Lilies for Love (19 page)

'No matter how long it takes, I'll find you when I get out.' A finger sliced across his throat accompanied his words.

Janna shuddered. She thought of reporting the incident to the steward, but he was already engaged in summoning those involved in the case against Odo. She met the cold stare of Robert of Babestoche, and shuddered anew. While she stayed within the abbey confines she was safe, but she would always be a threat to him. She must never forget that.

As it turned out, Janna played only a small part in giving evidence in the case against Odo. His lord, as well as villeins from his manor, spoke on his behalf, seeming at a loss to understand why someone who had shown so little signs of violent behaviour in the past should have been driven to commit such a desperate deed. Then Emma was called to tell what she knew. So were Peter Thatcher and Hugh. Although all were careful not to raise the fact that Hugh had been wounded by Odo, albeit on Anselm's instructions, the matter came to light as further damning evidence against the villein.

Finally, Janna was called. She found it difficult to look at Odo as she answered the steward's questions. She knew the villein was headed for the gallows and that nothing she said or withheld could make any difference to the sentence that would be passed on him, yet she had never seen a man condemned to death before and it troubled her greatly. She was almost sure Odo had not plotted to murder Anselm, that the act had been a moment's madness, an angry reaction to being cheated out of what he considered to be rightfully his. In truth, Janna believed that Anselm's behaviour had contributed in large part to his death – but the steward did not see it that way and Odo was duly sentenced to be hanged. Janna's spirits were leaden as she watched the villein being dragged away.

Before she had a chance to escape back to the infirmary, Hugh walked over to her, flanked by Emma and Peter.

'We wanted to thank you again.' Emma pressed a small purse, bulging with coins, into Janna's hands.

Startled, Janna looked down at the purse. It was drawn tight with a string, and smelled of new leather.

'It's the money won by Anselm at the cockfights,' Emma whispered. 'I want you to have it. If not for you, that could have been Peter standing there, facing the death sentence.' She looked white and strained. Her brother's death and Odo's trial had taken their toll.

Peter stepped up and put his arm around her to give her strength. 'My thanks to you too, mistress, er . . . Sister Johanna,' he hastily corrected himself.

'That was well done, Johanna, and you are safe now.' Hugh looked her straight in the eye. 'Tell me, have you tired of holy orders yet? Are you ready to come home with me?'

Janna heard an exclamation, quickly choked off. Godric had joined them, along with Cecily. What was he thinking? What was Hugh thinking? She could feel the heat mount in a wave through her body; she was sure her face had turned scarlet.

'Not yet, my lord,' she murmured, and tucked the purse deep into the sleeve of her habit.

'Be sure you have a home at my manor when you change your mind.'

Hugh's reassurance settled Janna's doubts about his intentions, but also somewhat deflated her spirits. A home, no more than that was on offer. But a home was something she valued, almost above everything. She would not close off her options for the sake of misplaced pride.

'I thank you, my lord, but I am content to remain here for the moment.' She stole a glance at Godric. Was that disappointment she could read on his face? Or despair? Or was he not thinking of her at all, standing as he was with Cecily by his side? The tiring woman was smiling; she seemed content. And why not, with someone as strong and steady as Godric now in her life? Janna hastily pushed the thought aside and turned to Emma. 'Thank you,' she said, indicating the purse in her sleeve. 'Be sure I shall put it to good use.'

Emma smiled at Janna, seeming glad that the ordeal was over, and all debts paid. 'We have a long journey home, and it is too late to leave,' she said. 'Do you think the abbey can accommodate us for the night?'

'I'll take you to the guest house.' Anxious to break the tension of their meeting and her disquieting speculation about Godric and Cecily, Janna beckoned the group to follow her to the outer courtyard, where the guest house was situated. Sketching a hasty farewell, she hurried off to find the sister in charge of looking after the abbey's guests. She could deal with their needs; for herself, Janna was desperate to get away on her own, to come to terms with Mus's threat and Odo's fate, and to sort through her own muddled emotions regarding Hugh and Godric. Yes, she was running away, but for the moment it seemed the wisest thing to do.

The guest mistress promised to take care of the party, and Janna turned her steps towards the garden. 'God's great cathedral', her mother had said of nature, and that was where she wanted to be now. Working among the plants calmed her spirit, and made her feel close to her mother again. But her trial was not quite over.

'Sister Johanna!' The abbess's voice halted Janna's eager footsteps. Reluctantly, she turned, and was surprised to see Dame Alice by the abbess's side.

'Mother Abbess. Dame Alice.' She bobbed her knee in reverence.

