Blood Oath: The Janna Chronicles 1 (13 page)

As Janna walked on, she made an effort to dispel her disquiet by thinking back to the conversations she’d had with Aldith, Cecily and Hugh. Aldith had told her something of her father, but nothing that had shed any light on who had killed her mother. True, she had warned Janna about Fulk, but Janna already had her own suspicions about him. Posturing turnip head that he was, even Fulk would know about the poisonous properties of aconite. Everyone knew, although they might call the plant by another name.

Janna considered the midwife’s position. She held a grudge against Eadgyth, that much had become clear. She also had much to gain from her death. Could the midwife be as blameless as she appeared? Janna had been so intent on learning what Aldith knew about her father that she’d neglected to question her about her own movements on the day of Eadgyth’s death. At the very least, she should find out when Aldith had last seen her mother.

As Janna began to climb the grassy downs, she stared up at the great blue canopy over her head. God’s realm, where truth and justice must surely prevail. It was comforting to think that someone watched over her, that someone cared what happened to her. She had a Father in heaven. She might also have a father right here on earth.

It was like an itch that wouldn’t go away, this mystery of her father. To know so little was frustrating beyond belief. Yet already she knew far more than she’d ever known before. Why had her mother been so secretive? Because she felt shame? Because she could not bear to talk about the man she loved? Would her mother have honored her promise to tell Janna the truth, or had she learned more from Aldith than her mother might ever have confessed? The questions kept coming, questions without answer. She could not set her thoughts free.

Sad that she’d never been given the chance to know her father, or even to understand her mother, Janna entered her empty, silent home.

There were still vegetables left from the night before, the dinner her mother never came home to eat. Although tempted to throw them out, Janna put them in the pot, then hung it over the fire to heat for her dinner later. They were far too good to give to the goats. Instead, she cut some nettles and brambles from the edge of the forest, and grabbed up a handful of grain for the hens. “Nellie! Gruff!” she called, and the goats bleated and ambled toward her, ready to be milked and fed. The hens came running too. Janna waited until they were all busy eating before she produced an extra morsel for Laet, who always came last in the race for food. “It’s a hard life,” she told the small, scrawny hen. “You’ve got to fight if you want to survive.” It was advice she herself should heed, she thought, as she trudged back to the cottage to fetch a pail.

The row of bee skeps under their woven covers brought a pang of remorse as Janna recollected how she’d stomped past them before, and had even tried to smack down a passing bee. Now she stopped beside them to make amends. “I need to tell you what’s happened.”

There was a relief in talking about it, she found. The bees were coming back to the hive; their murmurous buzzing soothed Janna as she poured out her misery. “I’ve sworn an oath,” she confided. “I shall not rest until I find out where the poison came from and I’ve brought the person responsible to justice.”

She needed first to work out who would want her mother dead, and who’d had the opportunity to translate desire into action. If she could fathom that, it should lead her to the identity of the killer. “I’m sure it’s Fulk,” she told the bees. “He has the knowledge, and I know he hated and resented my mother. I just need to find out if or when he had the chance to act against her. But Cecily hasn’t told me all she knows. I shall talk to her again, even threaten her with telling her secret, if necessary.” The bees hummed quietly about her. “There’s also Aldith,” Janna continued. “She’ll know about monkshood. I like her, but my mother’s death will certainly be to her benefit. I must find out when they last met.”

The priest, Janna thought suddenly. He, too, had been at the manor house. He, too, wished her mother ill. Could a priest know such hatred that he would break God’s law and kill someone he thought of as evil, even if it was done in the name of Christ? It was a disturbing thought, made more pressing by Janna’s sudden memory of the market place in Wiltune. She’d seen the priest swooping about like the carrion crow he was. Had he been listening when the merchant spoke of the healing effects of his rubbing oil? As a priest, he would have an understanding of Latin and so would be able to identify the plant in question. By the end of the merchant’s sales pitch, he would also know how dangerous it was. If he could overcome his scruples, he certainly had the knowledge and possibly also the opportunity to act. “I also need to question the priest,” she told the bees.

