Devilʼs Brew: The Janna Chronicles 5 (6 page)

As she continued to serve the customers, fend off those who were too forward with her, and steer in the right direction those who were too drunk to find their own way out to the latrine, Janna’s thoughts moved on to the unexpected presence of Hugh and his young companion and cousin, Hamo, and their entourage. She kept busy pouring ale into mugs and serving trenchers of food while she listened to the latest news circulating in the tavern to see if she could find out why they were in Winchestre.

The merchant had said that the empress was here with a large army. Janna remembered past reports that had put Hugh in the company of Robert of Gloucestre, the empress’s half-brother. If he had come to Winchestre to support his liege lord, it could mean that Hugh’s uncle by marriage, Robert of Babestoche, might also have answered the call to arms.

Janna’s nerves jumped with alarm at the thought. She knew that Robert of Babestoche wanted her dead; wanted it so badly he’d already sent an assassin after her to ensure her silence. Janna had managed to fight off the villain, but might not be so lucky next time. If Robert was here, it was almost certain that he would have his manservant, Mus, with him. Only one thought quietened her fears: Robert of Babestoche had no idea where she was, certainly not that she was in Winchestre. No-one from her past life knew that. It seemed she’d had a lucky escape when she’d stopped herself from hailing Hugh. She must take care to stay out of his way, and keep them all in ignorance of her presence here.

Janna shivered. If Hugh had come in answer to the empress’s summons, Matilda must expect the worst. The thought of Hugh going into battle made Janna’s stomach knot in fear. Only one thing puzzled her: If Hugh was here for such a dangerous cause, why on earth had he brought Hamo with him?

Janna soon settled into the routine of the tavern. The days were long and hard, but she told herself she was lucky to have found bed and board. True to his promise, Ulf visited often, although his news was never welcome: no, there was still no sight of her father, nor had the steward had any word from him. And no, there was no sign of the stolen brooch or ring either.

“Perhaps the fair will bring your father here,” Ulf said optimistically, as Janna brought a mug of ale to his table.

She puffed out a sigh, hardly daring to believe him.

“Don’t lose heart,” Ulf urged. “Write him another letter. I can take it to the steward, and this time I’ll tell Roger it must go to your father, no-one else.”

“I have no parchment or anything to write with.”

“I’ll get them for you.”

Janna forced a smile at Ulf’s efforts to cheer her. It was true she’d begun to lose hope that her father might ever come to Winchestre, but she couldn’t make up her mind whether it was because he’d never received her letter, he didn’t believe her claim, or he didn’t want to acknowledge her. She reminded herself that all the misfortunes of her early life had only come about because Eadgyth hadn’t trusted him enough. Perhaps she should learn from that and give him the benefit of the doubt?

“Thank you, Ulf,” she said, more warmly. “I will write again if he doesn’t come soon. But I hope you may be right – he may be timing his visit to coincide with the fair. If he doesn’t come for that, then yes, let’s make another plan.”

Ulf drained his mug. “I’ll come again soon,” he said, and stood up to leave.

Janna continued to busy herself with the customers. She was coming to know the regulars now: those who spelled trouble, and those who smiled and paid her compliments when she waited on them. The merchant no longer came to the tavern, but she recognized some of his hangers-on. Janna usually served them, for she sensed that the taverner wanted nothing to do with them either. She wondered why the relationship between the pair had ended. While not wanting to be accused of prying into matters that were no concern of hers, she gave in to temptation and asked Elfric what he knew.

The cook grinned as he spooned savory stew into bowls. “They used to be lovers,” he said cheerfully. “But I suspect he was after a share in the tavern as well as the share of her bed. At any rate, Sybil broke off their relationship. She likes her independence, that one. She won’t have any man telling her what to do and taking over her property and profits.”

“The merchant doesn’t seem to lack money,” Janna ventured. “Why would he want a share of the tavern as well?”

“He might look like he’s wealthy, but as to how he earns a living?” Elfric tapped the side of his nose. “A bit fast and loose with the law, if you ask me. But he has friends in high places and a reputation to maintain. None of those things comes free.” Elfric reflected for a moment. “But perhaps it’s just that he resented Sybil’s free spirit and thought to curb it by taking a share of her business.”

Janna was silent as she digested his words. Money – or power? Maybe both. Or was Elfric too cynical, and was it something else that had caused the rift?

“Whatever the reason, she put an end to their liaison,” Elfric continued.

“He’ll not gain much from Ebba.”