'Tell me, child.' Dame Alice looked troubled. 'I am at a loss to understand why my husband seems so against you, for after what I heard today, I feel sure that the man they call Mus was acting on his instructions. Have you had words with my husband? Is there something between the two of you that I should know about?'

'No, ma dame.' Janna was aghast at the thought that the dame might suspect that she'd had a dalliance with Robert and that he'd turned against her. Yet she could not tell her the truth, could not betray Cecily's secret. If only Cecily was here to speak for herself! Yet Janna knew, in her heart, that the tiring woman would never have the courage to confess her liaison with Robert, or its dreadful outcome. She raised her eyes to face Dame Alice and the abbess, and read the doubt and distrust in their expressions.

'Perhaps if you spoke to the lord Robert? Perhaps if you asked him . . .?' she ventured. The dame's lips compressed into a thin line, telling Janna that she'd probably already tried that, and had got nowhere. Janna knew she stood condemned, both by her own silence as well as Robert's. She bitterly resented their judgment, but knew herself powerless to reclaim her good name, not without blackening another's.

Her anguish was slightly eased by the thought that, in the face of her and Cecily's continuing silence about his responsibility for the death of her mother, Robert must believe himself safe. Which must mean that Janna herself was surely safe from any further attempts on her life?

'You may go about your work.' The abbess's cold tone dismissed Janna from their presence. With downcast eyes, for she couldn't bear to look at them again, she bobbed her head and fled to the garden. But it was quite some time before the memory of the trial, and the hurtful condemnation that came after it, began to fade.

O
VER THE FOLLOWING
weeks Janna found ease working in the garden, and in the round of daily chores that were in her care. In addition, she had come to enter fully into the life of the convent, attending Masses as well as the regular offices that divided the nuns' days and nights. She found that she enjoyed the grandeur of the church and the beauty of the music. Although her life was regulated by the constant pealing of bells, she had grown used to them. She enjoyed the calm, unhurried pace of the abbey and the comfort of her surroundings, especially when she compared her life now to what she'd once known.

Resigned to living within the abbey confines for the while, she envied the nuns their acceptance of God's presence, their certainty about themselves and the vows they had taken, although she could not share their faith. Nor could she accept wholeheartedly all that she was told. But she found her questions were frowned upon, and so she stopped asking the convent for answers. Instead, she searched her own heart for the truth.

She celebrated the Christ Mass and all the festivities with a glad heart, for she loved the story of how Joseph and Mary had trudged to Bethlehem while Mary was pregnant, and how the baby Jesus was born in a manger. The days were joyous indeed, with extra provisions and delicacies in the refectory, and extra leisure time to talk, read and even to play games of skittles in the cloister garth, making the most of the few hours of pale wintry sun. With shorter days and long cold nights, the nuns and lay sisters were kept busy indoors, spinning wool and weaving homespun cloth to make the habits and tunics they wore, or stitching and mending garments in need of repair. Every evening the convent gathered in the calefactorium, where a fire was kept burning constantly throughout the winter and the nuns were allowed to talk. It was their last chance to warm themselves before going up to bed in their freezing cold dorter.

Janna often slipped away from the infirmary to join them for it was an opportunity to talk, to question the sisters about the scenes painted on the walls of the church. They were shocked at her ignorance, but for the most part they delighted in recounting the stories of Jesus, Mary and the saints. And Janna enjoyed hearing them, for she knew little of stories, especially the ones from the Bible. She revelled in the drama of Jesus' life. Some of it she already knew, but now she found out about His temptation by Satan in the desert, His confrontation with the moneylenders in the temple, His encounters with the Jews, the Romans and the Pharisees. She loved to hear of His friendship with the disciples and how they had forsaken all they knew to follow Him, although she felt a little sorry for the families the disciples left behind. She marvelled at the miracles, although she couldn't help doubting some of them. She wept over the account of His betrayal in the Garden of Gethsemane, His trial and cruel death by crucifixion.

She began to look about the church with new eyes, understanding at last what she was seeing. Yet at the same time she couldn't help remembering how Eadgyth had dragged her out of the small church at Berford. She could still hear her mother's impassioned cry: 'You don't need to go to church when God's great cathedral is all around you,' she'd said, and had pointed at the beauty that surrounded them: the bright flowers in their garden, the dancing butterflies and bumblebees, and the green forest beyond.

