Blood Oath: The Janna Chronicles 1 (10 page)

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 flagging, listening as the priest warned his flock about those who lived outside God’s laws, which he then itemized. 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’ will. 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, and 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.’”

“Shh.” 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.”

“Shh!” Others now turned on Eadgyth, annoyed that her sibilant whispers were 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, and with prayer.” 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 do the devil’s work, breaking 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, her mother 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.

“You don’t need to go to church when God’s great cathedral is all around you, Janna,” her mother had said once they reached 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. Determined not to give in to grief in front of the priest, she blinked them back.

“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, as he grasped Janna’s arm and led her outside. 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 defense against most of his accusations.

“She was a sinner, a heretic, and I will not allow her to lie in my church, nor will I bury her in consecrated ground.” 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 to hear her confession before she was admitted into Dame Alice’s bedchamber.”

“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 attend.”

“Like saving Dame Alice’s life!” Janna was having difficulty reining in her temper. Only the importance of changing the priest’s mind stopped her from shouting at him.

“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.

Realizing the smile was not for her, Janna swung around to find Hugh advancing toward them, leading his destrier. 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 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 especially charged by Dame Alice to see about the burial arrangements for Mistress Eadgyth. Where have you laid her body?”

The priest looked down at his toes. “I was just informing Johanna that her mother lies outside the churchyard, beyond the pale. She will be buried forthwith.”

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

Hugh’s words confirmed that he, too, believed that her mother had been poisoned—and 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 know 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 for that woman would contradict everything against which I have warned my flock. Besides which, it would be an abomination in the sight of God.” His glance at Janna was both spiteful and triumphant. “You must hurry if you want to see your mother, for her burial will take place shortly.”

‘No! I have not had time to prepare her.”

‘You have come too late.”

Janna seethed with the injustice of the priest’s judgment. She turned to Hugh, hoping for his help, but the quick shake of his head made her realize that further argument was futile. With a muttered exclamation, she pushed past the two men and ran through 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 piece of ground which housed the unmarked graves of felons and those poor itinerants who had died without kin to identify them, and was littered with rubbish strewn by idle and uncaring passersby.

The grave had already been dug, a 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.

Eadgyth’s face was calm in repose. Janna kissed the tips of her fingers then put them to her mother’s lips. “I’m sorry I was angry with you,” she whispered. “Forgive me.” She gazed down as a lifetime of memories crowded into her mind. Her mother had raised her, and had taken the trouble to pass on her knowledge of herbal lore and leechcraft even if she hadn’t allowed Janna to practice it. But she was not given to praise, nor to demonstrative acts of affection. Janna couldn’t remember ever being kissed or comforted by her mother, not even as a child. Perhaps, she thought now, Eadgyth’s ability to show love had died when Janna’s father had abandoned them? Now, her mother’s hard and lonely life was over, and she would take her secrets with her into the grave.

With bitter regret for all that had come between them, Janna took one last look at Eadgyth, noticing again the traces of vomit on her kirtle and cheeks. Could her mother have taken, by mistake, some of the aconite mixed with oil that she made up as a rubbing lotion? It hardly seemed possible, particularly as her mother only made it fresh when it was needed and always threw out whatever remained, rather than risk keeping such a deadly poison close to her other preparations.

Janna tried to still her fears with the memory of her search earlier. She’d checked all the jars and had noticed nothing untoward, certainly nothing that resembled the rubbing lotion. The poison must have come from outside, and in a form unknown to her mother, for she would never have taken it willingly. Lost in thought, Janna carefully draped the russet cover over Eadgyth’s face once more. “Goodbye,” she whispered, and rose to her feet.

She was startled to find that she was no longer alone. Hugh was standing some distance away, watching her. As she caught his glance, he approached her. She gave her eyes a hasty scrub with the back of her hands, and faced him.

“I’ve done all I can to change the priest’s mind,” he said. “I even offered him payment, but it seems to have become a matter of principle with him that he will not allow your mother to lie in consecrated ground. I’m so sorry, Johanna.”

Janna nodded sadly. “He’s been preaching against us ever since he first arrived here. He knows he will lose face among the villagers if he gives her a burial with all the rites.”

“Was your mother not a Christian, then?”

Janna hesitated, wanting him to be on her side against the priest, wanting him to be sympathetic to her cause. Yet she didn’t want to lie to him either. “My mother believed in God, who created our world and who watches over us,” she said at last. “She believed that true goodness lies in how we live our lives, and that was how she lived her life—because she believed that healing the sick was God’s work, and a good thing to do. She told me she followed God’s law, not the priest’s. She disagreed with what he said about women, and she hated the way he told the villagers that anyone who questioned what he said would go straight to hell. The priest spoke against my mother’s healing powers and her skill with herbs, calling it the devil’s work. The villagers listen to him and some of them stopped coming to my mother when they were ill and in need of help. She was very angry about that. She blamed the priest for making the villagers suffer needlessly, when she could have given them relief.”

Hugh nodded in understanding. “I know that she saved my aunt’s life, for Dame Alice told me herself how your mother helped her when the apothecary could do nothing more.” He tapped the purse hanging from his belt. Janna heard the jingling clink of coins. “Dame Alice gave me silver to give to the priest for your mother’s burial. As he has proved so uncooperative, I will also make arrangements for the bishop to say a mass for your mother at the abbey. It’s the best I can do.”

“And I thank you from my heart, sire. Please also give my thanks to Dame Alice.” No matter how hostile the priest was to her mother, Janna knew that he would still expect payment for her burial. It was kind of Dame Alice to relieve her of that burden. Now, she struggled to find the words that might yet save her mother’s soul.

“Please, tell the bishop there was never anyone so good as my mother. She helped so many people with her healing skills; she saved their lives. She did not deserve to die, nor does she deserve to lie out here in the wasteland. My mother will go to heaven, for certes, and I hope the priest may rot in hell for his deeds this day!” She turned away, gulping down sobs as she fought to regain composure.

“I will speak to the abbess about the priest,” he said firmly. “And I will make sure your mother has a mass said for the repose of her soul.” He looked at her with kindness. “God keep you, Johanna,” he said, and stepped back to join the priest and a small group of villagers who had now gathered nearby.