Devilʼs Brew: The Janna Chronicles 5 (26 page)

And recognized Ulf. She sagged into the safety of his arms. But where was Mus?

Alarmed, she scanned her surroundings, and saw that Brutus had Mus pinned to the ground. The huge hound was slavering over him in anticipation of being able to tear him to pieces. Silent and terrified, Mus had rolled himself into a ball to present the smallest target possible. Janna felt a great satisfaction as she noticed his red, streaming eyes. He lifted his head to glare at her. At the slight movement, Brutus growled and bared his teeth. Mus froze into stillness once more.

“No, Brutus!” Ulf commanded sharply. The dog looked up at him. “Just keep the old woman down on the ground. No biting!” Brutus must have understood the command, for he appeared somewhat disappointed. Janna knew how he felt. At the thought of how close she’d come to death, her body spasmed in a mighty shudder.

Ulf’s face reflected his concern. “You’re safe now, lass. There’s nowt to worry about.” He released her, and bent to pick up the knife Mus had dropped in the shock of the dog’s attack. “Brutus will keep the woman captive until the bishop’s guards get here.” He turned a puzzled frown on Janna. “What business had you with the old crone anyway? Why did she come after you with a knife?”

“Look again,” Janna advised. “That ‘old crone,’ as you call her, tempted me with a tray of ribbons. But his name is Mus. He’s the one who attacked me at the tavern, but the potboy protected me then. This is the third time he’s tried to kill me!”

Ulf drew a shocked breath. “Third and last,” he said, and gestured urgently to the guards now moving in their direction, attracted by the cries of alarm and excited voices of the crowd gathering around Janna.

“That’s the old hag who stole my tray of ribbons!” A young woman thrust herself to the front of the spectators. She looked down at Mus cowering under Brutus’s guard and smiled with great satisfaction. “She thought to take my livelihood away from me, the old bitch. She deserves whatever’s coming to her.” She looked about, seeking the missing ribbons.

“They’re in the booth back there.” Janna inclined her head in its direction, and the ribbon seller darted off to fetch them.

“Tell your story to the guards,” Ulf advised, as the girl reappeared, clutching her tray to her chest. He jerked his thumb toward Janna. “And Mistress Johanna will tell them how this devil spawn tried to kill her!”

A gasp of anticipation rippled through the crowd. They parted to make way for the approaching guards, then closed in tight once more, determined not to miss a single word of this exciting finale to what had already proved an action-packed and eventful day.

*

Sybil was horrified when Janna finally arrived back at the tavern and explained why she was so late.

“You should have come back with Ossie as I asked,” she grumbled.

“If I had done, Mus would only have come after me some other time,” Janna pointed out. She’d already explained to Sybil that Mus had tried to kill her on several occasions, and had given the taverner a small part of the explanation why. “But I’m safe now,” she continued. “The bishop’s justiciar has already spoken to witnesses about the incident. He knows about the dropped knife, and the stolen ribbons, and I’ve told him how Mus tried to kill me and how I managed to escape. He’s assured me that Mus will be kept locked up until the end of the fair, and brought to trial after that.”

Janna was determined that, when Mus came to answer the charge, he would also have to answer for the other times he’d attacked her with murder on his mind and fury in his heart. He would not escape on his master’s bond quite so easily next time.

The remaining days of the fair passed without incident. True to the justiciar’s word, the Piepowder Court was convened at the bishop’s pavilion to pass judgment on all those miscreants who had been charged with crimes during the course of the fair, though none was as serious as the charge against Mus. The bishop’s agent and the jurors heard both pleas and complaints as the prisoners answered the charges against them and brought witnesses to testify to their good standing in the community. Evading tolls, selling shoddy or short-weight goods to customers, as well as picking pockets or more serious theft – all charges were heard and debated before sentences were passed.

