Devilʼs Brew: The Janna Chronicles 5 (20 page)

“It’s not you lyin’ up there with your head bashed in! Why’re you makin’ such a fuss about everythin’?”

Janna was about to shout at him for being so stupid, but checked herself, remembering how he’d come to her defense. But for Wat she might well be dead. And Sybil might have been safe. “Don’t talk about Sybil or what happened, all right?” she said, squashing down her unease. “We want customers to have confidence in us, not think they might do better elsewhere.”

“Mebbe they will.” It was said so low that Janna wasn’t sure at first if she’d heard right.

“What did you say?”

“Hell. Heaven. Paradise. They got a lot more customers than us.” Wat kept his back to Janna so she couldn’t see his face. But his backside, as he stooped low over the barrel, presented a tempting target. She itched to kick it.

“And that’s why we have to work twice as hard as anyone else to tempt customers back to us again,” she snapped. She couldn’t believe Wat could be so stupid that he hadn’t worked it out for himself. Not trusting herself to stay calm enough to deal with him, she snatched up a couple of brimming jugs and rushed back into the tavern.

A party of young men waylaid her. They’d obviously been drinking elsewhere and were somewhat the worse for it. As Janna passed, one of them grabbed hold of her sleeve and swung her around so that the brimming jugs slopped ale onto the rushes. Already annoyed with Wat, Janna had to press her lips together to stop herself from shouting at the oaf. She cast a glance of appeal in Ossie’s direction, but he was busy talking to someone and had his back to her.

“Give us some of your best ale, sweetheart.” The speaker kept a firm hold on her sleeve. He seemed to be the ringleader; he was red-faced and sweating; she could smell his foul breath as he dragged her closer to hear his order. His companions grinned inanely and thumped their fists on the table in encouragement.

Janna pulled away, her expression revealing her distaste. “I am not your sweetheart,” she fumed. “And all our ale is of the best quality. In fact, it’s the finest you’ll get anywhere in Winchestre.” She slapped some mugs onto the table and sloshed ale into them, keen to get away from the drunken sots as quickly as possible. They, however, had other ideas. As she pocketed their coins and began to walk away, the ringleader grabbed her once more.

“Don’t be in such a hurry, sweetheart!” He spun her around and, before she could react, pushed her down onto his lap and put his arms around her. He reeked of ale and an acrid sweat that spoke of much labor out in the fields and not enough washing afterward. Janna felt her stomach churn in disgust.

She stamped down hard on his instep and, as he yowled in protest, she pushed herself free of his embrace and skipped out of his reach. “Behave yourself or drink elsewhere,” she told him, pleased that Ossie had at last become aware of the disturbance and was coming her way. Arms folded across his massive chest, he took up a position next to the table and its occupants, daring them to twitch even a finger out of line.

Janna quickly made her escape. She was anxious to reassure the remaining customers that it was business as usual, to counteract anything Wat might have told them. As she moved between the tables, she became aware that she was being watched. She stopped abruptly. Her father. It took all her courage to approach him, thankful that at least he was alone today. She could hardly bear to look at him as she said, “Please take a seat, my lord, and I’ll bring you some ale.”

“I need to talk to you.” His voice, his whole demeanor, was stiff with disapproval, and Janna knew he’d witnessed her humiliation. While she could try to explain it away, nothing would wipe the scene from his memory.

“I haven’t got time to sit with you. I’m alone here, I have to serve the customers,” she apologized.

“You call yourself my daughter, yet you’re a drudge in a tavern and a magnet for any lackwit who cares to take advantage of you!”

“As I’ve already told you, I need to work to support myself,” Janna snapped. If her father thought her rude, so be it. She didn’t have to justify her actions to someone who, until a day ago, had not even been aware of her existence. She poured him a mug of ale and hurried away. If he had anything to say to her, he could do so after the customers had left and she had time for him.

She kept busy serving food and ale, and hovered over the tavern’s patrons with reassuring words regarding the tavern’s future, while her father remained, watching and waiting. Although she longed to go to him, hoping that in spite of everything he might welcome her into his family, pride kept her away until, finally, she ran out of chores and even the pretense of something to do. She walked over to his table and sat down, not waiting for an invitation. Although her heart was quaking in her breast, she faced him, assessing his features, so similar to her own. Even his mouth was familiar. Although half hidden by his mustache, she’d seen a feminine version in the empress and in herself, and its masculine counterpart in Robert of Gloucestre. If the earl was to be believed, they had all inherited most of their facial characteristics from the old king, Henry. She wondered if her father had at last recognized the resemblance. If so, then surely he could no longer deny her. She waited quietly for him to speak.

