Devilʼs Brew: The Janna Chronicles 5 (19 page)

“When all this time we could have been together,” John whispered. “All this time wasted.”

“What about my mother? What about us?” The boy’s sharp voice interrupted John’s reverie, drawing him back to the present with a start. Janna understood both the boy’s anger and his father’s predicament. She wondered if she would have done better to hold her tongue until she could speak to her father alone.

John sighed, and at last turned his attention to his son. “Your mother and I were betrothed at an early age,” he said. “Even though I was not the king’s legitimate son, my father wanted a good match for me and so it was arranged. But then I came to England, and joined a hunting party and fell ill. Your mother – ” he turned to Janna “ – nursed me back to health and we fell in love.”

Janna nodded. This she already knew from the nuns at Ambresberie.

“After that, I knew I could marry no other than Emanuelle, and so we were wed.”

“Wed?” Janna sat up straight, hardly believing what she was hearing. “You and my mother were wed?”

“Yes,” John said grimly. “We were wed. And then I was faced with the task of telling my father what I had done, so I went in search of him. But he had gone to Normandy, and I was forced to follow him there. I had to do the honorable thing, you see, and explain to him, and to my betrothed, that I was already wed and that I intended to live in England. And I wrote to your mother to explain my continuing absence.” His face crumpled. “I knew she could speak my language, but I wasn’t sure she could read it. That’s why I wrote the letter in the language of the Saxons. She never told me she was unable to read at all!”

“She was a proud woman.” Too proud, Janna thought, remembering Eadgyth’s refusal ever to speak of the past, of her perceived misfortune at the hand of her lover – her husband. She’d never dreamed that her mother had been legally wed. This was something to think about later, when all was quiet and she had time to mull it over.

“She taught you to speak Norman French?” John asked.

“Yes.”

“But not how to read, presumably, since you say she could not. And you say also that she never spoke of me. How, then, did you find the letter? How did
you
come to read it?”

It was as though her father was trying to catch her out in a lie. “I found the letter after my mother died,” Janna said steadily. “She’d hidden it away, along with your ring and the brooch. I knew how to write my name, Johanna. She’d taught me that much. And I recognized the letters in your signature: J-O-H-N. I wondered if the letter might have come from my father, so I went to Wiltune Abbey and begged sanctuary there. Sister Ursel taught me how to read. I wanted to learn so that I could read your letter, so I could find out who my father was. So I could find
you
.”

“And where is my letter now?” In spite of his skepticism, John seemed somewhat impressed by her achievement.

Janna threw her hands in the air in a gesture of loss. “It was stolen. It was in my purse, along with your ring and the brooch, but my purse was cut. The brooch was returned to me today.” She cast a quick glance over her shoulder at Ulf. He was watching her, and as he caught her eye, he winked and raised his thumb. Encouraged by the friendly gesture, Janna turned back to her father.

“But what about me? What about us?” The boy’s petulant whine was as annoying as a gnat on a hot summer’s night. Janna reproached herself for being so uncharitable. It was clear that this news of her father’s had changed everything, both for his family and for herself. If her father believed what she’d told him.

With a sigh, John turned to face his son. “I searched a long time for Emanuelle, and eventually came to the conclusion she must have died.” He shifted uncomfortably on his stool, perhaps wondering how to portray his subsequent actions in the best light. “I thought I was free to marry again. Believe me, Giles, I married your mother in good faith. I thought that, if I’d lost my only love, at the very least I could please the king, my father, by honoring the betrothal he had arranged for me. And I have to say, your mother was more than pleased to take me on.”

A tinge of bitterness had crept into John’s tone. Janna began speculating how relations had been between husband and wife over the years. Did Blanche know that she was second best right from the start? Or had she found out the hard way?

“But it seems as if, unknowingly, I have committed bigamy. Our marriage was illegal, and therefore you, my son, are illegitimate.” John’s glance strayed to Janna, and went back to his son.

“Illegitimate?” The boy’s voice rose in an outraged squeak. “But…but I am your heir. You said so! You said I would inherit everything from you. My sisters won’t get anything! And neither should
she
!”

