Blood Oath: The Janna Chronicles 1 (3 page)

“We can’t,” Janna contradicted firmly. “The forester knows you’ve been in Gravelinges today, and if he sees any signs of a dead animal he’ll immediately suspect you; he’ll make you the scapegoat. We have to bury the boar, Godric. We can’t trust the forest to keep our secret safe.”

“I’d much rather eat it than bury it,” Godric grumbled.

“Eat it, and we could be burying you!” Janna retorted.

Godric heaved a sigh, and bent to take hold of the beast’s front legs. He began to drag it toward an overgrown thicket. “I have only my knife to dig with,” he said, looking over his shoulder at Janna. “We need to find a place where the soil is moist and the growth thick enough to hide the evidence.”

Janna nodded. Lifting her torch higher to cast a better light, she led Godric into the shadows under the trees.

She knelt beside him and helped him dig the grave, using a stout stick and her bare hands as tools. A silence fell between them as they concentrated on their task. Janna was acutely conscious of his presence beside her. She recalled her mother’s teasing words, and her cheeks burned. If Godric had taken a fancy to her, it would be true to say that she had also found him worthy of inspection. She stole a quick glance. How old was Godric? Eighteen summers, maybe nineteen. Not much older than her, anyway.

As she dug deeper into the earth, Janna’s thoughts went back to their first meeting only a few weeks ago. He had come, in a fright, for a cure for his mother. She was shaking with ague, he’d said. She could hardly breathe. He didn’t know what to do for her. Could someone please come at once?

Eadgyth had sent Janna to gather fresh herbs, and Godric had followed her out into their herb garden, looking as if he wasn’t quite sure where to plant his feet. Fearing for the delicate herbs, which were her responsibility, Janna bade him stand still and hold what she picked. Although he’d stayed where she’d put him, there was a contained restlessness about him that told her Godric was a man more used to action, and that he chafed at standing still. She was conscious that he watched her, and she tried to make sure he didn’t catch her looking at him. Yet he was pleasing to look at, being tall and well built, with the fair hair and blue eyes of the Saxons. She’d been disappointed when Eadgyth bade her stay home to keep an eye on a mixture she had simmering over the fire, rather than allowing Janna to accompany them to the sick woman’s cottage.

“What do you know of Godric and his mother?” she’d asked, when her mother returned home. Eadgyth had chuckled, not deceived by the casual question or the real focus of Janna’s interest.

“They live over at Babestoche Manor,” she said. “Godric owes his allegiance to Dame Alice and her lord.”

“Not to the abbess?” Janna was surprised. The Abbess of Wiltune owned vast tracts along the Nadder River, including the land their own cottage was on. Godric must have walked several miles across the downs to seek them out.

“The manor’s lands adjoin those belonging to the abbess. Godric’s mother has told me about his position there, and his prospects. He sounds like a good and honorable man, Janna.”

“He’s not married then?”

“No. But his mother would be glad to see him take a wife.” Janna wondered now if Eadgyth shared that ambition, and if she’d been left behind on purpose, so that her mother could check on Godric’s suitability as a husband. Yet Eadgyth often left her behind while she went out to minister to her patients. It was an old grudge, and the injustice of it angered Janna anew.

“How is your mother?” she asked Godric, thinking that she should make use of this time to find out more about him while Eadgyth wasn’t around to interfere. “Is she quite recovered now?”

“She is very well, I thank you.” Godric paused for a moment and studied Janna. “It was a blessed day that brought me to your door.”

And what did that mean? Was he thankful for his mother’s cure, or was he glad of their meeting? Janna wanted to ask him, but was afraid where the question might lead. To a proposal of marriage? She smiled in the darkness, telling herself not to let her imagination run away with her.

“This is not how I imagined our second meeting would be.” Godric continued to dig while he elaborated on his earlier observation. “I had intended to ask your mother if I might call on you.”

Panic prompted Janna to deliberately misunderstand Godric’s meaning. “Do you need more medication for your mother?” At once she wished she could retrieve her words. He’d already told her his mother was well. He’d think her a witless idiot.