“You took me completely by surprise yesterday,” he began awkwardly. “After all these years of thinking Emanuelle had died, and that an important part of my life was over and forgotten, I hardly knew what to say to you. Or to my son, when I had to give him an explanation of the past. But I do apologize if I offended you.”

Somewhat mollified, Janna made a concession of her own. “I should have waited until you were on your own before speaking, sire,” she admitted. “It was just that I was so…” Her voice faltered. She took a deep breath and plunged on. “I was so delighted to see you, to meet you at last, when I’d almost given up hope. I saw you in here before, you see, but had no chance to speak to you then. I didn’t want to risk losing you again.”

John chewed on his lip. Janna thought he was a man used to action, to making decisions, and that being at a loss was probably a new experience for him. She began to warm to him, to feel again the excitement of meeting him at last. But she should guard her heart, she reminded herself. She would not set herself up for more disappointment. So she stayed silent, giving him the chance to say what was on his mind.

“I’ve spoken to Blanche,” he mumbled. “She denied it at first, but finally she admitted to receiving your letter. She said she thought it was a jest, someone chancing their luck, perhaps. She said she didn’t want to worry me with it, and so she destroyed it.”

“You were away at the time, sire.” Even though she didn’t believe the excuse, Janna was prepared to give Blanche the benefit of the doubt.

John nodded slowly. “Of course, your presence changes everything. Blanche knows that now. And she will not readily forgive me for what I have done.” He sighed, and opened his purse. To Janna’s great delight and relief, he withdrew the brooch and placed it into her upturned palm. At once she pinned it to her tunic, quickly, before he could change his mind.

“I accept you are my daughter, Johanna.” A quick flash of humor momentarily lightened his face. “In fact, I only had to look at you to know that.” Suddenly, unexpectedly, he caught hold of her hand and held it between his own. “I thought I’d lost your mother forever,” he said brokenly. “I can’t – I can’t believe that we made a child together!”

Janna felt helpless in the face of his distress. What did he want from her? What did he expect would happen next? She wished she knew. But her hand lay within her father’s clasp; she felt his warmth. The prickly barrier she’d raised against him began, slowly, to dissolve.

“Tell me about your mother,” John implored, when he’d mastered himself once more. “Tell me about her life, your life together. And tell me also why you were so determined to find me when you had no idea who I was.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Janna saw someone enter the tavern. It took her a moment to refocus, to recognize Hugh, but he noticed her at once and stepped her way. She watched him check as he saw her companion, and read the dawning realization on his face. He turned aside then, and sat down at an empty table. Janna was about to go to him, but saw that Ossie had picked up a jug of ale and was ready to serve Hugh himself. Nodding her thanks to him, she turned back to her father.

The brief pause had given her time to think, time to plan her strategy. She would tell him what he wanted to know, tell him about her life with Eadgyth. But she would not tell him how her mother’s life had ended, not yet, not until she knew that she could trust him with the truth, and with her need to avenge her mother’s death.

John listened intently to her reminiscences, occasionally asking questions or interrupting her with little anecdotes of his own. There seemed no doubt now that he had accepted her story. Janna began to relax, and even laughed occasionally, although the story of the hard life she’d shared with her mother stirred an aching misery that Eadgyth was no longer alive to be reunited with her one true love.

“You say your mother died from drinking tainted wine?” John still looked perplexed.

Janna hesitated. It was not yet time to tell him everything, lest he scoff at her suspicions and immediately ally himself with the lord of the manor. She needed to know that he trusted her judgment enough to act on it. “There was something wrong with the wine. By the time my mother realized, it was too late to counteract the harm,” she explained, giving him something of the truth.

John was silent. Janna read the sadness on his face. But he seemed to accept her explanation, for he didn’t question her any further. Instead, he drained his mug and set it down. “You must leave the tavern,” he said. “Come away with me now, for I won’t have you molested by any more drunken louts. Besides, I want you to meet my wife and my other daughters. They can’t visit you here, it isn’t seemly. Nor do I want them to know how you’ve been living and what you’ve been doing.” He surveyed Janna with an anxious frown. “But I’ll have to find you something else to wear before you can meet them,” he muttered.

Almost speechless with embarrassment and anger, Janna struggled to find her voice. “I can’t come with you, my lord,” she said, as politely as she could. “I’ve already explained to you that I cannot leave the tavern while the taverner is – is indisposed. I’ve helped her build up a good business here, and I would not jeopardize that.”

“But – ”

“Nor will I leave her in the lurch.” Janna spoke over him. “I owe her my loyalty for taking me in when I had nothing, and giving me work, food and somewhere to live.” She was about to add,
Which is more than you’ve ever done
, but thought better of it.