Janna heard the satisfaction in his tone, and found that she was beginning to dislike her half-brother quite a lot.

“That’s not how it’ll be,” John said. “I’ve made provision for your sisters as well as for you, Giles, no matter what you might choose to believe.” He sighed again, and said more forcefully, “This news has come as much of a shock to me as it has to you. So we’ll say no more about who inherits what until I have had time to get used to the idea that I may have another daughter.” He cast a bemused glance at Janna.

“Just wait until my mother hears about this,” the boy muttered.

“You will leave it to me to tell her the news,” his father said quickly. “You are not to breathe a word of this, do you hear me?”

“My lord,” Janna ventured, “I think she already knows.” And she told her father then of her visit to his estate, and her conversation with his steward. “I wrote you a letter telling you about myself, and begging you to come to Winchestre to meet me.”

After what had just transpired, Janna was certain that Blanche had never passed on her message, and her father’s fist slamming onto the table confirmed it. “I never received your message. That whoreson steward of mine – ”

“It’s not the steward’s fault, my lord.” Janna hastened to set the truth before him. She had no love for the steward, but thought it more important to warn her father what he might face once he questioned his wife. “I spoke to the young messenger who told me of his voyage across to Normandy. He vowed that he’d handed over the message, and that he was told there was no reply. I had no reason to doubt his word. I only hoped that ‘no reply’ meant that you intended to come here in person to see me.”

John was silent for a moment as he mulled over Janna’s words. “To whom did the boy hand the message?”

“Your wife, my lord.” Janna glanced at her half-brother, but looked away quickly as she read the hatred in his eyes.

“That explains why she insisted on coming here to England with me, and bringing our family,” John mused. Janna wondered if he knew he was speaking his thoughts out loud and whether he intended her to hear them. “Johanna,” he said then, but he did not reach out to touch her, even though Janna longed for some expression of affection from him. Did he still not believe that she was who she said she was? Surely she had said enough to convince him.

He shook himself, as if trying to come to terms with everything he had learned. Janna sat back, thinking to give him time. She became aware of a rising hubbub in the tavern; customers were shouting for attention. Some were even leaving, muttering and disgruntled. She sprang to her feet, ready to serve them. They had worked too hard to attract custom back to the tavern for her to jeopardize it now.

Her wrist was gripped by a strong hand. “You may or may not be my daughter, but if you are, I’ll not have you working as a drudge in a tavern!” John insisted.

Janna glared at him, stung that he could still doubt her. “It’s honest work, work I needed to support myself in your continuing absence, my lord.” She couldn’t resist the jibe. “Meanwhile, the taverner is – is indisposed and I must attend to our customers!”

She wrenched her arm from his grasp, picked up the pitcher, and splashed more ale into his mug. She set the pitcher down with a bang. “You recognize the taste of the ale because it’s made to the recipe my mother taught me,” she said more quietly. “No doubt you acquired a taste for it when she used to make it for you.” And she hurried off, fighting tears of rage and humiliation, and a deep sorrow that what should have been a joyful reunion between father and daughter had gone so badly wrong.

“I’m assuming that really was your father, Janna? Did all go well after I left you?”

“Ulf!” Janna was delighted to see him. After she’d finished serving all the disgruntled and impatient customers the previous day, she’d realized that Ulf had left the tavern, so she’d had no-one in whom to confide her dashed hopes over the grand reunion with her father. He and Giles had gone without speaking to her again, leaving Janna disappointed and resentful that not only had he made no effort to understand her situation, he hadn’t given back her brooch either.

“Thank you for coming to my rescue,” she told Ulf as she filled his mug. After a quick glance around to make sure the other customers had everything they needed, she sat down to tell him all that had transpired after he’d left them.

“I doubt I’ll ever see my father again, or my brooch either,” she concluded, and banged her fist on the table, caught between anger and tears.

