Devilʼs Brew: The Janna Chronicles 5 (15 page)

“The empress and her supporters are safely holed up in the castle at Oxeneford awaiting the earl’s return from Normandy and Anjou, but the king has recovered his health and is busy securing all ports against Robert of Gloucestre. It seems that no-one will be going anywhere for quite some time. God willing, the people of Winchestre may have their fair in peace this year.”

Janna was surprised by the joy Hugh’s words brought her. Peace, however fragile it might be, was something they all coveted.

“I thought you’d know all this. I thought you heard everything in here,” Hugh teased.

Janna smiled openly. “Good news is always welcome,” she said. But there was a more pressing question she needed to ask. “Is Godric here with you?”

“No. I decided, in view of his good service to me, that I would appoint him my steward. As such, it’s his responsibility to see to the harvesting while I’m here. He wanted to come back with me, but he understands where his duty lies.”

“Godric’s your steward?” Janna was delighted that he’d risen so high in Hugh’s esteem. She wondered if Godric and Cecily were wed by now, but found she didn’t have the courage to ask the question.

“Indeed. Godric might be lowborn, but I’ve never had any reason to regret his appointment. He’s strict but fair, and everyone likes him. And he keeps a careful watch over everything. Above all, I trust him to tell me the truth. I know he’ll serve me well once I…once we…”

It was the opening for which Janna had been waiting. “Are you betrothed to Sire Geoffrey’s daughter now, my lord? Are you wed yet?”

“No, not yet!” Hamo answered for his cousin. “She’s keen but you’re not, are you, Hugh?”

Janna closed her eyes and wished she could disappear. She’d never have asked the question if she’d realized that Hamo would embarrass Hugh like this.

There was a short silence. She risked opening one eye, and became aware that Hugh was subjecting her to a keen scrutiny. She flushed uncomfortably under his gaze and looked away. Was that regret she could read in his expression? Was he still having second thoughts about his future plans?

“I’m afraid Hamo has the truth of it,” Hugh confessed. “We are not yet wed, but Eleanor and I have come to an agreement at last, and her father has consented to the match. She is a good woman, and she loves me and will make me a good wife.”

And she’ll bring you a fortune.
Janna felt rather sorry for Hugh. “So it is decided, then. My congratulations, sire,” she said. “May I wish you every happiness for the future.”

Hugh dipped his head in acknowledgment. “And you, Johanna?” he asked, seeming eager to change the subject. “Are you any closer to finding your father?”

“Not yet, my lord.” Janna suddenly resolved to tell him of her search, and what she hoped to prove at the end of it. Now that Hugh’s future with Eleanor was settled, her news could make no difference to his prospects, and he might even be in a position to help her.

“Why then do you stay in Winchestre if he is not here?”

Janna took a deep breath. “I have heard he lives in Normandy, but he has property here, and I hope that he may return to it. The estate was burned to the ground during the siege. His steward and servants fled, so there is no-one to ask what his intentions are. But – But I hope that he will return, for the estate appears to be of a good size, and there may be more than one.” Janna remembered the sheaf of accounts she’d seen. “I believe his steward collected and traded a large amount of wool and other produce on his behalf before the troubles began.”

Hugh’s lips pursed in a silent whistle. “How do you know all this?”

“I visited the estate and spoke to his steward. I saw the correspondence and the records of his accounts.” Janna paused for a moment. “And I sent him a letter,” she added.

Hugh’s eyes widened in surprise. “You can read and write?”

Janna nodded. “I learned how to do so at the abbey. Sister Ursel taught me.”

Hugh looked impressed. “So you’ve found out who your father is? Who is he, Johanna?”

Janna hesitated. “My father is John fitz Henry. He’s one of the old king’s bastards,” she said quietly.

There was an absolute silence. Janna only realized that they were both holding their breath when the silence was broken by the sudden whoosh of air as Hugh exhaled.

“How do you know that?”

Janna thought sadly of Ralph, who had found out the truth, although it was Ulf who’d interpreted it for her. “I had my father’s letter to my mother, with his signature. And also his ring, which shows his initial, J for John, with a lion and a crown. I also had a brooch with an inscription.”