Offended and displeased, her father glowered at her. “I will not have you disgrace my family by continuing to work here as a tavern drudge,” he said stiffly, and rose to his feet.

Janna stared at him, then jumped up to face him directly. She gripped the table, needing its support in order to defy him.

“I am who I am,” she said.

John glared at her. “And I am who
I
am,” he said pointedly. “I am also your father, miss. You would do well to obey me.”

“Just as you obeyed your father when you married my mother?”

John winced, but Janna felt little pleasure in wounding him. Nevertheless, she was sure she was doing the right thing in defying him now. “For all these years I have lived without a father,” she said, “and I am who I am because of it. It’s too late now to wish me different.” It was as well for her father to know from the start that she was used to being independent and living as she chose. There could be little future for them together, unless he understood that.

“You have a choice, Johanna,” he said. “You told me you’ve searched a long time to find me, and now you have. But my position comes with certain expectations and obligations. Unless and until you are prepared to accept them, I believe we have nothing further to discuss.” He gave a brief bow and strode out of the tavern, leaving Janna with her mouth agape, stunned as a fish floundering on dry land. She had felt so sure of herself, so justified in her bid to repay Sybil’s kindness. Yet it seemed that in trying to do the right thing by Sybil, she had put her quest for justice in jeopardy and, even worse, her own future along with it.

As soon as he saw her father leave, Hugh rose and came over to her. “I’m so pleased that you’ve met up with your father at last, Johanna!” he enthused. “I came to tell you that he was in Winchestre, but it seems you already know that.” As he studied Janna’s expression more closely, his enthusiasm evaporated. “Is something wrong? Did the meeting go badly?”

“Yes.” Janna felt wretched, yet she didn’t know what she could have said or done differently. Surely she was in the right? And that meant her father was wrong. She shook her head, wishing she could make sense of what had just happened. Was this the end of her quest? Would her father decide not to upset the life he had with Blanche for someone so wayward and unyielding?

The answer seemed to be yes, at least while she continued to work in the tavern. But once Sybil was back on her feet, and if she could find someone else to take her place here, what then? Would her father welcome her into his life? Or, by refusing to bow to his will, had she poisoned their relationship forever? Janna’s spirits plummeted further as she realized that, even if she knew how to mend things between them, it was too late. She didn’t know where he resided so she had no way of contacting him.

Her panic began to subside, as she recalled what Hugh had just said. “Do you know where my father is staying, my lord, for I forgot to ask him?”

“He’s staying with his cousin.”

“His cousin?”

“Henry of Blois. The Bishop of Winchestre.”

Janna’s thoughts reeled as she digested the implications of what Hugh had just said. “Does that mean my father supports King Stephen?” she ventured at last.

“Everyone does nowadays. It’s too dangerous to do otherwise.”

Janna acknowledged the truth of Hugh’s words. The tide had turned against the empress; there was no longer any future in supporting her against the king. Janna still held a secret hope that the empress might yet prevail in her bid to win the crown from her cousin, Stephen, but Hugh was right. It was not safe to say these things any longer.

“And where is the bishop living now?” she asked. The old palace in the center of the city had been destroyed and it was clear the bishop had no intention of rebuilding it. Likewise, the royal castle outside the West Gate had taken a battering. So far as anyone knew, it had stood deserted since the empress and her supporters had fled.

“The bishop’s at his palace at Wolvesey, with his entourage. That includes your father.” Hugh hesitated, looking suddenly awkward. “I should warn you that his family is with him,” he said. “Do you know that your father has a wife, a son and two daughters?”

“Yes, I do. I haven’t met his wife and daughters yet. Nor will I, if my father has anything to do with it.” Janna stopped, feeling dangerously close to tears.

“Are things so bad between you?” Hugh’s tone was gentle.

Janna nodded, and took a quick breath. “Have you met my – my father’s family?” she asked, curious to know something about these rivals for her father’s love.

Hugh shook his head. “I’ve only just arrived back here. I’ve been at Tuiforde with my – with Eleanor. I did ask around before I left, as I promised I would, but I got nowhere.” He gave Janna a wry grin. “Then I heard Sire Geoffrey talking about a ‘John fitz Henry’ and I knew at once who that must be. So I suggested that he invite them to witness my…my marriage to his daughter, and so he has.”

“May I come too, my lord?” The words were out before Janna had a chance to think through the consequences. She read Hugh’s reaction in his startled glance at her tunic and spattered apron.

