Devilʼs Brew: The Janna Chronicles 5 (23 page)

“Or me,” Janna put in quickly, still smarting after Ebba’s calumny.

“Or any of us, I’ll blacken his name from one end of Winchestre to the other and beyond. I know how he’s cut corners, the shady deals he’s done in the past. I can tell stories against him that will ensure no-one will trade with him by the time I’ve finished. I’ll petition the king to have him put down. I’ll go right to the top if I have to. Just you tell him that!”

Ossie nodded again. It seemed that the pair had a deal. Janna was content with the plan, for it seemed likely to have an effective outcome. What Sybil had said was true: there had been a general breakdown of law and order since the siege. The shire reeve of Hampshire and castellan of Winchestre Castle, William Pont de l’Arche, hadn’t been seen since he’d supported the wrong side and earned the wrath of the king; there was no point appealing to him. But tavern talk claimed that lawlessness was everywhere, for the barons and lords who in the past would keep order and try criminals in their own manor courts were now far too busy seizing land and castles from each other to worry about justice within their own demesnes. Even the barons that the earl had left to protect the empress at Oxeneford were apparently deserting her to defend their own interests. None would concern himself with a petty squabble of this nature, not when there was so much else at stake.

Even Sybil’s threat to go to the king, while a recognized route to justice, was unlikely to be carried through by the taverner. Although the king was always the last recourse in any dispute, Sybil would know that he’d have far more important things on his mind. But her threat to blacken the merchant’s good name might be enough to keep Alan from trying any further tricks to get his hands on the tavern, especially with Ossie standing over him and uttering threats.

She smiled at Sybil, pleased to note the fresh color in her cheeks and the brightness of her eyes. “Do you feel well enough to get up this morn?” she asked.

“I do so,” Sybil said grimly. “That hellspawn has fired my blood and put courage into me. He will not threaten my tavern ever again. Although…” She broke off and frowned. “Even if we brew enough new ale to float a ship, we’ll be chasing after customers soon enough. It’ll hardly be worth keeping our door open.”

“But…why?” Janna couldn’t believe it, not after what they’d all just been through. “The customers have started to come back to us now. Really, mistress, the tavern’s doing quite well again.”

Sybil gave an impatient sigh. “Easy to see you haven’t been here while the fair’s on,” she said. “It’s the rule that every business in Winchestre has to close – all except taverns and alehouses,” she continued, as she noted Janna’s puzzled expression. “All other trading takes place up St Giles Hill. So although we’re allowed to stay open, that’s where all our customers will be.”

“Then why don’t we set up a booth at the fair?” Janna suggested eagerly. ‘It will show that we’re still open for business.’ All at once and with no effort on her part, it seemed that she might have the chance to put her plan to sell medicaments and lotions into action.

Sybil tipped her head on one side, considering her question. “We haven’t in the past. I can’t both brew and serve ale in the tavern and be up on the hill to sell it at the same time.”

“But you could brew the ale and keep the tavern open, and Ossie could cart barrels of ale up the hill for me to sell at the fair,” Janna suggested. “I don’t mind keeping a booth up there, if you’d like me to.” She crossed her fingers behind her back, hoping that Sybil would agree.

“I’ve never taken a stall at the fair before,” Sybil said doubtfully. “I never trusted that Ebba enough to leave her here on her own.”

“But you can trust me. You said so!” Janna greatly feared that Sybil would only agree if their roles could be reversed. When first devising her plan, she’d resigned herself to only being able to snatch stolen moments at the fair. Now she felt she couldn’t bear to be stuck at the tavern while all of Winchestre and beyond were out enjoying themselves.

“True.” Sybil’s mouth curved up in an unwilling smile. “And you’ve worked hard to keep the tavern open while I’ve been upstairs. I owe you for that.”

“We could take turns at the stall if you’d like to see the fair too?” Janna hoped her offer might tempt Sybil to agree with her.

Sybil gave a small huff of amusement. “I can see you won’t rest until you’ve persuaded me to your way of thinking, miss. And if we call our stall the Bell and Bush it will bring the tavern to the notice of everyone up at the fair. Especially if we give them directions to the tavern while we serve them.” She nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, I’m willing to trust you, Janna. This year we shall see if having a stall at the fair is worth our while.”