“Don’t take on so. Your father just needs time to get used to the idea of having a daughter,” Ulf comforted her. “He loved your mother, so he’ll be back, lass, you’ll see. You’ll have another chance to talk to him then.” He leaned closer, dropping his voice so that only Janna could hear him. “Meanwhile, there’s summat I have to tell you,” he said seriously. “There’s a rumor going around that the Bell and Bush is about to close. Do you know something I don’t?”

“It’s a lie! Who told you that?”

Ulf shrugged. “One of the regulars in Hell. I don’t know his name, but I’ve seen him in conversation with Ebba several times. They seemed to be getting on very well, if you know what I mean.”

Janna nodded. She understood perfectly.

“That merchant? Alan. Was he there too?” she asked, just to make sure.

“Nay, he weren’t.”

So the merchant had seen through pretty Ebba to the black heart within, and now drank at another tavern. And Ebba had found a replacement. “Is Ebba still slandering me? And Sybil and the tavern?”

“Aye. She’s one of those saying the tavern’s about to close. But why? Your customers have started to come back. You’ll soon be as busy as ever.” He looked about him. “Where is Sybil? I noticed you were in a right moither trying to serve everyone yesternoon. Why isn’t she here to help you?”

Janna glanced about swiftly to make sure they could not be overheard. “Because she’s lying upstairs on her bed, with the back of her head bashed in.”

“
What?
”

“Shh! It’s all right!” Janna hastened to reassure him. “She’s not dead. But she does have a very sore head. She’s not going to be up and doing for quite some time, I’m afraid. But you’re not to say anything to anyone about it. Promise me?”

“Of course. But – what happened?”

“That’s what I’d like to know.” Was Mus responsible? Ulf didn’t know that Mus had attacked Janna in much the same way that Sybil had been attacked. Ulf knew nothing about Mus. Really, Janna reasoned, it was up to her to follow that line of enquiry, if only she knew where to start. But Ulf could be useful to her in other ways. “I found Sybil lying in the brew house, senseless,” she continued. “There was no sign of a weapon. Whoever is responsible knew what he was going to do and must have brought the weapon with him – or her – and taken it away again.” Hoping to convince him as well as relieve her own conscience, Janna decided to test her thinking on Ulf. “I’m wondering if someone’s out to destroy the tavern, Ulf. First, there was the tainted ale. Then the mouse pie, and now this attack on Sybil.”

Ulf nodded slowly. “It seems too much of a coincidence, I agree. But who’s behind it? And why?”

“Ebba?”

Ulf’s mouth turned down. “Do you think a woman – a girl – would do something so wicked? Nay, lass! It seems unlikely.” He shook his head.

“Why not? Ebba’s the one with the grudge, she’s the one saying that the tavern is going to close. It doesn’t take much strength to knock someone down if you creep up behind them.” Janna repeated what the taverner had told her. “Whoever it was took Sybil by surprise and got away without being seen.”

“Why would Ebba be so vindictive?”

“Why not?” If forcing the tavern to close was the purpose behind their recent misfortune, then Ebba rather than Mus was a far more likely suspect.

“I’ll keep my eyes and ears open,” Ulf promised. “And I’ll make a point of talking to Ebba, see what I can find out.”

“Mind she doesn’t set her cap at you,” Janna teased.

Ulf snorted with mirth at the very idea. Looking at him, Janna wasn’t so sure. He might look like a goblin and have questionable friends and practices, but his brown eyes were merry and his heart was a solid lump of gold. Ebba could do a lot worse for herself. It was unlikely that she would succeed in winning his love, but if she did, Ulf would prove far truer to her than Alan, who apparently dropped women as quickly as he picked them up. But someone was dressing Ebba in finery, someone was keeping her. So Ulf should be safe enough; nevertheless, Janna couldn’t resist giving him a warning.

“Be careful, Ulf. If Ebba is responsible for the attack on Sybil, she’s more dangerous than she looks.”

“If? You’re not sure, then?”

Janna wondered whether she should confide in Ulf after all. Half hoping that he would scoff at her fears, she said, “Sybil was hit from behind. I wondered if she was the intended victim, or if her attacker actually mistook her for someone else.”