Once inside, after milking the goats, she put the hot vegetables onto a griddle cake, and sat down to eat. There was no Alfred to share her meal this night. Janna felt immensely sad and immensely lonely as she took off her kirtle and lay down on the pallet to sleep. She missed the presence of her mother beside her, and the warm bulk of Alfred at her feet. Tears pricked her eyes, and she gave a forlorn sniffle. Knowing she had a plan for action brought her some comfort, and helped to settle the questions that tumbled endlessly through her mind. Instead of lying awake all night, as she had supposed she would, exhaustion claimed her and she fell into a deep and healing sleep.

Janna woke late the next morning to find the sun already high in the sky. Her long sleep had refreshed her, so that although she felt lonely as she went about her morning chores, she also saw that this was how things were going to be from now on, and that, in time, she would get used to it.

She found herself humming the tune she’d heard her mother singing, and stopped. For some reason she felt as if it were forbidden, even though Eadgyth was not there to censure her.

She walked outside with an armful of feed for the animals. Their pen was getting somewhat smelly, she noted, as she looked about at the mounds of excrement. She dumped the greens in a corner to entice the goats and hens out of her way then, with a sigh, she took up a spade to shovel the mundungus out and over the garden.

“
Dirt and disease go together
,” Eadgyth had said, when Janna had once questioned why their animals were not brought into the cottage at night for safety, as was common practice. “
The fence protects the animals; that is why I made it: to close them in. And their waste can be spread among the plants to help them grow, instead of fouling the rushes on our floor and making us both ill
.” The sound of Eadgyth’s voice in her mind brought tears once more. Janna blinked hard, and kept on digging.

Once done, she came back into the cottage and washed her hands. She would have to do the work of two if she wanted to survive. She would need goods to trade for other necessities as well as for some of the foodstuffs that she was unable to provide for herself. Even with her mother by her side, they had often gone hungry. Janna felt a twisting knot of fear in her stomach. She had the coins from her sales at Wiltune market, but there were no lotions or potions left to sell; she would have to create more. In addition, she needed to think about Aldith’s offer, although she would not commit herself to anything until she could be sure of the midwife’s innocence. And in the meantime she should put the word about that she was able to physic the villagers just as her mother had always done.

It wasn’t quite true, and Janna felt a flash of anger toward her mother. Then she shrugged. It was the way it was, and she would just have to make the best of it. She had her mother’s knowledge. It was only a matter of time before she gained her experience.

The sound of galloping hooves alerted Janna to a horseman approaching the cottage. She opened the door and stepped out into the sunlight, recognizing the big black destrier and its rider.

“Johanna.”

“Sire.” She smiled up at Hugh and bobbed a small curtsy. He led a palfrey on a rein behind him, the same palfrey he’d brought for Cecily to ride.

“I am pleased to find you at home,” he said, and hurriedly dismounted. “Dame Alice is distraught. The baby has taken a turn for the worse and is like to die at any moment. Robert has sent for the priest, but Alice won’t give up the babe, not yet. She begs you to come with me and do what you may to save him.” Even as he spoke, he planted his hands around Janna’s waist, ready to hoist her on to the palfrey’s back.

Janna panicked. “I-I can’t…I don’t know how to ride,” she stammered.

“I should have thought of that.” Hugh kept his hand on Janna’s waist as he pulled the destrier to him. “You can ride with me.” Before Janna had time to protest, he hoisted her up. She landed awkwardly, her legs straddling the beast’s back.

She felt a flash of resentment that she had no say in the matter, that in spite of all the tasks she must do to ensure her survival, she was expected instantly to abandon them and do as she was bid. Her protest was silenced by the urgency of Hugh’s message.

“What ails the infant?” she asked instead, trying all the while to pull down her kirtle. Once again it had bunched up over her knees. She was aware of Hugh’s appreciative glance at her legs as she tried in vain to cover them. In spite of the gravity of the situation, Hugh’s eyes twinkled as he watched her endeavors.

“I know not. Dame Alice trusted your mother’s knowledge, and hopes that she has taught you enough to save the child.” He quickly tied the palfrey to a nearby tree, then pulled himself up in front of her. He turned the destrier and kicked it into a gallop.

As the full enormity of Hugh’s words sank in, Janna subsided into a frightened silence. She was expected to save the baby’s life, but she no longer had her mother’s knowledge and expertise to draw on. If the child died, she alone would be held responsible.