“My apologies, lord,” she said quickly, feeling mortified. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Eleanor and I will make our vows in front of the priest,” Hugh said doubtfully. “Anyone can come to witness that. But…but I’m sorry, Johanna, I cannot invite you to the celebration feast that follows, for how would I explain your presence to my…my betrothed? Or my future father-in-law?” The thought of his impending nuptials had cast a shadow across Hugh’s face. “But for all that, I would like you to be there,” he added wistfully. “Perhaps I could announce you as your father’s daughter?”

“He won’t thank you for that!” But Janna was aching with curiosity to see her father’s family, as well as Hugh’s betrothed. “No, my lord, I’m sorry I asked. I’ll come to witness your vows, if I may, but I don’t expect you to acknowledge me. I don’t wish to embarrass either you or your bride. Or my father.” It would give her the chance to see her new family without their realizing who she was. This thought was followed by another possibility, but Janna pushed it aside to think about later.

“In truth, I would like you to be there, Johanna.” Hugh paused a moment, and cleared his throat. He took a deep breath. “Indeed, I wish with all my heart that it could be you by my side instead of Eleanor when I make my vows.”

Janna heard the raw pain in his voice as he admitted his true feelings. But there was nothing she could say or do to make things right for him, and so she remained silent.

“It’s too late for us, isn’t it?” Hugh persevered, adding almost to himself, “I had my chance at happiness. I should have had the courage to take it.” He reached out to touch her cheek in a tender caress. Janna caught her breath. If only this was Godric standing in front of her, if only…

She knew the regret on his face was mirrored on her own. “You will find happiness with your wife, my lord, if you come to the marriage with a loving and cheerful heart,” she said firmly, hoping that her words would prove true.

“I shall certainly do my best,” he said unhappily. “It seems that Eleanor is pleased enough to have me.”

“And I wish you both all the joy in the world,” Janna encouraged him. “When are you to be wed?”

“On Sunday at noon, a week after the fair closes.”

The fair. Janna had planned toward it, but in light of the problems at the tavern and her father’s arrival, she’d all but forgotten about it. Now, it was almost upon them. Already the town was becoming crowded with strangers, merchants eager to buy and sell and make up for their lost trade at the time of the siege. The guesthouses of the abbeys would also be filling rapidly. She did a quick calculation. If she could come up with a proper plan to convince her father to admit her into his family, there might be enough time for her to carry it through and also fulfil her obligation to Sybil. But first she needed to find out more.

“And where are you to be wed, my lord?”

“We’ll take our vows at the door of the cathedral.” Hugh sounded as gloomy as if he was speaking of his own execution. “Once our vows have been witnessed, there’ll be a nuptial mass. After that, guests are invited to Tuiforde for a celebration feast at Sire Geoffrey’s manor.”

And after that, the marriage would be consummated. Janna’s body, awakened by Hugh’s soft caress, quivered at the thought of what it would mean to lie with a man. With Godric. She closed her eyes lest they betray her sudden hunger.

“Johanna,” Hugh said, and his voice was husky with wanting as he stepped closer, close enough to kiss her. “Is it too late, even now, for us to make a life together?”

Johanna. Hugh had always called her that, just as her father did now. But in her heart she was still Janna, independent and free. All that would change if she became a daughter; more so if she became a wife. Or even Hugh’s leman. This was not what she wanted: being told what to do, where to live, and how to behave for the rest of her life.

“No!” Janna put her fists against Hugh’s chest and pushed him away. Everything she’d once thought she wanted had turned upside down. But there was one thing of which she was certain, and it must be said. “No,” she said again. “If you break your betrothal now you’ll bring shame on both of us, my lord. There’s no future for us, none at all.” And without giving him time to argue, she turned and fled.

She could feel her heart racing, pounding in her breast, but she knew she’d made the right decision. There was nothing to gain by leading Hugh on and fueling his desire. She had to get away from him, and stay away from him, preferably out of sight. And so she left instructions with Ossie to refill the pitchers of ale and keep on serving the customers.

After a quick look outside, and taking comfort from the fact that there were people to help her in case Mus should be lurking about, she fled to the brew house. But although she’d escaped from Hugh, she could not escape her own turbulent thoughts. There’d been a time when she’d dreamed of a life with Hugh, had desired it most desperately, but now that he was within her grasp, all she could think about was Godric – and his lord’s plans for him and Cecily. She realized how lucky an escape she’d had in refusing Hugh. Being with him, either as wife or mistress, and having to confront Godric every day in his new life with Cecily would have made her own life a living hell.

A further thought intruded to unsettle Janna. Would Godric be with Hugh when he took his marriage vows? She feared it, while acknowledging that she longed to see him again, even if only for one last time. It was a risk she would have to take, because foremost in her mind was her need to fulfil the oath sworn to her mother. All being well, she would take the first step toward achieving that on the day that Hugh and Eleanor were wed. She began to prepare a new brew while thinking through the plan that she hoped might answer all her needs.

