Stolen Child: The Janna Chronicles 2 Page 9

  Janna stopped herself from defending Hugh, not wanting to betray any special interest in him to the gossiping cook. But she couldn’t help worrying about it, for although Serlo had questioned everyone after the incident with the cows, no-one seemed to have any knowledge of how they might have escaped the byre, nor any intention of revealing the secret if they had. The cowherd seemed blameless; his family could vouch for his presence in their midst at the time the animals must have gone astray. Someone else was therefore responsible, and Serlo was making every effort to find the culprit. Janna was quite sure that the reeve suspected her and Edwin, being the newest arrivals on the manor farm. He’d certainly questioned them for a long time.

  Janna’s thoughts went back to that interview, and how uncomfortable she’d felt under Serlo’s accusing gaze as he’d made them recount where they’d been and what they’d been doing. He had a nasty rash on his hand, Janna remembered, and she’d sought to divert his attention by offering a healing salve. But he’d brushed her concern aside, clearly determined not to be deflected from his purpose. Someone was going to be held responsible for the destruction; someone was going to get the blame. Yet at the end he’d made no accusations, instead ordering every villein out into the field to plant peas, beans and vetches, so that there might be something to eat in place of what had been destroyed.

  “Of course, you and your brother are newly come to the manor.” Mistress Tova’s voice broke into Janna’s thoughts. She didn’t have to say anything else for Janna to know what she was thinking.

  “Edwin and I aren’t responsible for any of these accidents. We know nothing about them!” Janna hoped that her denial would be believed, and also passed on with the rest of the gossip that Mistress Tova shared so freely.

  The cook looked thoughtful. “No-one wants to think the worst of you, John, not when you were so good about curing us of the pox. No.” She went quiet for a moment, as if wondering how far she could trust Janna with her suspicions. “No,” she continued, “we must just be having a run of bad luck.” She tied up the sack of food and thrust it at Janna. “I’ve put in a small meat pie for your dinner,” she said generously, and Janna beamed her thanks.

  *

  The sun had finally come out, the long days had settled into sunshine, and haymaking had started at last. Hugh was present for the ceremony that marked its beginning, when at dawn the hayward tied a bunch of flowering grasses to his scythe and crossed himself in prayer before making the first cut. Janna had stayed as far away from Hugh as she could, mingling with the villeins as they followed the hayward in a line through the water meadows, scything the long grass that would keep the animals from starvation during the lean winter months when the meadows were flooded. When she next looked around for Hugh, he had gone. She smiled with relief, her smile returned by the women and children who followed behind. Their task was to spread the grass out to dry, and turn it so that it bleached to a pale gold in the hot summer sun. The sweetness of cut grass, and the fragrant herbs that were felled with it, scented the air.

  All able-bodied villeins, plus their wives and children, were expected to take part in this boon work for their lord, just as they were pressed into service at other busy times on the farming calendar. Their reward, at the end of each day of haymaking, was to take home as much hay as they could carry on their scythes. Only when all the grass was cut, dried, bundled and stored would they be released from their extra days of labor. While this caused some grumbles, they mostly worked with a will so that they could finish the task and get back to tending their own fields.

  After the fuss about the straying cows, there’d been no further incidents. Janna had begun to convince herself that the culprit was truly repentant, and that they could all rest easy now. So she was happy and quite unsuspecting as, sack of food under her arm, she walked past the stables on her way down to the water meadows for the day’s haymaking. The sound of Hugh’s voice stopped her. After a quick look around the yard to check that no-one was watching, she sidled over to the door and peered around it. Hugh was in a stall with his destrier, swearing loudly as he inspected its hoof. Janna knew an instant of alarm, but then calmed her fears with the thought that horses often went lame, and that a sharp flint must be to blame. As she watched, Hugh removed a loose shoe and carefully extracted an iron nail from the horse’s hoof, swearing profusely all the while.