And then it was Mus’s turn. The reeve in charge of the bishop’s guard told of Janna’s accusation, and Ulf and other witnesses were summoned to give their version of the story. Janna was also called and related details of Mus’s previous attacks to the fascinated court. She cited Wat as her witness, although she feared he might prove unhelpful after his banishment from the Bell and Bush. But although he was sulky at first, in the end the temptation to boast of his heroics proved too strong, and he painted a frightening picture of the attack on Janna and puffed up his own prowess, all of which was borne out by Ossie, who was called as the next witness. The case against Mus looked black indeed, and Janna waited in some trepidation for Robert of Babestoche to make an appearance, along with his henchmen, to bear testimony to Mus’s impeccable character, as had happened once before. But no such witnesses appeared and the justiciar duly passed sentence.

Aggrieved, and still shouting his innocence, Mus was taken away in irons. Janna prayed with great devoutness that she would never have to face him again. She wondered at the absence of his master. Did Mus not have time to send for him? Or had Robert of Babestoche given up on his hired assassin, realizing that this time Mus had made too public an attempt to kill her and had thus gone too far to be saved?

*

With the fair over, the trial against Mus settled, and the time for Hugh and Eleanor to exchange their vows coming close, Janna had arrangements to make that must, inevitably, involve Sybil and her future.

She knew what she wanted to do and prayed for the outcome she desired, although she realized that she could only set events in motion – the rest of it was out of her hands. In the meantime, it was important to keep on side with Sybil, for if things went awry she would need to keep her position at the tavern.

It gave Janna satisfaction to note that, thanks to their stall at the fair and the chance for fairgoers to taste their ale, the tavern was once again as busy as it had ever been. It made her task both easier and harder, for there was more than enough work now to keep both her and Sybil rushed off their feet. But it meant that she had more than fulfilled her part of the bargain, and had justified Sybil’s faith in taking her on in the first place. And she’d been duly rewarded by Sybil, with words and with payment.

“This for you, Janna,” she’d said, pressing another silver coin into Janna’s hand. “I’m so pleased I let you talk me into operating a stall up at the fair. I’ll be doing so every year in the future.”

Janna found she had a new sense of ease and freedom. With the removal of Mus, and the troubles of the tavern now settled, she was able to relax and enjoy what she was doing instead of startling at unexpected sounds and forever keeping a wary eye over her shoulder. Sybil had taken on a new potboy to help scrub the dishes; he seemed a pleasant enough lad and, unlike Wat, was willing to turn his hand to whatever task was set him. If extra help was needed when it came to serving customers, Janna thought that their new potboy might well fill the gap if her own plan didn’t work out to her satisfaction. She had done what she could to prepare for the next step along her quest, and now she waited impatiently for Sunday.

Janna’s thoughts kept her awake for much of the night before Hugh’s marriage, for she knew there was far more at stake than merely witnessing the exchange of vows between him and Eleanor. Her whole future rested on the morrow, in more ways than one. As she lay wakeful in the darkness, she tried to prepare herself for the scene with Sybil. She could only trust that the taverner would understand; hope also that Sybil would take her back if her mission failed. Her father had said that he would accept her once she left Sybil’s employment and Janna prayed that he would prove to be a man of his word.

What of his wife and children? She remembered the reaction of his son. Giles had openly shown his hatred. Would his other children be of the same mind? And Blanche? In her position, Janna thought she would resent any reminder that her husband had forsaken her to marry someone else, and that she was his second choice. Even more would she resent the fact that his previous marriage had rendered her own marriage invalid. No, she thought, she shouldn’t expect to find any love or charity, or even acceptance, from Blanche. However pleasant the dame might show herself, Janna should stay on her guard.