“Had? Where are they now?”

“They were stolen.” Janna looked into Hugh’s face, searching for any sign of mockery. But there was none. Only the shock of her announcement was reflected there; shock and a growing puzzlement.

“But how do you know these came from the son of the old king? True, Henry had many illegitimate children. At least twenty, I believe. How do you know your father was one of them?”

Janna couldn’t blame Hugh for doubting her, nor could she think of any way to convince him she was speaking the truth. “I didn’t know what the ring and the letter meant, not at first. But I met someone who knew of my father and who told me where to find him.” If only Ralph had lived, perhaps her message would have reached her father much sooner. But it was too late for if only, and for regrets. “I also spoke to the sisters at the convent at Ambresberie,” she said steadily. “My mother lived there for a time. The sisters told me that my mother nursed my father back to health after he was taken ill with a fever while out hunting, and that they fell in love.”

“Just as you looked after me when I was stabbed at the fair at Wiltune?” There was such warmth and regard in Hugh’s voice and expression that Janna had to look away.

“Even so, my lord.”

Hugh was silent for a few moments. Sneaking a sideways glance, Janna saw his hands clenched tight and knew his memories of that time were as unsettling as her own.

He swallowed hard. “So, was your mother a nun at Ambresberie Abbey?”

“Not a nun, no. Not really. But she was the infirmarian there.” Janna could understand Hugh’s shock and disbelief. Now that she’d put the situation into words, it was hard even for her to believe the truth of it. “And so I’m waiting here for word of my father. I’m waiting for him to come and see to the rebuilding of his estate so that I can introduce myself to him, for he may never have received my letter or know that he has a daughter. I can only hope, without his ring or the letter to prove my case, that he will believe me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?”

“I held my peace simply because I can no longer prove my claim. I have no way of knowing whether or not my father will accept me for who I am.” Looking at Hugh’s desolate expression as he struggled to come to terms with her news, and an understanding of his loss, Janna wondered if she’d been a fool not to tell him earlier. Yet she’d given Hugh a chance to speak, to say he would take her out of love, that he would forsake everything just to be with her. And he had not. If she had spoken up before, and won him, she would always have wondered if he valued her only for her prospects. Hugh had chosen – but so had she, for Godric would always come first with her no matter what the future might hold.

There was no sense in dwelling on what might have been. “And what are your plans, my lord? Do you stay now with Sire Geoffrey until you are wed?”

Hugh nodded. He still seemed to be in a daze. Janna thought he believed her, and knew well that he was having second thoughts about his betrothed. To take his mind off his dilemma, and because she knew she’d have no peace of mind until she knew the answer to the question that nagged her day and night, she summoned up the courage to ask, “What news of Godric, my lord? And…and Cecily?”

“They’re both well.” Hugh attempted a shaky smile. “Now that Hamo has come to Sire Geoffrey to live in his household, he no longer requires a nurse, but Cecily begged my aunt to let her stay on at my manor. She’s very much in love with Godric and I know she’ll make a good match for him.”

“Hugh wants them to wed.” Hamo cast a mischievous glance at Janna. “I heard him tell Godric so.”

“He asked me if that was a request or an order,” Hugh grumbled. “I’ve told him that the marriage will please my aunt, and please me too. I value his stewardship of my land, and once Eleanor and I are married, she will need a companion. Cecily would be perfect for that position. I’m sure he realizes that the marriage is in his and Cecily’s best interests.”

It was the way of the world, Janna thought bleakly, that marriages should be made for reasons other than love. Just as Hugh’s future had been decided for him, so had Godric’s. She tried to console herself with the thought that Cecily would make a good wife for Godric. Unbidden, the memory of the passionate kiss she’d shared with him came into her mind. She trembled with suppressed emotion. “May I bring you ale and something to eat, my lord?” she offered. “Or wine?” she added hastily.

Hugh shook his head and sighed heavily. Janna was tempted to put her arm around him and comfort him as once he had comforted her, yet what she most wanted was to run away and not show her face again until they’d both left the tavern.