This last thought tightened her grip on Hugh. Sensing the pressure, and perhaps seeking to reassure her, he turned his head to speak to her over his shoulder. “The baby has been baptized, and the priest now counsels Dame Alice that it will be God’s will if the child should die. But Alice won’t hear of it. She has had such ill luck since the birth of her first little boy. She had thought, having brought this child to term and borne him alive, that he would thrive. Will you be able to save him, Johanna?”

“No! I don’t know how!” It was a cry from the heart, but even as she uttered her fear aloud, Janna knew that she could not give up so easily, not if she meant to honor her mother’s name. Besides, if she could save the child, surely it would still the clattering tongues that spoke of poison and devils and such. “But I’ll try. I’ll do my best!” she said loudly, to contradict her denial. And then, as honesty prevailed, she muttered, “But only if I can tell for myself what is wrong with him.” She tried to collect her frightened thoughts. Should she ask Hugh to turn around and go back to the cottage? What might she need to save the baby’s life?

There was no point asking Hugh. He’d already admitted he didn’t know what was wrong with the infant. Eadgyth had said that the babe was weakened by the long birth, and would not suckle, but was that all that ailed him? If so, Janna knew what steps to take to ease the problem. If it was something worse, however, she was in trouble, deep trouble and she struggled to decide what to do for the best. Finally she came to the reluctant conclusion that she would not know until she could see the child herself. Hopefully she would recognize the symptoms and be able to find the herbs to treat him in Dame Alice’s own garden. Otherwise she would have to ask Hugh to take her back to the cottage.

Desperately, passionately, Janna wished that her mother was still alive. If only she had her mother’s experience! She closed her eyes. “Help me,” she whispered, her plea unheard against the drumming of the horse’s hooves. “Please, help me.” She wished the ride could go on forever, so that she would never have to confront the dying child and his distraught mother—and her own ignorance. But all too soon they were flying through the gateway and dismounting in the yard.

Almost the first person Janna saw as she hurried up the stairs and into the great hall was Aldith. She stopped, dismayed. The midwife’s apron was clean, but Janna knew the dangers of the grubby skirt beneath.

Aldith gave her a reproachful glance. “What are you doing here? Tending mothers and their babies is the work of a midwife. Your mother knew that full well, although that didn’t stop her pushing her nose in. Now that she’s gone, you must allow me, as having more experience than you, Janna, to take care of Dame Alice and her new babe.”

“Dame Alice has asked for me,” Janna retorted. “That’s why I’m here.”

“But I am come prepared to help my lady.” The midwife held up a flask, the movement accompanied by the sound of sloshing liquid. Her lips twitched up in a smile of triumph as she glanced at Janna’s empty hands. “Go home,” she advised. “There is naught for you to do here.”

Hugh frowned at Aldith. “You’d better wait here. Dame Alice wishes to see Johanna without delay.” He brushed past the midwife, not waiting to hear any further argument. Janna kept her head bent as she scuttled after him. All her suspicions had been aroused by Aldith’s presence at the manor. The midwife had hardly waited to see her rival safely interred before hastening to take her place. Janna hoped the woman would wait in the hall, as instructed. She had questions to ask the midwife, questions that would reveal either her guilt or her innocence.

Her emotions were so close to the surface that tears came to her eyes when she entered the bedchamber. The lady, red-eyed from weeping, clutched the limp body of her baby to her breast. With shaking fingers, she was trying to guide his mouth in a desperate effort to make him suckle. “Please, help us,” she implored as she caught sight of Janna. “If my child would only feed, I am sure he could be saved.”

“Drink some wine, dearest.” Robert of Babestoche was a handsome man, Janna thought, with his shock of dark hair and the ruddy complexion that spoke of a great enjoyment of all the good things that life at the manor had to offer. With great solicitude, he poured some red liquid from a glass bottle into a silver goblet. Janna looked at the bottle, fascinated by both it and its contents. She had never seen such a beautiful bottle before, nor had she ever tasted wine made from grapes. This looked so fine it must have come by ship from Normandy.

Robert held the goblet out to his wife. “This will strengthen your blood and, I am sure, give strength to our son as well.”

With an impatient exclamation, Dame Alice knocked his hand away. The goblet fell, spilling its contents in a red stream. The wine looked like blood on the fine linen sheets. Janna gasped, horrified at the waste.