“Someone else like who?”

“Me.”

“
You?
” Once again Ulf’s voice cracked high in disbelief. “Why should anyone want to harm
you
? What aren’t you telling me, Janna?”

“A man attacked me once, a long time ago. To silence me. But he made the mistake of trying to force himself on me first. I managed to fight him off and summon help.” Janna grimaced at the memory. “Mus was caught, found guilty, and imprisoned for a while at Sarisberie, but his lord put up bail for him and so he was released. I was warned he would come after me again, and so he did. But Wat got the better of him on that occasion.”

“Wat? This happened just recently? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s in the past. I’m a lot more careful now.” Janna made a dismissive gesture, partly to allay Ulf’s fears but also to convince herself that all was well.

“But who is this man, Mus? You must point him out to me, Janna.” Ulf hesitated. “If he’s a threat to you, I know someone who could take care of him. If you know what I mean.”

Janna did. But not for anything would she have Mus’s death on her conscience. “No,” she said. “Thank you, Ulf, but I don’t want that. Believe me, I am being careful. Mus won’t get another chance in a hurry.”

“Except you believe he’s now harmed Sybil by mistake?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t know. But whatever happens, I think we should keep quiet about the fact that anything’s happened to her.”

Ulf nodded slowly, but he didn’t look happy. “I’ll see what else I can find out,” he said. “And you must also promise to be careful.” He brightened. “But of course, you have your father to take care of you now. I’m sorry things went badly for you yesternoon, but you should go to him, lass, and talk to him again.”

“No!” Not for anything would Janna relive the humiliation of her confrontation with her father.

Ulf frowned. “He has the brooch. He must believe you, surely?” He sat back, a half grin on his face. “I did wonder if you’d still be here when I came in. I thought your father would insist you come to live with him in his lodgings. You should go to him, Janna. That’d be the very safest place for you! And respectable. Much more fitting for the granddaughter of a king!”

“I have to keep the tavern going in Sybil’s absence,” Janna said. “Anyway, my father doesn’t care where I live or what I do.”

“Doesn’t care?” Ulf’s eyebrows rose high up to his cap. “After all you’ve said about him and your mother, how could he not care?”

“I’m not sure he believes me.” Janna caught hold of Ulf’s hands. “Thank you so much for finding the brooch,” she said earnestly. “I really thought, when I gave it to him and quoted the letter he wrote to my mother, that he would greet me as his daughter. But I was wrong.”

“Aye, lass. I can see you’re heart-sluffened.” Ulf put his arm around her.

Janna leaned against him, taking comfort from his presence and the knowledge of his concern for her. “I had hoped to win his love,” she confessed. “Even more importantly, I’d hoped to win his support to avenge the death of my mother.” It was the only reason Janna had set off to find her father, but now her quest seemed hopeless.

“Avenge your mother’s death?” Ulf waited, obviously hoping for an explanation. But Janna was too cast down to give him one.

“It’s no use,” she said. “I know he loved my mother, but he has a wife and a family now – including a son who already hates me, and who will not willingly give up his inheritance. I can’t do any more, so I might as well forget about him.”

Ulf was silent for a few moments. “Your news must have fair stopped his heart in shock. Even worse that you spoke it in front of his son. Give him time to think about it, lass. I’m sure he’ll come around.”

“Or he may come round just to taste my mother’s ale. He seems to like it!” Janna said bitterly.

“Time is on your side,” Ulf reassured her. “At the moment his estate is only a pile of stone. It’s going to take a while before he can move in. Where is he staying in the meantime?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll see if I can find out,” Ulf said, and slipped off his stool to set his promise in motion.

With a heavy heart, Janna began serving the other customers. Then, leaving Ossie in charge, she ran upstairs with a mug and a pitcher of ale.

She found Sybil struggling to get out of bed. “Lie still, mistress!” Janna ordered sharply. “You’ve got a nasty head wound. You mustn’t try to move. Not yet, anyway.”