Godric laughed. “I think you understand my meaning, Janna,” he said cheerfully. To her relief, he straightened then, and said, “The hole is deep enough. Hold up the torch so I can see what I’m doing.”

He grabbed the boar. “What a waste of good meat,” he said as he tugged and pushed it into the hole they’d dug. Suddenly hopeful, he whipped his knife out of its sheath. “Couldn’t I just slice off a little...?”

“Don’t even think about it.” Before he had time to put the thought into action, Janna scooped up a handful of earth and threw it over the animal. With a shrug of resignation, Godric sheathed his knife and set to helping her cover the boar.

Godric wanted to come calling on her! As Janna heaped earth over the dead animal, she reflected on what that meant. Courtship. Marriage? No! Although she liked Godric—liked him a lot—she did not want to wed, not yet anyway.

True, she was well of an age to marry. Most of the young women of her age in the hamlets nearby were either betrothed or already wed. One was even expecting her second child, and wore the bump of her belly like a badge of honor.

Janna knew well enough how men and women found comfort in the marriage bed. She knew what needed to happen to cause the birth of a child, but she utterly rejected it for herself. She was not yet ready to share either her body or her life with anyone else. There was still so much she wanted to experience for herself, so many new places she wanted to explore. She could not—
would not
—plight her troth to Godric, nor to any other man, nor would she settle to keeping a home and bearing children at the price of her own freedom, and her own dreams for the future.

Yet what were those dreams, exactly?

Janna couldn’t say, knew only how restless, how dissatisfied she sometimes felt; as if there was a world beyond the forest awaiting her, a world full of promise for the future. At such times a great longing seized her, a longing for adventure, a longing to be gone. She and Eadgyth eked out an existence from their small plot of land, and knew hunger if the season went against them. It was a hard life, but they were free to leave, to go anywhere they wished, whereas Godric, like all villeins, was bound to a liege lord and had to spend his days in service on the land so that he might have enough food to eat, and sufficient left over to pay his dues. If she wed Godric, she too would have to stay here forever. She would never know if there was something else out there, waiting for her.

Common sense told Janna she was nothing, a nobody. Her only identity came from being Eadgyth’s daughter, while her occupation, her reason for living, lay in tending their garden and animals, growing the vegetables that fed them, and the flowers and herbs for the concoctions that made up their livelihood. It was unlikely she’d ever go anywhere. In fact, she’d be lucky to find a husband at all, let alone someone as kind and brave as Godric.

Lost in her thoughts as she was, Janna was startled when Godric wiped his muddy hands over a patch of grass to cleanse them, and rose to his feet. “Do you know where we are?” she asked, as she also stood.

“Of course. I told you, I know this forest.” He plucked off a small leafy branch of hazel and swept it around the grave to hide all trace of their illicit activity, while Janna scattered armfuls of dead leaves over splashes of blood to further disguise the spot.

“Stay close to me. I’ll look after you.” Godric picked up the resin torch, and took Janna’s hand to guide her. He began to push his way through the trees. It seemed to Janna that they were setting off in the wrong direction, but she held her peace, trusting him. Fallen logs and hidden tree roots tripped her. Several times her feet sank into boggy patches, unseen traps under the nettles, dock and bracken that carpeted the forest floor. She would have fallen without Godric’s hand to steady her. Did he really know where he was going? He didn’t seem to be following a set path; in fact she was sure they had turned through at least one circle. Once or twice he stopped, holding up the torch so he could see the way ahead. He was following the signs of his passage, she realized, understanding the significance of bruised and trampled plants, a muddy footprint, broken twigs. At last he bent and picked up a dead hare. He slung it over his shoulders and took her hand once more, this time walking ahead in a straight, sure line.

Janna was pleased that saving her hadn’t interfered with his real night’s work. All the same, she felt uneasy. She should say something, just to have things clear between them. How could she let him know how she felt without hurting his feelings?

It’s not my fault I don’t want to marry yet
, she thought crossly.
Why can’t he court Elfreda instead? Or Wulfrun? They would surely be pleased to have an offer of marriage from someone such as him.