She put aside her conjectures about her father and his family and turned her thoughts to the reason behind the gathering. Hugh was to be married. She remembered the first time she’d seen him, a dark figure against the bright sunlight, riding high upon his destrier. He had seemed like a god looking down on her, and so she had thought him, being so far above her in station as to be forever out of her reach. She remembered his unexpected kindness to her during the bitter sadness of her mother’s death. She remembered also his dependence on her when, wounded and bleeding, he’d been brought into the abbey and she had tended him. She remembered the kisses they had shared, and how sweet and comforting they had been. She’d thought then that she would die if Hugh ever married someone else, but now that it was about to become a reality she found that she didn’t mind at all.

An unsettling realization disturbed her musing. Hugh would take his vows in front of witnesses. Not only Eleanor’s family would be there, but his family also: Dame Alice and her husband, Robert of Babestoche. If Janna intended to witness the exchange of vows, as indeed she did, she must take care that they did not notice her.

Finally, Janna came to what was uppermost in her mind: that this might be her only chance to talk to Godric; to make things right if he wished, and if it wasn’t too late. Surely he would come to Hugh’s wedding to witness the vows of his lord. But if Godric was there, then Cecily would be there too. What if they decided to exchange their own vows at the cathedral door after witnessing those of their liege lord? Hugh wouldn’t put any obstacles in their path; after all, he desired the match, as did his aunt. Pain, sharp as an arrow, lanced Janna’s heart at the thought.

The knowledge that it was her fault that things had come to this pass increased her anguish. A long time ago, Godric had told her that he loved her and he’d asked her to marry him. In her pride, and in her determination to seek her father without hindrance, she had refused him. Nor had she given him any reason to hope that she would change her mind. Small wonder, then, if he’d turned his attention elsewhere. It was her fault if he’d forsaken her, and she would have to live with that knowledge forever.

Godric. The thought of him and Cecily together was lacerating. Janna’s sense of loss, acknowledged in this moment of truth, was overwhelming. She had never felt so lonely, so bereft; never felt so sure of her own heart as now. Because of her blindness she had lost the man she truly loved, the man she trusted above all others. Yes, she’d been dazzled and flattered by Hugh – and by Ralph – so awed by their status and demeanor that she’d been unable to see Godric’s true worth. She hadn’t valued him when she’d had the chance, but now that her eyes were truly open it was probably too late to tell him what was in her heart.

She forced herself to lie still on her pallet lest she disturb the new potboy, but she could not sleep for misery of what might already be. Nor, when she recalled the passion of the kiss she’d shared with Godric out in the tavern yard, could she subdue the wild hope that in spite of everything, he loved her still. Dry eyed, she kept vigil for the greater part of the night, and roused herself at dawn to face whatever the day might bring.

With Sybil’s permission, she put the first part of her plan in motion, going up to rescue her blue gown from storage in the chest in the taverner’s room. It was clean now, and if not looking quite as new as it once had done, it would give her the appearance of wealth and respectability. She took it into the brew house and gave herself a thorough wash in private before dressing. How she wished for a mirror so that she could see how she looked. She combed her wet hair with the dried teasel head she’d set aside for the purpose, wincing as the sharp hooks caught in the tangles. When she was satisfied that her hair was smooth and as clean and shiny as one of her precious rinses could make it, she brought out the gauzy linen veil that the nuns had given her to complete her ensemble. After a moment’s thought, she set it aside and instead, braided part of her hair and tied it with the new blue ribbon she’d managed to purchase from the young ribbon seller at the fair. No need to wear a veil when she was not yet wed.

She shed her boots and put on the pretty blue shoes, which had been brushed and buffed to a semblance of respectability, even though they were still a little too small for comfort. She was determined to look her very best this day. For her father, she told herself firmly, while acknowledging that the show was also for Hugh’s highborn wife and – she drew a quivering breath – for Godric. If he was there. And if he was not already betrothed or wed to Cecily.

As a last gesture, she extracted her purse from its hiding place under her shift, opened it, and pulled out the ring brooch. “This is for you,” she told her mother, as she carefully pinned the brooch to the bodice of her gown. Would Eadgyth approve of her intentions this day? Janna thought she might. For her mother’s sake, she prayed that at last she would be accepted by her father.