“Can I have some ale too, Janna?” Hamo asked.

Janna turned to the boy with some relief. “Of course you may,” she said, and hurried away to fetch a pitcher and a couple of mugs.

But the shocks and surprises weren’t over, she discovered, when she returned later with the wooden bowls of stew they had ordered. Hugh cast a quick glance at Hamo. The boy had picked up the spoon and fallen on the food with enthusiasm; he was paying no attention to them, and Hugh took the opportunity to beckon Janna closer.

“I came in the hope that you’d managed to escape the troubles,” he said in a low voice. “I came to see if you were still here, because I need to give you a warning, Johanna.”

“A warning?”

“Mus,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I believe my uncle has sent him to look for you. And I’m afraid, so far as Mus is concerned, that his vendetta has now become personal. He blames you for his incarceration at Sarisberie, you see.”

“Yes.” Mus had been sent to work the abbey’s farmland while she was staying there. He had come to kill her, but had made the mistake of trying to ravish her before he did so. She had managed to get the better of him, and he had been taken captive and put in prison, his actions judged according to both his crime and his intention. His overlord, Robert of Babestoche, had bought Mus’s freedom, and now it seemed that he’d sent the man to finish what he’d started. After what had happened, Janna felt quite sure that Mus had a personal interest in carrying out his master’s orders.

“Thank you for the warning, my lord,” she said in a low voice.

“Mus knows you had employment here and I am sure he’ll return. I had no trouble finding you, and neither will he, although I shall tell him that I’ve made enquiries and you haven’t been seen since the siege began.” Hugh couldn’t keep the concern out of his voice, a concern that Janna shared.

“Thank you, my lord. I will take care,” she promised. She should be safe enough in the crowded tavern if Mus came in, she thought, at the same time making a mental note not to venture out into the yard without either Ossie or Wat as an escort.

“My family has brought you nothing but grief.” Hugh took Janna’s hand, his thumb caressing her fingers. “I wish…” He fell silent, but continued to stroke her hand.

Janna wondered what to say. Was Hugh making up to her now that she’d told him about her father? She dismissed the thought as unworthy. There’d been an attraction between them right from the beginning. This show of affection was no more than what had already occurred between them in the past. Nevertheless, she should not encourage it, especially now that he was betrothed. Unaccountably, she felt a rush of concern for Eleanor and paused to examine the cause. It lay in the fact that, even while he was pursuing his intended bride, he was making overtures to her. Janna remembered the first time she’d seen Hugh in Winchestre with Hamo. Even then he’d been eyeing an attractive young woman as she passed him by. Was that how he was with every comely young woman he encountered? If so, Eleanor’s path to happiness might be rocky indeed – while Janna herself might have had a narrow escape!

“I thank you for your concern, my lord.” Janna withdrew her hand from his, and busied herself pouring more ale into their mugs.

“This search for your father,” Hugh continued, looking somewhat hurt by Janna’s action, “would you like me to make some enquiries on your behalf?”

“Would you?” Janna clutched the jug to her chest, excited by the possibilities. “I would appreciate it, my lord. Your…” She was about to say “father-in-law” but thought the reminder too raw in the circumstances. “Perhaps Sire Geoffrey may know of him and where I might find him?” And perhaps Sire Geoffrey might be appalled that a lowly drudge in a tavern was daring to claim kinship with a son of the old king!

“I’ll ask him. I’ll ask around,” Hugh said, apparently not sharing Janna’s qualms. “I’m sure someone will know how to make contact with your father.”

“Thank you.” Janna felt a rush of gratitude and relief. “Thank you so much, my lord.” She became aware of raised voices trying to catch her attention, and raised hands snapping fingers and beckoning for service. “I must attend to the other customers. Please excuse me,” she said hurriedly, and turned away before Hugh could say anything further.