The memory of her ordeal did little to add to Janna’s peace of mind as she trudged along. Her heart pumped faster and she broke into a clammy sweat as she relived the terror of the chase. She could have died tonight. Without Godric, all her fine dreams for the future would have counted for nothing. There was no getting around the fact that she owed him her life, and that she would always be in his debt. She hated that feeling of obligation, and what it might mean for her future. In fact, Janna was thoroughly uncomfortable by the time they came to a part of the forest she recognized. She was not so very far from home after all.

“Thank you, Godric.” She stopped and let go of his hand, wanting to put an end to her indebtedness to him, and to her own uneasy thoughts. “Thank you for saving my life tonight. I know where I am now. I can find my way from here.”

“I will see you safe home.” He kept walking in the direction of the cottage.

“I know this part of the forest. I’m used to walking it alone,” Janna protested.

Godric smiled at her. “I just want to make sure you are safe,” he said simply. With a sigh of resignation, Janna followed him.

The cottage was in darkness when they reached it. Janna pushed open the door, hoping to find her mother returned home and sleeping within. But the only sign of life was the black cat, which stirred and blinked one sleepy eye at them. A faint warmth came from the turfed-down fire; thin wisps of smoke added to the already choking atmosphere. Janna flung open a shutter to let some fresh air into the smoky room, while Godric crouched down and blew on the embers, helping to bring the flame to life with a handful of dry leaves and twigs kept in a crock beside the fireplace.

As the flames caught and held, the small cottage became illuminated. Janna poured some water into a bowl and added a few leaves of soapwort to cleanse her filthy hands. She beckoned Godric to join her.

“Where is your mother?” he asked, once he’d dried his hands on the cloth Janna offered him.

“Gone to look after Dame Alice.” Janna scowled at the memory.

“Is something amiss with my lady?”

“My mother has gone to help the dame recover from the birth of her babe,” she said briefly, not wanting to fuel the situation with wild rumors.

“Will you be all right out here on your own? Shall I stay with you until your mother returns?”

“No! I’m quite used to being alone.” Janna turned from him, willing him to be gone. Her thoughts were in turmoil, and he was standing far too close for comfort. She could feel the heat from his body, and shivered as his sleeve brushed hers.

The black cat uncoiled and began to weave around Godric’s ankles. He nudged it aside with his boot. “Don’t!” Janna remonstrated as the cat gave an affronted growl.

Godric looked up then, his expression serious. “I know your mother has skill with herbs, and I have good reason to be grateful to her. Dame Alice’s patronage must also be seen as a mark of respect. But take care, Janna. There is talk in the village and in the hamlets around here, much talk about this cat—and about your mother.”

“What nonsense is this?” Janna snatched up Alfred and stroked him, soothing his dignity along with her own agitation.

“The new priest speaks against you for refusing to come to his church. He says that your mother meddles in matters which should be left to God.”

“I suppose he’d rather a woman die in childbirth than seek help,” Janna said scornfully.

“I understand that you and your mother seek only to heal, to bring relief to those in need, but there is a midwife at Berford. Why not leave such things to her?”

“My mother has far more skill and knowledge than Mistress Aldith,” Janna retorted. “She says the midwife knows more about burying mothers than bringing babies into the world. That’s why Master Fulk was summoned to the manor house. And that’s why he came to fetch my mother and not Mistress Aldith tonight.”

Janna stopped abruptly as she remembered Godric’s position at the manor house. “If Aldith has been speaking against us, it is because most women respect my mother’s knowledge and seek her out rather than place their safety in the hands of an ignorant woman!” she added hastily.

“I have not heard Mistress Aldith blacken your mother’s name, but others do. There is talk that your mother communes with the dead, and that she is even able to take on their appearance.” Godric pointed at the cat in Janna’s arms. “’Tis also said by some that this is the devil in your home.”

“Alfred?” Janna’s arms tightened around the cat. “You can’t be serious!”

“And that’s another thing,” Godric said awkwardly. “They’re angry that you’ve given your cat the name of the greatest king that Wessex has ever known.” He smiled then. “Couldn’t you just call it Fluffy, or something?”

“No, I could not.” It was because of what had happened to the cat that she’d come to name it Alfred. She wouldn’t change the name for anything.