“Thank you!” Janna could hardly restrain herself from dancing a little jig.

“Make sure you don’t let me down!” But Sybil was smiling as she added, “I’ll see about getting the permit then, shall I? And you, Ossie, you go and fetch water enough to keep all Winchestre afloat.”

Excited and happy, Janna glanced wide-eyed around the fairground. She had been to St Edith’s fair at Wiltune in the past, but this was like nothing she’d ever seen before. There was almost a small village set up atop St Giles Hill, with Bishop Henry’s pavilion dominating the surrounding stalls and lines of timber selds, long narrow buildings divided into separate booths, which were opening to trade.

Some merchants had set up their wares and organized their stalls in advance, those who had rented places large and secure enough to lock up overnight or with space enough for either themselves or a night watchman to be left on guard. Others had come in at dawn, carting their goods and produce on wagons pulled by horse or by oxen. They were now busy positioning trestles and benches in the most advantageous positions they could find, setting up canvas awnings to protect their goods from the weather, and arranging their displays to tempt passing fairgoers.

Packmen carried their wares on their backs, or pushed barrows or handcarts, or festooned their packs over donkey or carthorse. Those without sufficient coins to rent a stall or booth found an open space between to spread out their wares on a trestle covered with a woven cloth. A noisy quarrel had broken out between two traders over a position. Merchants shouted at journeymen and apprentices, and chivvied them along, while the clang of hammers rang through the air as last-minute adjustments were made. Animals and birds for sale or slaughter added their cries to the general cacophony, while their waste contributed to the pungent miasma that must only grow worse in the heat of the days ahead.

Like all the other traders at the fair, the group from the tavern had entered one of the two gates that gave access through the palisade that surrounded St Giles Hill. They had paid the toll on their barrels of ale as they passed through, along with the rent for the stall they would erect. Janna had come with Ossie and Sybil on the cart, which was laden with supplies that they hoped would be sufficient to quench the thirst of the fairgoers. Unknown to Sybil, Janna had secreted a box of her own on the cart. She’d made sure to stash it out of sight, for the taverner had insisted on locking the tavern doors and coming too. “Just to make sure our stall is in the best position, Janna, and to help you set up,” she’d said.

Janna had made no demur, not wanting to deprive Sybil of experiencing the fair, so long as she was prepared to leave Janna in charge at the end of it and not send her back to the town to serve ale in her place. In fact, she was happy enough to have Sybil’s company for now that she was here she found it quite overwhelming.

It seemed that everyone was making up for the lost profits of the canceled fair the year before. Every available space was taken, and brisk bartering and trading began as soon as the fair was declared open by the Bishop of Winchestre. The roads leading from the town to the fair were becoming increasingly clogged as townsfolk and visitors alike streamed along them, eager to find bargains or stock their households with those luxury goods that didn’t often come their way. For the moment the Bell and Bush stall was quiet, as were other ale stalls in their designated area. People were far more interested in discovering what was on sale than in slaking their thirst.

Sybil nudged Janna, who stood lost in a dream of wonder as she gazed about. “Go on, then, go and have a quick look around. We’re all set and ready now, so I’ll stay up here and serve any customers that come. Just for a short while, mind. Ossie’s taking the cart down and he’ll open up the tavern for me. Make sure you’re back soon.”

“I won’t be long,” Janna promised, and left before Sybil thought better of her generous offer.

She hadn’t been up St Giles Hill before, and she gazed at the town from its height, thinking that this must be how birds saw the buildings and the humans who inhabited them; small and unimportant as ants they looked, and yet the people had left their mark. The crooked high street ran down the center of the town, with the West Gate at the other end barely visible in the distance. Nearer to hand, on her left, were the high towers of the bishop’s palace and the Hospital of St Cross. She could see the new building of St Mary’s Nunnaminster rising from the ashes just inside the East Gate, and if she squinted her eyes, she thought she could even make out the Bell and Bush.