  Hoping to allay her suspicions, Janna inspected the ground in front of the stable door for any telltale sign, but there was nothing to see. Then she noticed the silvery green leaves and small yellow flowers of rue peeping out from under her boot. She stepped aside and snatched them up. This was proof, if proof was needed, that this was no coincidence. All these so-called accidents had been planned deliberately. As she hurried through the water meadows, she cast the sprigs of rue into the long grass to hide them. If her suspicions were correct, then she needed to say something. But first she had to be sure. If she was mistaken, if she made a false accusation, she would never forgive herself. And pray God that she was mistaken.

  Once more, Janna ran through the names of everyone she knew. From everything she’d heard and witnessed, Hugh was a good overlord, kind and fair, while Serlo was respected and trusted by everyone. Any one of those employed at the manor might have had the opportunity to carry out these acts, but there was only one person that Janna could think of who had a personal reason to want to cause this sort of damage. Urk.

  Everything pointed to him. He was free to come and go as he liked, particularly at night. No-one paid much attention to him, or took him seriously. Although slow, he was quite capable of carrying out all that had happened, for all that was needed was a cloak of invisibility. Plus he, alone of anyone she knew, had a reason to cause trouble and then repent of his actions. Although she’d tried to keep her promise to Mistress Wulfrun, it was impossible to watch the boy all the time. Janna was sure that he brooded over his punishment at the hands of Serlo. He might well want to hit back at the reeve, while the posies of rue seemed to confirm his regret for the harm he had done. She should warn Urk’s mother to keep a more watchful eye on her son, although she was reluctant to cause the woman even more grief and worry. Perhaps she should wait a while longer and, instead, keep close to Urk herself? She could warn him that she knew what he was doing, and counsel him over the consequences. If she could make him realize that if he was caught, retribution would be horrible, both for himself and for his family, perhaps he would stop this childish mischief-making?

  Pleased to have formulated a plan of action, Janna skipped a few steps. After checking that no-one was about, she next tried a couple of cartwheels, copying the actions of some children she’d seen larking about. She’d been dying to have a go and, to her satisfaction, she almost succeeded. She had another try and then another. A bit wobbly, she decided, but she was sure she’d improve with practice. She strode on, feeling happy, healthy and almost content. She was used to the labor now, and reveled in the growing strength in her muscles, and in her freedom to run, to shout, even to turn cartwheels and do anything else a boy might do. She smiled to herself, and hurried on to join Edwin and the others, who were busy forking up the dry grass and stacking it into bundles.

  Urk was among the group. He was almost as tall as Janna, and far stronger and quicker in his movements. He smiled when he noticed her. It was the perfect opportunity, and Janna took it. “Are you very angry with Master Serlo, Urk?” she asked, moving closer to him so that they could talk without being heard.

  “Angry? No. I’m scared of him.”

  It was true. Janna had seen him cower away and try to hide whenever Serlo came near. “I wonder, did you hurt that baby lamb we found the other day? The one that was all bloody and lying out in the field?”

  “No! I like baby lambs.” Urk’s lips set in a straight line, and he forked the hay with renewed vigor.

  “Do you know who hurt it?”

  “No.” Urk shook his head without slackening his pace. “It’s not right to kill baby lam
bs.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Janna agreed, feeling rather at a loss. “What about the cows that got into the field? Did you let them out of the byre?”

  The boy shook his head, not bothering to answer.

  “And the hens? How did the fox get into their coop?”

  “I don’t know!” Urk kept on forking up hay.

  “What about my lord’s horse? Was it you who hammered the nail into its hoof?” Janna pressed.

  “No!” Urk stopped and turned to her then. “I’m scared of horses. They’re too big. It wasn’t me, John. None of it was me!”

  “None of what’s happened here was an accident,” Janna said. “Someone did these things on purpose. Someone who wants to cause trouble to Master Serlo and to the lord Hugh. Do you know who that could be, Urk?”

  He lowered his head and began to kick at the green stubble left from the newly cut grass.

  “It’s all right to tell me if you know anything about it,” Janna urged. “I won’t tell anyone else what you did, I promise, just so long as you stop causing trouble.”