“I have a tavern to look after.” With a grunt, Sybil swung her legs to the floor and tried to stand. Janna saw her face contract with pain and hastily set the pitcher down to help Sybil in case she fell. The woman was trembling all over, swaying like an aspen in the wind.

“Lie down, Mistress Taverner,” Janna said, more gently, and lent her support as Sybil sagged back onto the bed. “Stay there!” Not giving her any time to argue, Janna bent and picked up Sybil’s legs and swung them up. With a sigh, Sybil stretched out and closed her eyes. “You’re not to worry. I’m looking after everything for you.”

“What are you doing up here, then?”

Janna grinned at Sybil’s acerbic tone, reassured that the taverner sounded more like herself at last.

“Ossie’s minding the customers.” Janna poured a mug of ale and put it in Sybil’s hand. “Can I get you something to eat?”

“No. Thank you. I’m not hungry.” Sybil drank thirstily, and set the mug down for Janna to refill it.

“Now that you’ve had time to think about it, can you remember anything about the attack?” Janna was sorry to push her, but knew that they’d all be safer if the culprit could be identified. “Did you see anything? Hear anything? Smell anything?” She remembered, with a shudder, the acrid odor of Mus as he’d held her tight.

Sybil closed her eyes. When she didn’t speak, Janna wondered if she’d gone back to sleep. But it seemed she was just thinking, for finally she said, “I heard a sound. Something familiar, something I’ve heard before. But I can’t remember what it was!” She clicked her tongue in exasperation.

“Don’t worry about it,” Janna encouraged. “It’ll come back to you.” She waited a moment. “Anything else?”

Wearily, Sybil shook her head.

“I’ll visit you later,” Janna promised, and hurried downstairs once more.

As she moved among the customers, several queried when the tavern was going to close. Janna took comfort from the fact that they seemed pleased when she assured them that it wasn’t. It might even have some curiosity value, she thought, if people came to see why the tavern was set to close and stayed to drink ale and order food instead.

Wat was busy clearing dirty mugs and trenchers from the table. She was about to send him back to the brew house to refill the empty pitchers with ale when she heard a query about the tavern’s future.

She stayed silent, wanting to hear Wat’s reply, for it was important that he reassure the customers that it was business as usual. The customer drained his mug and set it down with a bang, licking his lips to taste any stray drops. Janna smiled to herself, pleased that her brew was going down so well. That, more than anything, should entice customers back to the Bell and Bush. She noticed the other patrons sitting at the man’s table had ceased their chatter. They too were anxious to find out the fate of the tavern.

“Who’s to say how much longer we can keep open?” Wat hadn’t seen Janna. She was about to intervene, to set the customer straight, but Wat leaned closer, obviously about to impart something important. Intrigued, Janna quietly shuffled closer. “Mistress Sybil’s been attacked. She’s half-dead now and a-lyin’ upstairs.” He pointed a dirty finger in the direction of Sybil’s bedchamber.

Muttering curses under her breath, for she’d expressly instructed Ossie, Elfric and Wat to say nothing of the attack on Sybil, Janna swept forward. “Go and refill the pitchers, Wat,” she said sweetly, and grabbed the half-full jug he was carrying. “Pay no attention to the scullion,” she told them as she busily refilled the customers’ mugs. “He knows nothing about anything. The taverner is indisposed, that’s all, and this tavern will stay open as long as…as long as anyone has a thirst to quench!” She smiled around the table before hastening out to berate Wat for ignoring her instructions.

“They was askin’ questions ’bout the taverner. I had to tell them somethin’, didn’t I?” he said, with a sideways glance that seemed to hold a hint of accusation.

“That’s no reason to encourage tittle-tattle! I told you to say nothing of the attack on Sybil, or her injury. Just say she’s not well if anyone asks. And the tavern is
not
about to close; make sure you tell them that.”

Wat shrugged and bent to loosen the bung on the barrel, making a big show of refilling the jugs.

“It’s your job that will go if the tavern closes!” Janna reminded him. “We’ve worked hard to bring customers back here after the destruction of the town and the hardship that followed it. Do you want to put our future here at risk?”