Janna had prepared a new brew and had rung the bell to summon customers to the tavern. The first sign that there was something wrong came when the patrons began to complain about the taste of the ale. They coughed and choked and spat it out, and emptied their mugs onto the rushes. Alarmed, Janna tried a mouthful, and realized they had good grounds for complaint. The ale tasted foul. Quickly she tasted the brew in the other barrels, but that too was contaminated. When the customers demanded a different brew, there was none to give them. Some had supped the ale in quantity, quaffing a long draft before realizing there was something wrong with it. They reeled outside to be sick, but some didn’t get there in time. The air stank of vomit and Janna was hard put to keep her own stomach in check as she took a bucket of water and a wet rag to the puddles. Sybil also tasted the brew from all the barrels, and ordered that they should all be emptied.

Grumbling loudly on being told there was no other ale for them to sup, the customers streamed out of the tavern in search of comfort elsewhere. Even when Sybil belatedly offered them a cup of free wine to replace the spoiled ale, they stayed only long enough to drink it, not to buy more. The tavern closed early that night. Breathing fire and fury, not least over the inroads made into her stock of wine, Sybil interrogated Janna.

“I brewed it as I always do,” Janna protested, quite unable to shed light on the mystery. “There was nothing different about the malt, or the gruit, I swear it.” She thought for a moment. “Could it be that the water was tainted?”

“No!” Sybil snapped. “Ossie knows to go outside the East Gate to fetch it upriver.”

Janna wasn’t convinced. It was some distance to travel before the water ran clear and sweet enough to make a good brew, and there might be a strong temptation to take water from a canal within the town walls instead, water that might well have been contaminated by run-off from the tanners and dyers to the north. She wouldn’t put it past Ossie to cart water from a nearer source if he thought it looked clean enough to chance it. But she didn’t say anything, for the damage was done now. Nevertheless, she resolved to always taste the water before anything was added to it, and also taste the ale before it was served to the customers.

But Sybil wasn’t finished grumbling yet. “If there’s a complaint made about the ale to the ale taster, you’re for a ducking in the river – or worse,” she warned Janna. “Don’t think I’ll be taking the blame for this, miss.”

“It’s not my fault!”

Hands on hips, Sybil surveyed her. “I’ll be watching you closely in the future.”

Feeling resentful that she wasn’t believed, Janna made up a new wort, meticulously tasting the barley malt, the wild hops and also the water before combining them in the mash tun. Every step was closely observed by Sybil. It would take several days before the brew was ready, and Janna knew the tavern would continue to lose business unless customers were prepared to pay the price for wine. Nevertheless, the process couldn’t be hurried, and besides, she was determined to do everything right. She tasted all the herbs that made up the gruit, pulling a face at some of the more pungent among them. As a final test, she asked Sybil to taste the ale once it was ready for serving to the customers.

“Perfect.” Sybil smacked her lips, looking pleased for the first time in days.

Satisfied, Janna fixed the bush to the pole and rang the bell. Then she filled the jugs and took them out. But few customers came, and those only travelers who had not been told of the tavern’s sullied reputation. The word had gone around; it seemed that previously loyal customers now preferred to try their luck elsewhere. But at least the tainted ale hadn’t been reported, for they hadn’t been asked to give an explanation nor make reparation in any way. Janna took some comfort from having escaped the ducking stool.

But she could not be easy in her mind. On occasion, a potential customer would come to the door, look around the empty tavern and back hastily away, preferring to go in search of livelier surroundings. One such, she was almost sure, was Mus. The moment she noticed him, she turned and walked quickly out of the tavern. She didn’t dare go back for quite some time, in spite of Sybil’s scolding. She didn’t think Mus had seen her, but couldn’t be sure. After that, she redoubled her efforts to make sure she was never alone in the yard, especially at night, but his face haunted her dreams, and several times she woke gasping for air, certain his hands had been around her throat.

In an effort to attract customers back to the tavern, Sybil offered ale at half price during the hour after Vespers. And Elfric put the new bake house to good use and invented a pie, with chunks of beef, onions and mushrooms simmered in a rich gravy to which ale had been added. The smell of it made Janna’s mouth water as she took one of the pies out to a party of customers. They were strangers to the town and Janna hoped they would spread the word as they traveled about, so that more customers might be encouraged to return.