Robert’s lips tightened in anger. He retrieved the goblet and set it carefully on a chest close to the bed. “Try not to distress yourself, my love,” he said, and bent down to brush a kiss on his wife’s forehead. “We are in God’s hands now.”

He left the room, acknowledging Janna’s presence with a brief nod as he passed. It seemed that he, along with the priest, was ready to give up. But Janna was not; she was here to fight for the life of Dame Alice’s infant. Although trembling with fear, she forced a confident smile as she approached the bed. First calm the patient, Janna thought, and cast her mind back to recall what Eadgyth did when faced with an angry or distressed villager. Although she knew she was taking a great liberty, Janna laid her hand on Dame Alice’s arm and tried not to betray her fear.

“I will do all in my power to help you,” she said, speaking low and slowly. “First, I need you to tell me all that you have seen and observed since the baby’s birth.” She looked down at the infant cradled in his mother’s arms. He was swaddled tight in a woollen wrap. A strap kept the wrap in place; it was crisscrossed around his tiny body. His head, too, was covered. Janna could see nothing but his tiny face. What she saw did not reassure her. His eyes seemed blank, without life, and there was a bluish tinge to his lips.

“He was perfect! A beautiful, healthy child who was taken away from me.” The lady sounded desolate, but there was an edge of anger beneath her words. At first, Janna thought the anger was directed at her mother, until she followed Dame Alice’s gaze and noticed what she’d missed before. Fulk was standing in a shadowy recess, watching her, watching them both. Now he hurried over to the bedside, ready to defend himself.

“My lady, you know right well that it is common practice for ladies of high birth to appoint a wet nurse to suckle their babies.”

“Common practice it may be, but I deeply regret that I did not follow the herbwife’s advice to suckle the child myself. Now I fear I am too late, for he will not feed.” Tears welled up in the lady’s eyes and spilled down her cheeks.

“Who’s been looking after the baby since his birth?” Janna queried.

A slight young woman stepped forward, looking haggard and careworn. Janna sympathized with her. She must also have a new baby of her own, if it lived, and would be in need of a husband or her family to support her. Should the baby die, she would carry the blame and would be dismissed. Without anyone to speak on her behalf, she would be unable to find work anywhere else.

“Tell me about the baby. What did you observe while he was in your care?” she asked. She was sorry to put the woman in a difficult position, but she had to know the answer. She already suspected part of it. Knowing Dame Alice’s situation, Eadgyth would not have suggested that the lady suckle her own child unless she was worried that he might not thrive.

The wet nurse gave a nervous glance around the room as if testing whether or not it was safe to tell the truth. If she confirmed Dame Alice’s statement, she would most certainly be blamed should the baby die. If she spoke the truth about its ailments, she risked the wrath of the mother, who believed her child perfect in every respect.

Fulk broke the silence with a cough. “You were in no position to suckle the child yourself, my lady,” he said. “The birth was long, and very hard. There was an excessive amount of bleeding. Far better that you rest and recover your strength and leave the nourishment of your child to someone else.”

Dame Alice glared at him. “Get out,” she said. “Pack your bags and be gone. Had I listened to you alone, and done as you suggested, you would be getting ready to bury me along with my son.”

“But I—”

“Go!” Dame Alice commanded, her voice rising in hysteria as she cried, “You have done enough harm. I will not see you again.”

Angry and resentful, the apothecary shouldered Janna aside and left the room.

Janna felt her skin crawl at his touch, understanding the anger behind the violent movement. He was her enemy now, as well as her mother’s. She turned her thoughts back to the more pressing problem. “Please, tell me everything you can about the baby,” she prompted, hoping answers from the nurse might guide her to the truth of the baby’s condition.

The woman glanced nervously at her mistress, then looked quickly away. “The child’s skin was deadly pale, he was almost blue when I first saw him,” she whispered. “After she tied the cord, Mistress Eadgyth bade us give him a warm bath and wrap him tight. His skin flushed more pink in the warmth, but he still seemed somewhat distressed. Your mother asked us to place some lavender next to his cradle, which she said would soothe and calm him, and she collected herbs for the cook to make into a syrup with some honey. She instructed us to give the baby a small sup of it every few hours.”