  “But I didn’t do anything!”

  “If Gabriel says he didn’t do it, then he didn’t do it.” Mistress Wulfrun stepped in front of Janna and pulled her son behind her, out of harm’s way. “I know what you’re thinking, John, but he’s a truthful boy. I’ve never known him tell a lie, even when he’s got in trouble for it.”

  “Gabriel?” Janna asked, confused.

  “His name is Gabriel,” Mistress Wulfrun explained. “He may not be the brightest star in the sky, but he’s kind and loving, and he has such a sweet smile we believe he’s been touched by God’s own hand.”

  Urk peeked out from behind his mother and smiled at Janna, as if in proof of his mother’s faith in him. “I didn’t do none of those things,” he said, softly but firmly.

  Janna wondered whether she could believe him and his fond mother. “I hope that’s true,” she said, “because you can be sure that when Master Serlo finds out who is responsible, that person will get such a beating he may be half-killed.” She read the fear on Urk’s face and was briefly repentant, yet she’d spoken only the truth. If Urk’s conscience was clear, then Serlo couldn’t touch him or his family. Meantime she had delivered her warning. It was all she could do. And if Urk was telling the truth, then she would have to think again.

  Could Edwin be responsible? It hardly seemed likely when he was so keen to stay on at the manor, and was so grateful to Serlo for giving them food and shelter. Yet Janna had formed the impression lately that Edwin was keeping something hidden from her. She hadn’t thought much about it, for although the two of them had become firm friends, she thought of him only as a friend and no more than that—she certainly didn’t expect him to confess every little thing to her. But where once he’d been always at her side, now he was often absent, gone off on some errand of his own. On occasion she had questioned his absence, but had received no satisfactory answer. Had he gone off to kill a lamb? To lame a horse?

  No! Janna shook her head, unable to imagine Edwin doing any of those things—and yet, by his own admission, he’d stolen from travelers in the past without it troubling his conscience—or so it seemed. Yet he seemed happy here, and wanting to stay. He certainly didn’t seem to be harboring the sort of resentment that must lie behind acts of this sort.

  What most worried Janna was the thought of what might happen next. If someone was causing problems for a reason, he’d be unlikely to stop until his purpose was achieved. What could that purpose be? If she could find that out, perhaps she might be able to put a stop to these so-called “accidents” and so ensure her and Edwin’s safety.

  *

  Questions continued to bedevil her as the villeins prepared to enjoy medale, the drinking festivity to celebrate the end of haymaking. The grass had been cut and dried, and either collected into stacks with thatched covers to protect it through the winter rains, or carted off to be stored in the barn. For the moment, their task was done, although Serlo had already warned them that sheep-shearing would be next, followed by the harvest, and that he expected them to stay on and help with those too. She took comfort from the notion that he must not suspect them of causing the problems.

  It was with a sense of anticipation that she followed Edwin up to the manor hall on the night of the celebration. Mistress Tova, Gytha and the rest of the kitchen servants had been busy. Trestle tables were set up in long lines and were laden ready for the feast. Wooden platters were piled high with food, with brimming pitchers of honey mead and ale set beside them.

  “This’ll do me,” Edwin said cheerfully, as he surveyed the spread. “You can have the leftovers.” He patted his stomach and gave Janna a wolfish grin. Janna laughed, but her mirth vanished as she looked beyond Edwin and saw Hugh standing beside Serlo at a table raised up on a platform. He was surveying the crowd below.

  “I have to go,” she muttered, and swung around.

  “You can’t miss out on medale!” Edwin caught her arm and dragged her back, looking horrified at the thought.

  “But he’s here! The lord Hugh is here!”

  “So what? Why are you so afraid of him? What makes you think he’ll even remember you?”

  It was a fair question and one Janna couldn’t answer unless she told Edwin how kind Hugh had been to her after her mother died; how they’d played ball with his cousin, Hamo, and how he’d taken her home on the back of his destrier afterward. And kissed her! She blushed at the memory.

