgyth. Janna’s mother had kneeled on the hard stone floor, listening as the priest warned his flock about those who lived outside God’s laws, which he then set out to list. Small choking sounds told Janna how her mother regarded the priest’s rules, especially when it came to the servitude of women and their absolute subjugation to their husbands. But it was on his injunction that the villagers must bend always to the will of God and not question it that Eadgyth had come to the end of her patience.

  ‘Surely God gave us a brain in the expectation we would use it,’ she hissed under her breath to Janna. ‘After all, He gave us the capacity to choose right or wrong, to acquire and use knowledge for the benefit of mankind. If God wanted us to wait around for him to fix everything, we’d have been called “beetles”, not “humans”.’

  ‘Sshh.’ Janna agreed with Eadgyth, but she wished her mother would just let it go for now.

  Eadgyth frowned at her. ‘Don’t tell me you agree with what he’s saying? I brought you up to have a mind of your own, Janna. I taught you to question everything.’

  ‘Sshh.’ Others now turned on Eadgyth, annoyed that her sibilant whisper was interrupting their devotions. Janna felt embarrassed. The trouble with her mother was that she never let anything lie until she’d argued her own point of view, but now was not the time or place for it.

  ‘… and if God should cast affliction on us, we must be like Job and bear our troubles with patience and courage.’ It seemed almost as if the priest had heard Eadgyth’s protests, for he fixed her with a gimlet stare as he continued: ‘There are some who would set themselves above God, who believe they have the power of life and death over others. There are some who will even break God’s laws to carry out their foul deeds. To you, I say, “Beware, for God is watching and great will be your fall.” On the Day of Judgment, when sinners are called to –’

  ‘I’ve had enough of this.’ Eadgyth grabbed Janna’s arm. ‘Come!’ To Janna’s intense embarrassment, she pulled her to her feet and marched her down the aisle and out of the church. A tense silence had marked their passage, but Janna heard the priest’s voice raised in exhortation once they exited the church.

  ‘You don’t need to go to church when God’s great cathedral is all around you, Janna,’ her mother had said on the way home to their cottage. She’d pointed then at the bright flowers in their garden, the dancing butterflies and furry bumblebees, and the green forest beyond. ‘I follow God’s law in my own way. I certainly do not need the priest to tell me how to behave, and what I may or may not believe.’ Hearing her mother’s voice in her mind brought tears to Janna’s eyes. Determinedly, she blinked them back. She would not give in to grief in front of the priest.

  ‘Your mother didn’t believe in Christ and she didn’t come to church. And I know there were times when she broke God’s law,’ he said now, recalling Janna to the present. She suspected that he was referring to the abortifacients Eadgyth sometimes administered to the desperate women who came to her. She kept silent, knowing that in truth there was no defence against his accusations.

  ‘She was a heretic!’ The priest turned from Janna, indicating that their conversation was over.

  ‘That’s not true! She believed in God.’ Outraged, Janna stood her ground, silently damning him to the hell he was wishing upon her mother.

  ‘She condemned herself out of her own mouth. Indeed, they were almost the last words she spoke to me.’

  ‘When did you see her? When did you speak to her?’

  ‘When I asked her to say her confession. Before she went in to Dame Alice’s chamber.’

  ‘You were up at the manor yesterday?’

  ‘Indeed I was. I’d been told of my lady’s troubles, and I was ready to administer the last rites should I have cause to do so. It was only fitting that your mother should be in a state of grace before being allowed into the presence of Dame Alice.’

  ‘If my mother said her confession to you, why do you deny her burial now?’

  ‘She did not make her confession. Instead, she told me to get out of her way for she had more important matters to which she had to attend.’

  ‘Like saving Dame Alice’s life!’

  The priest glowered at Janna. ‘Nothing is more important than communion with God.’

  ‘I am sure my mother would have made her confession if time had allowed it.’ Janna wasn’t sure of any such thing, but she had to fight on her mother’s behalf. Not to be buried in consecrated ground would leave her mother condemned by everyone. And if people condemned her mother, they would surely condemn Janna herself.