Out in the yard, she encountered the potboy. He gave her a startled glance, then set to industriously scrubbing the dishes once more. He was a far better worker than Wat, she acknowledged, as her gaze moved from him to the girl standing nearby. On meeting Janna’s glance, she bobbed a curtsy. “Mistress,” she said quietly.

It took Janna a few moments to recognize Mary, and she was delighted when she finally made the connection. The girl had taken some trouble over her appearance. Her hair was brushed and tidy, her face and hands were clean, her tunic washed, and the worst of the rips had been mended, if not very neatly then at least with good intent. Looking her over, Janna could see that Mary seemed a respectable girl. The fact that she’d gone to some lengths to do as Janna had asked spoke well of her determination to secure employment and, perhaps, to make sure she kept it. If she worked as industriously in the tavern as she’d done over her appearance, she could only prove an asset to Sybil.

“Wait for me to come and fetch you,” she told the girl, and hurried on to the kitchen.

Elfric gave an admiring whistle as Janna poked her head around the door.

“Where’s Sybil?” she asked.

“In the tavern – but she’s not expecting any ladies to call so far as I know!”

Janna couldn’t help smiling, in spite of her foreboding over how her plan might turn out. “Then this is my chance to turn her day into a celebration,” she said, hoping that in fact it would be the other way around.

She walked into the tavern, and was relieved to find it relatively empty. Those patrons within sat contentedly nursing their mugs of ale. Taking advantage of the lull, she drew Sybil to one side and launched into the explanation she had prepared so carefully during her wakeful hours through the night.

“You’re who? You’re
what
?”

Janna winced at the disbelief in Sybil’s tone. “I’m the legitimate daughter of an illegitimate son of the old king,” she repeated steadily. “I grew up never knowing the true identity of my father, and I’ve come a long way to find it out. And yes, I’ve spoken to my father,” she said quickly, anticipating Sybil’s next question, “and yes, he accepts that I am who I say I am. But no, he won’t introduce me to the rest of his family while I work here at the tavern.” Despite her efforts to sound light-hearted – and more especially, not to offend Sybil – still Janna could not keep the bitterness from her voice as she repeated her father’s warning.

Predictably, Sybil bristled. “It’s good, honest work,” she said, her annoyance showing in the angry flush tingeing her cheeks.

“Yes,” Janna agreed. “It is, and so I told him. But – but he has a new family now, a wife and children, and I would like to go to them dressed respectably so that I can meet them as equals.”

Sybil eyed her gown and gave a sniff. “You won’t be needing the tunic I gave you, then,” she said, and held out her hand. “Where is it?”

“It’s in the brew house.” Janna grabbed the taverner’s hand. “I owe you so much,” she said, “and I may yet need more from you, for there is no surety that my father will take me in to live with him. I may well have to beg you to take me back at the end of this day.”

“And in the meantime you will walk away and leave me here to manage on my own. Today, and for all the days thereafter, unless things do not go well for you?” Sybil was still irate, feeling ill-used and ready to take it out on Janna.

“No,” Janna contradicted her quickly. “I would not leave you on your own, not today, when people are always so thirsty after their devotions! Please, wait here a moment, mistress.” Without giving Sybil a chance to argue, she slipped quickly outside to fetch the young girl patiently waiting for her in the yard.

“This is Mary,” she said, as she ushered the girl into the tavern and presented her to the suspicious taverner. “Mary is willing to help you this day, Mistress Sybil, just to see how suited she is for the work.”

“And if she’s not?”

“I am sure you’ll find her satisfactory.” Janna cast a quick glance of appeal in Mary’s direction.

“I warrant you will, Mistress Sybil,” the girl said eagerly. “I ain’t never worked in a tavern afore, but I’m willing to learn. I’ll do whatever you tell me, I swear it.”