Who was right? Her mother, or this convent of women who believed so implicitly in what they were doing here in the abbey? Yet her mother had once been a nun herself; Janna was as sure of that as she was sure that winter would eventually give way to spring, and then to summer. She ached to find out more about her family, but resigned herself to patience, for she could not leave the abbey until winter was over. She'd thought the abbey would provide the answers she sought. Now, Janna recognised that she would have to look for the answers elsewhere. She had no idea where that might be, but consoled herself with the thought that the new year had begun and it was time for a new beginning and a new plan.

'M-my m-manuscript, M-Mother Abbess.' The stutter, the distress in the speaker's voice told Janna who was speaking. She looked at Sister Ursel, feeling desperately sorry for the nun and, at the same time, curious as to what lay behind this seeming run of bad luck. She listened as the nun stammered her way through an explanation of the latest calamity: another sheet of her manuscript had gone missing.

It had happened too often to be chance, Janna thought, as she recalled other instances related by the unfortunate sister. The first, she remembered, was when two pages had gone missing, only to be found later under a bush, supposedly blown by the wind into the cloister garth. It hadn't seemed likely at the time. It seemed even less likely now, especially in the light of what had happened since.

Another page had gone missing. It had also been found, but this time it was torn into several pieces. It was too damaged to be used, and Sister Ursel had carefully lettered and illuminated the page all over again. The pieces of parchment had been kept and scraped back so that they might be reused for practice by one or other of Sister Maria's students, but Janna had seen the page when it was whole, and could imagine Sister Ursel's grief and rage at having her beautiful work destroyed in such a way.

The next occurrence was even worse. This time the missing page had turned up crumpled, torn and smeared with dog faeces. The bishop had been visiting at the time, to celebrate the Mass of the birth of the Christ Child. He had stayed on as a guest at the abbey until after the new year, but his visit had been marred by several incidents involving the sisters' pets that had invoked his wrath and called down his censure.

While most of the nuns had ignored his instructions to get rid of their animals forthwith, nevertheless they kept close watch on their pets and made sure that all animals were kept from the bishop's sight. Because of the need for secrecy, little was said about the missing document, but common consensus seemed to hold that one of the animals must have got hold of it, must have worried and played with the piece of parchment until it was torn and spoiled. It seemed an obvious conclusion, but Janna had looked at the sheet of parchment, had flinched on Sister Ursel's behalf, and had also noted that there were no teeth marks to be seen. But she had held her tongue in face of Sister Ursel's distress for this, more than anything, expressed such contempt for the beautiful work that it was beyond Janna's powers to imagine anyone spiteful enough to do such a thing.

Now it seemed that yet another page had gone missing. Before the abbess could respond to Sister Ursel's confession, Sister Philippa stood up.

Janna looked at her, curious to know what the nun might have to say about the problem. She had come to know the nuns quite well by now, and knew that Sister Philippa stood very much in the shadow of Sister Ursel when it came to fine penmanship. While Sister Ursel had been entrusted with the sacred task of writing and illuminating the life of St Edith, Sister Philippa and several other nuns had been set to copying, as best they may, some of the manuscripts held by the abbey. These were kept under the fierce guardianship of Sister Maria, the chantress, who was also in charge of the abbey's library.

'It seems to me that we can no longer entrust Sister Ursel with the sacred task of recording the life of our dear St Edith,' Sister Philippa began. As the abbess opened her mouth to protest, the nun went on to detail, as Janna had just done in her own mind, the various calamities that had befallen Sister Ursel. 'It shows a lack of care on the part of Sister Ursel,' Sister Philippa concluded. 'All the manuscripts are locked away every night. Only Sister Maria has the key, and I am sure she would confess it if it had gone missing at any time?'

All eyes swivelled to the chantress, who shook her head and jingled the bunch of keys hanging from her girdle in proof that she had them still.

'So the pages must be going missing during the day, while the work is under the care of Sister Ursel,' the scribe persisted.

'But I h-have to leave it sometimes to . . . to attend services. I . . . I cannot move the pages while the inks are wet.'

Janna was intrigued to notice that the nun's stutter was not nearly so bad while she defended herself. Was it indignation that freed her tongue, or did she only stutter while she was reading the word of God or the teaching of St Benedict? She listened intently as the argument raged about her.

'Are you sure it is not mere laziness, a carelessness of your work that you don't keep it locked away at all times when you are not actually working on the manuscript?' Sister Philippa queried.