She set a knife, spoons and bowls on the table, and saw eager hands stretching out to cut and sample the appetizing fare. She turned to take another order, only to jerk around in alarm as a shout of outrage filled the room.

“What do you call this?” The traveler had jabbed his knife into a large chunk of meat and now he held it up for Janna’s inspection. Peering closer, Janna realized there was a long tail attached to the morsel.

Her insides contracted in disgust. “I-I’m sorry, so sorry,” she stuttered, and snatched up the trencher. She wanted to grab the mouse as well, but the man was still holding it on the point of his knife, his eyes glassy with disbelief as he swung it in front of the fascinated gaze of the others at his table.

“Please…” Janna pointed at it, willing him to put it down before the few other customers in the tavern realized what was wrong.

He stared at her. Then, with a muttered curse, he dropped mouse and knife onto the table, pushed back his stool and strode out, followed by his companions. Janna was instantly aware of how quiet the room had become. She looked up, and met accusing stares. Once again, the good name of the tavern would suffer.

Her mind was full of questions as she took the offensive evidence out to show Elfric. Tainted ale? Yes, it was just possible that there’d been something wrong with the water – because Janna was not prepared to accept that anything she’d put into the brew was at fault. But a mouse in a pie? Could it have gone in search of something to eat and been cooked in the filling by accident? It seemed unlikely.

That possibility was vehemently denied by Elfric when Janna set the pie before him. He was highly indignant at having his expertise questioned. “How do I know you’re not responsible?” he muttered darkly. “First the ale, and now this.”

Alerted by the uproar in the tavern, Sybil had come out to join in the interrogation. “You took the trencher through,” she pointed out to Janna.

“The mouse didn’t just drop into the pie! There was a layer of pastry on top of it!”

“Well, it was certainly there and in full view of the customers! If it didn’t crawl into the pie filling by accident, then it must have been put there on purpose. Why? Can you tell me that?” Sybil’s glance swiveled from Janna to Elfric and back again. They both shook their heads.

But Sybil’s question remained with Janna for the rest of the night. She couldn’t get the mouse out of her mind. Mouse – Mus! Was this a message from Mus that he knew where she was, and was watching her? Trying to discredit her? Last time he’d lain in wait and attacked her outright – and been caught. Was he playing a more devious game this time – cat and mouse, perhaps?

Or were the problems at the tavern actually directed at Sybil, to drive her customers away? Janna remembered the rival alehouses: Heaven, Hell and Paradise. No doubt they would be busier than ever as patrons of the Bell and Bush took their custom elsewhere. And there was certainly some bad feeling against Sybil for poaching their customers by lowering the price of her ale. Professional jealousy seemed a far more likely explanation than Mus’s revenge, but Janna decided to investigate further before she voiced her suspicions. And she knew just the right person to help her.

*

“I want you to go to Hell,” she said.

“Pardon?” Ulf blinked at her.

“And Heaven. And Paradise,” Janna added quickly.

“That sounds more tempting. How do you propose I get there? Die? Or just fly straight up into the sky?”

“You walk down the high street.”

“And why would I want to do that?”

Janna looked around the almost empty tavern. Ulf was one of only a few customers who had stayed loyal to the Bell and Bush following the fiasco of the ruined ale and the mouse pie. “Because I want you to spy for me.”

A gleam of interest lit Ulf’s eyes. “And what am I looking for, exactly?”

“I’m not sure,” Janna confessed. Ulf had already heard about the recent upsets; now she explained to him what she was thinking. “I can’t believe it happened by chance,” she concluded. “I think it was done deliberately by someone trying to take custom away from the Bell and Bush. So, can you find out who owns the alehouses for a start?” Was she right in her summing-up of the situation? She was suddenly assailed by doubt. “Could you also…” She was about to mention Mus, but thought better of it. Ulf had never met him, and wouldn’t know what he looked like.

“Also?”

“Also look out for Ebba?” Janna improvised. When she thought about it, the notion was actually quite credible. “You remember – the serving maid whose place I took? She parted on bad terms with Sybil, and there’s no way of knowing what happened to her after that. If that merchant has thrown her out, she may have fallen on hard times. So, if it’s not one or other of the alehouses wanting to pick up custom from the tavern, then maybe it’s Ebba seeking revenge?”