  “Stay,” Edwin urged now. “He thinks you’re my brother. He doesn’t know who you really are. Don’t let him spoil this feast for you.”

  Janna risked another glance in Hugh’s direction, her heart jolting painfully as she noticed who else was standing beside him. Gytha. She wore a new kirtle for the occasion, homespun but dyed a greenish tinge that became her dark locks and creamy complexion, and added a bewitching green tint to her hazel eyes. Hugh sat down at the high table, accompanied by Serlo and several others. After he’d said grace, Gytha began to serve him, bending over so that she could smile into his eyes while giving him time to glimpse the slight swell of her breasts above the lacing of her kirtle.

  Janna stood still, swept by a tide of pure envy. She wanted to flee, to hide from the sight, yet a painful curiosity bid her stay to watch the interplay between them so she would know for sure whether the girl’s trust in Hugh’s intentions was well founded. She would feel sorry for Gytha if the girl’s high hopes came to naught, but she knew she’d feel even worse for herself if Hugh defied common sense and became betrothed to the young woman.

  Edwin nudged Janna, unwittingly adding to her distress as he said, “See? You don’t need to worry that he’ll notice you. He has eyes only for Gytha.”

  “As she has for him,” Janna said, wondering how Edwin could sound so cheerful. “Don’t you mind?”

  “About Gytha? No, why should I?”

  So Edwin was over his infatuation with the cook’s daughter. Good. She must work on him anew to persuade him to leave the manor with her. Flight was her only choice, both for her peace of mind and to pursue her quest.

  She sat down beside Edwin, but she found now that she’d lost all appetite and could only look without interest at the mound of food he’d piled on the trenchers of bread in front of them.

  “Do you mind if I sit with you two?” Without waiting for a reply, Bertha took a seat on Edwin’s other side, flashing a cheerful smile at Janna as she did so. The two of them set about wolfing down huge portions of fish, fowl and mutton, but Janna was too sick with envy to eat. Instead, she picked up her cup of ale and drained it, then sneaked another glance at Hugh and Gytha. It was clear that the young woman was doing all in her power to woo him. Janna wondered if it was only wishful thinking that made her question whether Hugh was quite so enamored with the serving wench as she was with him? She knew Hugh to be kind and courteous, and so he was now, bending his head to listen to something Gytha was saying. Yet his gaze roved the room until i
t alighted on Janna. She blinked and looked quickly away, while her face flamed scarlet. His glance had been questioning; he was frowning slightly. Had she done something wrong? Worse, did he suspect that she or Edwin might be behind the laming of his horse and the other disasters that had befallen the manor?

  Janna wanted to leap up, to go to him and protest her innocence, but she stayed seated and tried to look as if she was enjoying herself. She sneaked another look, and found Hugh still watching her. Her heart thudded painfully; her chest felt too tight to breathe. She cast about for a chance to escape, but knew there was none. It would be unforgivably rude to leave the hall until after the lord had arisen from the table and retired to his solar. In case Hugh was still watching, she poured herself another mug of ale and quaffed it down, trying to look as unconcerned and as boyish as possible.

  “You should eat something, John,” Bertha urged, and held out a portion of fat hen in her fingers. “You’ll never grow as tall and strong as your brother, else.” She smiled at Janna. Distracted from her dark thoughts, Janna felt a flash of amusement as she took the food from Bertha’s fingers.

  “Thank you,” she said, wondering if the cook’s sour gossip had some truth in it. Was Bertha indeed flirting with her as well as with Edwin—and everyone else who wore breeches, if Mistress Tova was to be believed? Janna ate the fowl, her appetite reviving somewhat as she savored the delicacy, so that she continued then to help herself from the trencher. “Are your family here tonight, mistress?” she asked, seeking to distract herself from the scene being played out at the high table.

  “Yes, indeed.” Bertha waved an arm toward the tables opposite. “That’s my father and mother over there, and my two sisters sit next to them. Not for anything would any of us miss this feast.” With an expression of bliss, she began to tear the flesh off a bone with her teeth.