She turned her back on the town and began to roam up and down the lanes between the selds, keeping company with barons, lords and ladies, all dressed in the highest and brightest of fashion, but also rubbing shoulders with merchants, traders, whores, pickpockets, thieves and charlatans. No matter their status or how they were dressed, all wore the same expression of eager anticipation as they wandered about, looking at the goods on display. Janna was sure their expressions were mirrored on her own face, for she’d never seen such a vast and rich array in all her life.

Ulf had told her that merchants and craftsmen came together to sell their wares, and now she wandered past rows of stalls selling cheeses, vegetables and fruits, sweet candies and honey; her mouth watered as she eyed the confectionery. Fullers and dyers were there, displaying their brightly dyed and woven cloth. Wool merchants shouted out the merits of their produce: bales of greasy wool, and colorful dyed skeins of it, as well as fine woolen cloth of the highest quality. There were hay and corn merchants, and sellers of firewood and charcoal. Janna hastened quickly past them all, being more interested in the stalls of the craftsmen. There she lingered, admiring the fine jewelry and shining tableware of the gold and silversmiths and the goods produced by saddle, sword and shield makers. Potters displayed everything from common dishes to the finest tableware fit for a king. There were ribbons and laces, knives and candles, boots and shoes, belts and gloves, and fine parchment, but there were also serviceable goods: farming tools, cart wheels and kitchen implements. The smithy had a forge opened at the end of one lane to shoe horses, and to sharpen knives and weapons. But knife grinders also roamed about, offering their services to all they encountered.

She came to the rows of stalls frequented by foreign merchants and listened, fascinated, to a babble of voices in languages she could not fathom. She noted that a lot of the trading was done through pointing and pantomime, with finger counting to indicate prices and notched sticks to denote sales. She recognized the Norman tongue being spoken by vintners selling fine wines, but merchants from across the sea were also selling spices, soft furs and brilliantly colored silks, painted and lustrous pottery, items made of precious glass or finely carved ivory, and glowing tapestries depicting all manner of scenes, from biblical stories to beautiful meadows starred with flowers, birds and animals.

A shrill whistling and chattering attracted her attention; it came from several cages of bright birds splashed in colors of scarlet, green, blue and orange. Janna hurried over to inspect them. A dark man in a long cotton tunic materialized at her side, perhaps to make sure she didn’t let the birds fly free. She smiled at him and slowly moved from cage to cage, admiring the shimmering colors of the birds’ feathers. The merchant followed close to her elbow, and looked disappointed when she was tempted away by a cage of monkeys further down the track. There were falcons and hawks for sale, as well as ferrets. In a small clearing, a moth-eaten bear was being put through its paces by its trainer. They were surrounded by a ring of nudging, giggling children trying to pluck up the nerve to get close enough to poke the animal. Janna stopped for a while to watch, feeling pity for the captive.

She walked on, conscious of the small purse now hidden under her gown. She was greatly tempted to spend the wages Sybil had given her for her work in the tavern. But she desired everything she’d seen so far; how could she ever choose between what she might need and what she most coveted? One thought cheered her: by nightfall, God willing, her purse would be a great deal fatter than it was now.

She pulled a face as she noticed the pillory at the center of the fairground, unoccupied this early in the fair. Silently, Janna made a vow that she would never be one of the wretches displayed there, caught stealing or cheating. She couldn’t stand the shame of it; it was an unhappy fate for the rogues, trapped as they were in the stocks and unable to defend themselves against the rotten produce and handfuls of mud hurled at them by irate customers, and also by children who were ever ready for fun and mischief. She cast a glance sideways, noticing how the bishop’s guards prowled among the crowds looking out for wrongdoers. One of them looked straight at her, and Janna felt a guilty blush heat her cheeks, as she thought of her box of potions and creams. She must keep away from them just in case they picked her up for some misdemeanor – like selling wares for which she hadn’t paid a toll.

She became aware of a stir among the crowd and a hushing of voices, although a few disgruntled murmurs were also to be heard. The bishop was making a progress through the fair, along with his entourage. Janna had seen the bishop from afar when he’d opened the fair, and she recognized him now. He was splendid in his miter and embroidered robes that shone brilliantly in the sunlight. As she swept a curtsy at his passing, she stole a quick look up at him, interested to see at close quarters this supposedly godly man who yet meddled freely in the worldly affairs of his brother the king; who had taken arms against the empress and burned his own town in his determination to drive her out; who had built the magnificent Wolvesey Palace for himself, but also the Hospital of St Cross to alleviate some of the poverty of his people.