“That’s not why he’s taken her in.” There was a twinkle in Elfric’s eyes as he waved her on her way. Janna carried out the bowls of stew, feeling foolish. Of course a man like Alan was attracted to Ebba’s obvious charms. But it wouldn’t last. How could it?

*

The sound of shouting was the first indication that something was amiss. The tavern fell silent as customers pricked their ears to listen to the tumult outside. It seemed to Janna that all within suspected its cause but had suspended belief, just for a few moments, in the desperate hope that they were wrong and that all might yet be well. She looked for Sybil, and noticed the taverner was pale with fear and had backed against the wall for support. Everyone froze, listening fiercely, and then, without further ado, the customers surged to their feet and rushed into the high street to find out what was going on. Janna followed them.

There seemed to be some sort of riot taking place in the center of the town, for the street was full of people scurrying to and fro, while a sonorous clanging sounded above the shouts and curses, each booming thud spurring the onlookers to even more frenzied activity. Curious as to the cause, Janna hurried up the high street toward the old palace at its center.

At the heart of the tumbling knot of people was a troop of soldiers bearing swords and shields, grim determination on their faces. Sunlight glinted on their conical helmets and the metal rings of their hauberks. Those in front had a battering ram and were pounding against the heavy iron gates barring the palace. It seemed that the empress had indeed run out of patience with the bishop’s prevarication. But Janna suspected that the bishop and his troops were well supplied with arms and armaments, as well as provisions, for the carts traveling to the palace gates had grown in number and brazenness over the past few days. Rumor had it that the bishop had fortified the great tower within when taking over the old palace some years ago, and it was apparent now that it had become his headquarters for the coming siege.

A blaze of light flashed across the sky, and Janna tilted her head to watch its path, only understanding what it was when it fell short of the royal castle. She looked for the source of the fireball and realized it had been hurled from siege engines mounted within the bishop’s stronghold. The day of reckoning had finally come.

That had not been the first fireball, she realized, as she sniffed the smoky air. And then another fiery missile arced through the sky, followed by another, and yet another. All were aimed at the castle but most fell short, setting alight shops and houses. The acrid stench of burning grew stronger.

“That devil’s firing on his own town!” The speaker next to Janna had a bundle on his back and a baby in his arms. His wife beside him clutched a little girl’s hand. White-faced and numb with despair, they were a still, small center among the terrified crowd heaving around them, who now were giving full voice to their rage.

Janna noticed a flag bearer. She recognized his pennant: red, with three clarions in orange, their shape similar to the small portable organ played by troubadours. She’d seen the insignia before, when she’d gone to the royal palace to demand a meeting with the earl. These must be Robert’s men, come to besiege the palace and put an end to the storm of deadly fireballs. She pressed closer, looking for Hugh, but their helmets and the collars of their hauberks obscured their faces and she was unable to recognize anyone. However, she understood their purpose well enough. The soldiers were ready to charge in just as soon as the gates were breached. Curious, she moved even closer, believing herself still far enough away to escape to safety should the need arise.

Surrounding the armored knights were their vassals, all carrying an assortment of weapons. Most of them were without the protection of full armor. Some wore a hauberk, or a helmet, but some wore only padded gambesons reaching to their knees. Fearful for Hugh’s and Godric’s safety, Janna squinted her eyes for a better view of the earl’s troops. A great roar went up as the iron gate buckled. The clanging of the battering ram ended with a loud bang as the gate fell. At once the earl’s men surged through, only to be met by fierce opposition from the bishop’s troops, determined to protect the palace and its siege engines at all costs. Locked in close combat, the two opposing sides shoved and pushed and finally erupted back into the street. Suddenly, Janna found herself caught up in the melee and unable to escape.

Blocking her path to safety were the shopkeepers whose homes and property were under threat. Shutters were being hastily closed and doors locked. Hapless citizens, carts and arms piled high with all they could salvage, were trying to forge a path to safety, earning savage blows, curses and kicks as they got in the way of the soldiers. The cries of the dying and injured and the deadly crackle of greedy flames added to the general cacophony. Flying embers created new hazards. A man screamed and flung himself sideways as molten lead from a blazing rooftop dripped onto his head. Where the fires had caught, they blazed so brightly that Janna knew those owners and shopkeepers would have been unable to save anything, perhaps not even their lives.

The crowd pushed and shoved its way through the town, trying to reach whatever parish church was closest. Some of the townsfolk were smudged with soot after braving the firestorm to salvage what they might. Others had taken fright and fled without thought, carrying only those too small or infirm to look after themselves. But many of the wooden churches had begun to burn, forcing the desperate citizens back out into the street to try for the safety of the cathedral itself. Alarmed screams added to the din, for the earl’s men were still intent on battering their way through into the palace to put an end to the stream of burning fireballs, and seemed determined to run over anything or anyone in their way.