  ‘She would not!’ the priest contradicted sharply. ‘She told me to take my blessings and prayers elsewhere for Dame Alice had no need of them.’

  ‘By that, surely she meant that she believed she could make the lady well again.’ Janna hated pleading with the priest, but she had no choice. To her surprise, he smiled at her, baring the brown stumps of his teeth.

  ‘I bid you good morrow, sire,’ he said.

  Realising the smile was not for her, Janna swung around to find Hugh advancing towards them. He looked down at her. His voice was full of concern as he asked, ‘Why did you run from the manor? I meant to escort you here today, but they told me you left last night and they haven’t seen you since.’

  I’ll wager they didn’t tell you why I left, Janna thought to herself, while acknowledging that she wasn’t prepared to enlighten him either. She bobbed a curtsy to him, and said, ‘I thank you for your care of me last night, sire, but my place was at home, not up at the manor.’

  Hugh studied her for a moment, then turned to the priest. ‘I have been specially charged by Dame Alice to see about the burial arrangements for Mistress Eadgyth. Where have you laid her?’ He looked about the small, bare church.

  The priest looked down at his toes. ‘I was just informing Johanna that her mother lies outside the churchyard, beyond the pale.’

  ‘What?’ Hugh sounded incredulous. ‘Mistress Eadgyth’s death was an accident! The wortwyf did not knowingly take her own life.’

  Hugh’s words confirmed that he, too, believed that her mother had been poisoned – but by one of her own concoctions. Before Janna had time to protest, the priest began to defend his decision.

  ‘If the lady died by her own hand it is suicide, and suicide is a sin against God. Even if her death was an accident, as you claim, she died unshriven. She did not come to church. In fact, almost her last words to me were that she had no time for God.’

  ‘She said no such thing!’ Janna wouldn’t be silenced a moment longer. ‘She was in a hurry to see Dame Alice, you told me so yourself.’

  ‘She was in a hurry to go about her devilish practices,’ the priest said darkly. ‘I have spoken time and again from the pulpit, warning my flock of the dangers of submitting to ancient beliefs about aelfshot, and the conviction that diseases may be cured by magic and leechcraft. My flock now repent the error of their ways. They kn
ow that they must bend to God’s will and seek Christ’s blessing on the ills that befall them. Only your mother continued to defy me, brewing her potions and communing with that black cat to summon the dead.’

  ‘She sought merely to heal, to bring comfort and relief!’ Janna could hardly speak for rage.

  ‘She took the power of life and death upon her shoulders.’ The priest glowered at Janna, silencing her.

  Hugh’s expression was grave as he turned to the priest. ‘Let me remind you of Dame Alice’s wishes in this matter, and add my own plea for Mistress Eadgyth. No matter what you may believe, the herbwife was a good woman and as such I ask you to give her the benefit of your Christian charity, to relent and accord her a decent, Christian burial.’

  ‘Never.’ The priest drew himself up to his full height, which took him as far as Hugh’s shoulder. ‘A Christian burial would be an abomination in the sight of God.’ His glance at Janna was both spiteful and triumphant.

  Janna realised further argument was futile. With a muttered exclamation, she pushed past the two men and ran out into the churchyard. The warmth of the sun fell on her face like a blessing, but Janna was unaware of it, could hardly see for the tears streaming down her cheeks as she hurried past the graves with their rough stone markers, and out through an archway in the stone wall. A shrouded bundle lay in the wasteland beyond. It was a weedy, unkempt bit of ground which housed the unmarked graves of felons and those poor itinerants who had died without kin to identify them.

  The grave had already been dug, a rough gaping hole that looked like a greedy mouth waiting to be fed. Eadgyth lay beside it, wrapped in a roughly woven cloth. Janna fell to her knees and gently removed part of the wrapping so that she might see her mother one last time. It seemed important to say goodbye and ask for forgiveness.