Devilʼs Brew: The Janna Chronicles 5 Read Online Free

travelers identify a place that served ale: a green bush affixed to a pole outside the door.
    Janna had been in Winchestre long enough to know that the tavern was greatly resented by other alewives, who believed Sybil Taverner was taking away their customers. The most prosperous alehouses, owned by those who complained loudest, were Heaven, Hell and Paradise. These were situated on the high street close to the cathedral and were especially handy for customers on the way to and from their devotions or their shopping. But Janna preferred to meet Ulf at the Bell and Bush, for it was slightly more salubrious than the alehouses up the high street and the ale was of better quality. Or so Ulf said.
    Trying to take her mind off her troubles by identifying its flavoring, Janna took a sip of ale. She swilled the liquid around her mouth, identifying the various herbs the taverner had put in the gruit, for it was different from the brew she and her mother used to make. Rosemary, alecost and sweet gale. She could recognize those, all right, for sometimes she’d used them herself, perhaps with elderflowers or wormwood. She wondered why the taverner didn’t add wild hops to the mix. True, they gave a slightly bitter flavor, but the ale was more thirst-quenching in hot weather. More importantly, the hops helped to preserve the brew and keep it fit for drinking.
    Janna took another sip. This was a pleasant combination, but when brewing their own ale, Janna, on her mother’s instruction, had always added a particular herb to the barley mash, one with a distinctive flavor and a special purpose.
    “The ancients believed that sage was a sacred and holy herb, while our own people knew it to be a cure for all complaints. Better yet, it’s thought to bring long life and prosperity to all,” Eadgyth had told her. Janna had kept silent, not wanting to question why they were still so poor when they had such a quantity of sage growing in their small garden.
    It hadn’t helped her mother live a long life either, Janna thought now, and felt the familiar heaviness of unshed tears behind her eyes. Hastily, she forced her thoughts onward. What else had gone into the ale they’d brewed? Always an extra dash of honey to help with fermentation and counter the bitterness of the hops, for Eadgyth liked the ale she drank to have a touch of sweetness to it. Janna took another sip, rolling the liquid over her tongue to taste it. Since leaving their home she’d never again come across the distinctive brew she and her mother used to make. As with everything her mother had taught her, their ale was made from Eadgyth’s own recipe, to suit her taste, or else to suit the need to which it would be put, for it would taste quite different if used for medicinal purposes. Extra herbs would be added: bishopwort and wild mint for fever; horehound for a lung complaint; or herba benedicta to ward off evil and disease and to act as a tonic for the body.
    Memories of Eadgyth flooded Janna’s mind, along with the knowledge that every link she’d had with the past was now gone. She could not hold back her distress, and hastily swiped her sleeve across her brimming eyes. She and her mother had parted after a quarrel, and Janna had never had the chance to make peace. The guilt of her furious outburst haunted her still. What would her mother say if she could see her now? Would she approve of the path Janna had chosen, her quest to find her father?
    Probably not, for Eadgyth had believed her lover unfaithful. Being unable to read his letter, she had died not knowing the truth: that John had loved her with all his heart, but had been delayed because he had gone to Normandy to seek permission from his father to break his betrothal in order to marry her. Believing him faithless, and with a child growing inside her, Eadgyth had run away. She had sought shelter, and been refused, and thereafter had kept Janna close to her, teaching her all she knew of the art of healing, but never