Aware of how close she was to the fighting, Janna tried in vain to escape. Her heart pounded in terror as she found herself carried inexorably closer to the entrance of the palace.

“Hoy! Out of my way!” The sudden shout sent her reeling backward. She burrowed into the throng in an effort to reach safety, but still she was pushed on, for the crowd was now too panic-stricken to know where safety lay or how to find it.

A new danger became apparent as a small contingent of the bishop’s troops, mounted on fine destriers, erupted from the old palace. At the sound of the clarion call, the earl’s men hastily regrouped. In close formation, and with swords and battleaxes held high, they prepared to face this new threat. The destriers aimed straight for the crowd. The citizens scattered in panic. There was a clash of weapons, savage yells and grunts of pain. Men were unhorsed and wounded. They screamed in agony as they fell. Riderless warhorses ran wild, aiming lethal kicks at any who crossed their path. And all the while, new fires ignited and Winchestre burned.

With desperation in her heart and a prayer on her lips, Janna dodged to one side and looked about her, peering through the haze of smoke in an effort to find a way past, somewhere safe to hide, for men were fighting in close combat all around her, and woe betide anyone who got caught in their midst.

Suddenly, and right in front of Janna’s horrified gaze, one of the bishop’s men was unhorsed and a foot soldier closed on him with a vicious curse. At once the soldier sprang to his feet and, with drawn swords, the two men stalked each other, cutting and thrusting, each trying to take the advantage. Shaking with fear, Janna tried to shrink out of their way. The bishop’s man lunged, his sword slicing into his opponent’s padded gambeson. Janna felt her own flesh tense in sympathy as she imagined the steel blade penetrating through soft skin, muscle and entrails. The soldier howled in agony and blood flowed freely from the wound. With a choking whimper, he fell and lay writhing on the ground.

Janna had to force her shaking legs to move. She tried to reach him, hoping she might be able to staunch the bleeding, or help him in some way. But before she could take even a couple of steps, the bishop’s man ended his victim’s life with a chopping blow across the throat, almost taking the man’s head from his body. Blood spurted. The soldier’s body convulsed before collapsing into the stillness of death. With one enemy dispatched, the bishop’s man swung around to face another behind him. Kill, or be killed. A moment’s inattention made all the difference between life and death. Janna found herself saying a fervent prayer that Hugh and Godric would stay safe, and that Hamo and Ulf had not been caught up in this madness at all.

She tried to break free but was hemmed in by the crowd, and jostled and kicked without mercy. Soldiers swarmed everywhere, cursing the frightened citizens who got in their way, for their blood was up and they were fighting for their lives. The noise was terrifying – battle cries and the screams of the dying, both human and animal. Grunts and curses, the clash and clang of weapons. A haze of smoke made it hard to breathe, and Janna cupped her hand over her nose.

“Out of my way, God damn you!” The shout brought her wheeling around in time to see a destrier and its rider charging toward her. Fright kept her stationary for long moments. She saw the fierce expression of horse and soldier alike, the deadly hooves flying through the air, coming closer, closer. The horse reared –

Panic-stricken, she leaped aside and felt a hoof strike her shoulder like an iron club, then they were past and she was on the ground, desperately trying to roll out of the way of crushing hooves and spurred boots. She fetched up against a pentice, one of the many stalls that hung off the palace walls. She dived inside, seeking shelter. The shopkeeper and his wife were hastily shoving their goods into sacks, while outside a small donkey shifted restlessly under the burden of the laden baskets tied to its back, its ears pricked to the sounds and smells of the street.

“Out!” The trader jerked a thumb at Janna, his meaning plain. His wife looked apologetic, but did not contradict her husband, reaching around him to gather a fistful of leather gloves to thrust into the bag she held open.

Shakily, Janna rose to her feet. She wrapped an arm across her chest and felt her shoulder, gently probing for signs of a break. She could feel no grating bone as she gingerly rolled her shoulder around, and was thankful. She knew she would bear the bruise for a long time to come.

“Your pardon,” she whispered, and slipped out again, with a hand on her elbow to help support her arm and keep it close to her chest.

The crush of soldiers was centered around the palace gates, but beyond, toward the East Gate, Janna thought the crowds seemed thinner. Desperate to reach the sanctuary of the tavern, she sidled some way along the palace walls, and as soon as a gap opened she forced her way to the opposite side of the street and up a narrow laneway. Once safely there, she sank down to recover her breath and check her injured shoulder more carefully.