Ulf rubbed his large nose, looking thoughtful. “Has she been back to the tavern? Have you seen her?”

“No. But that’s not to say she didn’t sneak in when no-one was watching.”

“It’s possible,” Ulf granted.

“So, can you visit the alehouses and see who’s there and what information you can pick up?”

Ulf grinned at her. “I could offer relics for sale, guaranteed to take care of a guilty conscience. What do you think about that?”

“If you can profit from it, Ulf, and flush out the culprit at the same time, so much the better,” Janna assured him as she returned his grin.

*

The tavern was very quiet that night, and Janna soon got bored with so few customers to serve. Ossie put in an appearance periodically, but Janna knew he was spending most of his time in the kitchen, cadging food from Elfric, while Wat was barely to be seen at all. She caught Sybil eyeing her once or twice and wondered if the taverner held her responsible, and whether she was thinking of letting her go rather than risk anything else going wrong. There were certainly not enough customers to warrant her hire.

The thought frightened Janna. In the kitchen, at night after the tavern closed, she’d begun to concoct the lotions, salves and creams she’d learned under the tuition of her mother and Sister Anne. She’d been afraid she might have forgotten the recipes, and it was a joy to remember and use her old skills. She knew, from past experience, that her preparations would prove popular when she came to sell them, thus earning her a profit and, eventually, the means either to establish a small business of her own or finance her visit to Normandy. It would be a calamity if she had to leave the tavern now; it would put an end to all her plans. The thought fired her determination to get to the bottom of the mishaps.

She was quick to pounce on Ulf when he returned later in the evening, just as Sybil was about to bolt the door against the night. On seeing a customer, the taverner pushed it wide once more, but quickly stepped into his path when she saw Brutus trying to slink in behind Ulf.

“The dog’s harmless,” Janna reassured her. “And it’s so quiet tonight, he won’t get in anyone’s way.”

“I’m not having that animal in here.” Sybil didn’t budge. She put her fists on her hips and glared at Brutus. “You can tie him up out in the yard. That’s where he belongs.”

Janna pulled an apologetic face at Ulf, who merely grinned at her as he pulled a length of rope out of his pocket. “I’ll be back,” he said.

“Have you seen or heard anything interesting?” Janna asked, as soon as he returned. She sat him down, set up his mug and poured ale into it.

“I’ll have a bowl of stew to go with this, mistress, if you please,” Ulf shouted over her shoulder at Sybil, who was hovering close by. He gave Janna a wink as the taverner hastened out to fetch the food.

“I went to all the alehouses.” He gave a loud hiccup to prove the truth of his words, and took a long swallow from the mug in front of him. “They’re all doing a great trade, as busy as the Bell and Bush used to be.” He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and burped gently.

“And?” Janna prompted impatiently.

“I spoke to the alewives. They seem decent enough. Keen for business, of course, but I doubt they’d play these sorts of tricks to steal custom from a rival – even supposing they were able to come into the tavern unobserved, which seems unlikely. They knew what had happened here, of course, and are delighted that Sybil has got her ‘come-uppance,’ as one of them called it. But I find it hard to believe that any of them is responsible for what’s been happening here.”

“And I suppose they couldn’t count on our customers coming in to their own alehouses even if they did succeed in taking them away from the tavern,” Janna said thoughtfully.

“But I did discover something of interest.” Ulf leaned back on his stool and beamed at Janna, looking proud of himself. “That girl whose place you took. She’s working in Hell now.”

“Best place for Ebba, if you ask me.”

“You’d think so if you heard her talking.”

“Why? What’s she saying?”

“Nothing good about Sybil, or the Bell and Bush. Says she’s not surprised bad things have been happening here, given the way Sybil runs the tavern and the people she employs. It’s ‘the worst in the whole world,’ according to Ebba. She seems to have done right well for herself, all dressed up and with airs and graces to match. But she’s full of spite against Sybil, says the taverner was against her from the start and never gave her a fair trial. She hates you too.”