The bishop was known for the wealth of the properties he owned throughout England and for the titles he bore, for he was Abbot of Glastingberie as well as the Bishop of Winchestre. He was also landlord of all the brothels on his estate of Southwark in London, so it was said. Yet it seemed his ambition ran greater than wealth and the title of bishop, for it was rumored that part of the falling-out he’d had with his brother the king, and his supposed alliance with the empress had come about because the king had nominated someone else as Archbishop of Canterberie, when that was the position the bishop most coveted.

Janna’s impression was of a small man, too insignificant to carry such vast responsibility, for he was slightly built and somewhat paunchy. But perhaps that was an effect created by the magnificent heavy robes he wore. His face was of pale complexion; his eyes a faded gray, with heavy pouches beneath them that spoke of too little sleep and too much anxiety. Perhaps the anger of the townsfolk was partly to blame for keeping him awake at night. He must be aware that he was largely held responsible for the devastation that had befallen Winchestre, just as he would know that the townsfolk resented the fact that all rents and tolls for the fair would be paid to him, who didn’t need them, rather than coming to the townsfolk for the rebuilding and repair of their property. Janna had heard that a delegation of merchants and craftsmen, some of them representing their guilds, had been to see the bishop on this very subject, and had been sent away empty-handed.

The bishop passed by, holding up his robes to avoid the worst of the animal excrement and other refuse littering the ground. Janna gazed with curiosity at those who followed him. One man she recognized only too well, and for one heart-stopping moment he paused to stare at her. Her hand lifted in an involuntary salute, but when she saw who accompanied her father she raised her hand further in pretense that she was merely shielding her eyes from the sunlight. Would her father offer public recognition, accompanied as he was by his wife and children, and in such exalted company? Seconds stretched to infinity, but there was no sign from him and the entourage moved slowly on. Janna knew she shouldn’t be disappointed, yet she felt angry and hurt as she gazed after John fitz Henry. Now safe from scrutiny, she examined the small party that accompanied him. Giles she’d already met, but not the tall woman stalking beside him with her face fixed firmly forward, seemingly determined not to acknowledge those who bobbed their heads in respect at the bishop’s passing. Her stepmother. Janna felt a flash of instant dislike, but told herself it was unfair to judge Blanche on such brief evidence. Yet Blanche’s hands were like claws, gripping firmly the arms of the two young girls who accompanied her. For safety? Protection? Or control?

Janna gazed after her two half-sisters, but by now the whole party had moved on and all she could see was their backs, half hidden by the crowd. She waited several moments more until she judged it was safe before she resumed her own progress in the opposite direction. She found that she was coming close to the market area where beasts and birds were being traded. There seemed much interest in the horse yard as the animals were put through their paces, assessed for their strength if they were needed for agricultural purposes, for their fine breeding if prized for speed or prowess in battle, or for their looks and docility if intended for a lady. Cows, sheep and pigs moaned piteously from their respective pens, while hens, ducks and geese cackled and clucked and surveyed the fairgoers with bright and innocent eyes.

Janna sniffed, and sniffed again, conscious of a stench far greater than the dung of the animals. Closer inspection revealed she was close to the midden where butchers, fishmongers and the like spilled their waste. A woven wattle screen attracted her attention. Curious to know what it concealed, she stepped toward it, only realizing its purpose as a man emerged from behind the screen, still adjusting his clothing. She put her hand over her nose to block out the smell of the latrine and hurried away to some more enticing displays, all the while keeping a close eye on the passersby, conscious that even among a crowd she might be vulnerable to attack. But there was no sign of Mus. While that gave her relief, her ease of mind was tempered by the possibility that she might also bump into her father and his family, or Hugh and his betrothed. Although curious to see Eleanor, she dreaded an encounter. In her own mind, she had planned how to meet Hugh again, on her own terms and in a place of her choosing. But if they were here at the fair, and came to her stall to drink ale, she would have to greet them. She would have no choice in the matter.