With Sybil out of the way, Janna had resolved to try a new recipe, this time using the sweetness of elderflowers to flavor the ale. Ulf’s disparaging remarks about the ale at Paradise gave her the confidence to think that, barring any more accidents, she could continue to woo customers back to the Bell and Bush for the fine ales and the food they served. As she added barley malt to the hot water in the mash tun, she turned her thoughts to the more pressing matter in hand: what herbs she might use for the gruit, once the mix had fermented and been strained. Sweet flag, betony, or agrimony? Not wormwood; the bitterness would mask the sweetness of the elderflowers she would add right at the end, along with a pinch of Elfric’s precious ginger, perhaps?

A flash of bright red caught her eye. Intrigued, she went to the door and peered outside. She saw a slight figure in a crimson gown. There was something furtive in her movements, in the way she glanced around as if making sure she was unobserved, that roused Janna’s curiosity further. She stayed hidden in the shadowed doorway to watch, but saw nothing untoward, for the young woman stepped aside to make way for a patron leading his horse into the yard, then slipped through the gate and hurried away.

Janna frowned, wondering why she seemed familiar. Young women didn’t often frequent the tavern on their own, unless their purpose was to leave with a man. But Sybil always did her best to discourage them, for she claimed that whores gave the tavern a bad name and attracted the wrong sorts of customers. It was clear that this girl hadn’t come to pick up a likely prospect, for she had left alone – and unobserved, or so she hoped.

Janna looked about the yard, and saw Wat disappearing into the kitchen. Had he seen the woman in crimson? Did he know who she was? Janna followed him into the kitchen to find out.

“She’s me sister.” Wat blinked at Janna. “She just come to see how I’m doin’, is all.”

Fair enough, Janna thought, but why the secrecy? “Who is your sister?” she asked. “Has she been here before?”

Wat stared at her. “Why d’ ya want to know?” he asked. “What’s it to you?”

Janna shrugged. “Just curious,” she admitted, wondering why he sounded so defensive. “I didn’t realize you had any family living in Winchestre, Wat.” As she said that, she remembered her introduction to the tavern so many moons ago. “
He’s a lazy runt of a lad
,” Sybil had said, “
as bad as his sister
.”

Janna clapped her hand to her forehead as she made the connection. Ebba! But a very different Ebba from the humble drudge whom Sybil had once employed. No wonder Janna hadn’t recognized her, dressed as she was in such finery. Her eyes narrowed in concentration as several possibilities occurred to her.

She became aware that Wat was still staring at her. “It’s no matter to me that you have a sister, Wat,” she said airily. “I was just showing a friendly interest, that’s all. Do you see much of her?” She hoped Wat might speak more freely if he thought she hadn’t recognized Ebba. But he scowled at her and left the kitchen without answering.

Janna looked after him, her mind spinning with questions. She couldn’t believe that Ebba had come out of sisterly concern; the visit must have had another purpose behind it, and Janna very much feared she knew what it was. Why else would Wat be so reluctant to talk? On that thought, she hurried back to the brew house to test the ale.

To her relief, every barrel ran sweet. She came out again and saw that Wat was now busy scrubbing pots at the pump out in the yard. He glanced up briefly and went back to his task. Janna walked on to the kitchen, knowing that in Wat’s absence she would be able to speak freely to Elfric.

“Did you see Ebba this afternoon?” she asked the cook.

“Yair.” He lifted his shoulders in a noncommittal shrug.

“What did she want?” Janna’s gaze circled the kitchen, seeking anything that looked out of place or untoward.

“She came to see Wat. Why, what of it?” Elfric took a pinch of mustard seeds from a small pot and stirred them into a cauldron of marrowbone stew hanging over the fire.

“Does she often visit her brother?”

Elfric paused to consider the question. “Haven’t seen her before today, not since Sybil kicked her out.”

It wasn’t what Janna had expected to hear, and she frowned. But that didn’t stop her fearing the worst. “Make sure you taste everything before it leaves the kitchen,” she implored.

Elfric’s eyebrows rose in an unspoken question.

“Mouse pie? Tainted ale?” Janna’s gaze fell on the pot of small yellow seeds. She remembered the burning taste of the ale and quickly popped one into her mouth. She bit down on it, felt it hot and sharp against her tongue, and spat the seed into her hand.

“Mustard – and salt as an emetic.” She nodded, pleased to have got to the bottom of the mystery. “Do you always have mustard seeds on hand, Elfric?”