'I must protest, Mother Abbess,' the chantress cut in. Her voice was low and musical, for it was Sister Maria who guided the nuns in their singing, and who kept them on time and in tune. 'If I'm not busy teaching the children and novices to read and to write, I'm either in the library or organising the singing of the Mass. I am not always available to lock away Sister Ursel's manuscript whenever she has to leave it. Besides, she speaks true; it is best not to move the pages until the inks are dry. More than that, I know how punctilious and careful Sister Ursel is of her work, how heavily this sacred trust rests on her shoulders, and how anxious she is to honour our saint by crafting for her the most beautiful work of which she is capable. To call Sister Ursel careless and lazy is a calumny that I cannot permit.'

Janna waited to hear Sister Philippa defend her remarks, but the nun said nothing, instead bowing her head in sober contemplation of the stone flagging on the floor. Her bid to take over the hagiography had failed. Janna wondered if she would try again. Indeed, what if she had been stealing pages in order to manoeuvre this very situation to use to her advantage? Sister Philippa would bear watching in the future, Janna thought.

'Once again I ask you all to search the abbey for the missing parchment, and to search your hearts for the truth,' Abbess Hawise said sternly. 'This has happened too often to be mere chance. It seems that whoever is behind this will not confess their crime, but someone must know something, or have seen something out of the way. If you have, I beg you to come to me and tell me what you know. And let me warn whoever is doing this: the longer you compound your error by keeping it a secret, the worse it will be for you when the truth finally comes to light – as you can be sure it will.'

Full of indignation on Sister Ursel's behalf, Janna came out of chapter into a cold, blustery wind that threw spatters of rain into her face. She shivered, and wrapped her cloak more tightly around her. She'd been given permission to leave the abbey, along with Sister Anne, to visit the market in Wiltune. Their mission was to purchase an array of spices from the spice merchants, spices imported from warmer climes across the sea. They were needed by the infirmarian for her various medicaments, and by the cook to season the meat that had been salted and preserved after the late autumn slaying of the beasts, as well as to flavour the fish and vegetables that were their usual fare. Instead of having a spice merchant call at the abbey, Janna had persuaded Sister Anne to go in search of them, suggesting that the marketplace would offer a wider variety and a better choice. 'And a chance to bargain over prices and also see if there's anything new or if we've forgotten something,' she added, smiling openly at Sister Anne's reproving frown.

Janna noticed Agnes and hurried over to have a word with her friend. 'Will you come with me to market?' she urged. As Agnes began to protest, she interrupted. 'No, hear me out. It will be very different from the fair. No travellers, and very few merchants for at this time of the year there is little fresh produce to sell. And see how dreadful the day is!' Janna flung out a hand to illustrate her point. 'No-one will venture out in this, unless they absolutely have to. Do come, Agnes. I'm sure Sister Anne won't make any objection to it.' She gripped her friend's hand as if to drag her through the gates.

'No. No!' Agnes jerked her hand from Janna's grasp and put both her hands behind her back.

'It's a chance to see what it's like outside the abbey. Don't you want to see Wiltune, Agnes?' She held her breath, hoping her friend would change her mind and say 'yes'. It would make up, in some part, for the last disastrous outing for which Janna still felt responsible.

There was a short silence. Janna wondered what other argument she might use to persuade Agnes. 'We may even see Master Will,' she coaxed. 'He asked after you last time I saw him, Agnes. He is very fond of you, you know. Very fond.'

Agnes took a step backwards. 'I am happy here at the abbey,' she said tightly. 'I have no wish to see Master Will.'

It seemed she'd come up with the worst inducement possible. Silently, Janna berated herself. 'You don't have to talk to him, or even see him if you don't want to,' she said hurriedly. 'Just come and look at the stalls with me. There are such things to buy, Agnes, as you've never seen before or dreamed about!'

'I thought you said there'd be hardly anyone there?'

Janna sighed as she looked at her friend's suspicious face. Truly Agnes had changed these past few months. It seemed also true that there was little Janna could do about it. If Agnes was to regain her old, sunny disposition, she would have to bring about the change herself. Still, for the bailiff's sake, she couldn't give up quite yet.

'If I should see Master Will, is there any message you would like me to give him?'

'No.' Agnes turned away. Janna was reluctant to leave things as they were, and sought for a diversion. Sister Ursel's downcast face as she walked past provided her with a good excuse to change the subject and bring ease between them once more.

She nudged Agnes. 'Do you know anything of Sister Ursel's troubles? Have you seen anything, heard anything, that might explain why sheets from her manuscript are being taken and destroyed?'

Agnes stopped, her ready sympathy already engaged by the problem. 'No, I've seen nothing,' she said slowly. 'Truly, Ursel has much to vex and distress her. Do you know that Chester has gone missing?'