A Conspiracy of Wolves

by Candace Robb

  Olyf silently nodded in agreement, her face pale, her eyes such wells of suffering that Owen knew the image would haunt him until he had solved this.

  ‘They insisted on seeing the bodies of father and son,’ Dame Janet murmured, as if their emotion required explanation.

  Owen expressed his sorrow for their loss, speaking of both men’s goodness, halting as Olyf’s tears overflowed. ‘I will do all in my power to find their murderers.’

  A brisk nod from Janet. ‘May God guide you in your task. How might we assist you?’

  ‘I have questions. But if it is too soon—’

  Adam was shaking his head. ‘Let us waste no time.’

  ‘Is there somewhere we might talk out of hearing of the servants?’

  Janet glanced back at the two servants who stood out of the way but close enough to hear any command. ‘I had not thought – I trust them all or I would not—’ She stopped herself with a finger to her lips. ‘My husband’s parlor.’ Rising, she motioned for her guests to follow.

  Owen began by asking about the dog now guarding the house. ‘He is new to the household?’

  ‘He is mine,’ said Paul Braithwaite. ‘It’s a long ride. My manor is near your wife’s. I thought it prudent to bring him. Protection for myself, my wife, my parents’ household.’ He cleared his throat twice as he spoke.

  ‘I believe he has all his claws?’ Owen asked.

  A frown, then a nod of understanding. ‘I never take my dogs into royal forests, no. A cruel practice, lawing.’ Paul glanced at Olyf, but she held her gaze on Owen, as if drawing hope from his presence. Tearless now.

  Why had Paul glanced at her?

  ‘I brought all the staff together this morning to introduce them to Tempest,’ said Janet. ‘To reassure them.’

  Owen inclined his head to acknowledge her, but he was more interested in her son. He’d not realized that Paul Braithwaite’s manor was near Freythorpe Hadden, which was south of the city. He thought of the boat on the bank near Hoban’s body. Perhaps someone had ferried Bartolf’s dogs over to the south bank of the Ouse. ‘It was your man who calmed him just now by the door?’ Owen asked. Paul nodded. ‘Might Alfred have a word with him after we’ve finished here? He might have some helpful advice about the dogs we’re searching for – the attackers and those missing from the Swann house in the forest.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Paul.

  In the end, they had nothing of use to tell him.

  ‘When will you bury Bartolf and Hoban?’ Owen asked.

  All looked to Janet Braithwaite.

  ‘Tomorrow. I prefer to wait until my husband returns, which should be tonight. Muriel is still his baby daughter, you know how it is. He will want to be there.’ A nod, as if that was settled. ‘We plan a quiet service in St Helen’s, no great feast in their memory until their murderers are apprehended and punished. Just family.’

  ‘Send word to me of the timing. I want the bailiffs’ men on the watch.’

  ‘I will, Captain.’

  Owen stood. ‘I will leave you in peace for now.’ He nodded to Alfred. ‘See about the dog.’

  Paul rose. ‘I will accompany you.’

  ‘I would prefer you did not,’ said Owen, watching the man’s reaction.

  Clearly uneasy, he said, ‘Galbot is a man of few words, Captain. He might need my coaxing.’

  ‘Alfred has experience questioning quiet servants,’ Owen assured him, staring him into compliance.

  Winifrith studied Owen’s face as he spoke, as if reading there whether or not she believed him. ‘He’s a swimmer, my da, that is so. Proud of it, he is. Goes in the water at night, mostly, so there’s no traffic, you see. So I can believe he did that. Between the wolf and the dog—’ She nodded. ‘So he saw he was stuck with two sorry choices. In his cups, that’s not the time to swim. Not so drunk after all. God be thanked.’ She made a sound between a laugh and a sob. ‘There are some think he’s taking up space with no good purpose on God’s earth, but he’s been a good father to me and my little ones.’ She surprised Owen with a hug. ‘Bless you, Captain Archer.’ She stepped back, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. ‘And bless Alfred and the young ones who are hiding him. I couldn’t hope for better protection. And the Riverwoman’s dragon will watch over him.’ Her face suddenly tightened. ‘But my little ones. I cannot tell them he’s safe, they’re sure to come out with it. God forgive me, I must lie to them and let their dear hearts grieve.’

  ‘I pray it will not be for long, Dame Winifrith.’

  ‘Find the butchers and hang them so Da can come home.’

  ‘I mean to.’ While he was there Owen thought he might as well ask if she recalled John with the wolf dog. He was glad he did.

  Winifrith sent a worried glance out into the small garden where the children played. ‘Is he the monster who’s murdered two good men and sent my da diving into the Ouse?’

  ‘Your father thought he might have been one of the men last night. Do you know anything more about him?’

  She shook her head. ‘But ask any mother along the river and she’ll tell you he enjoyed frightening the children with that beast of his. He kicked one of the neighbor’s boys for throwing a pebble to keep the dog away, and the dog bit the poor lad in the leg. But that was several years ago. I thought us well rid of him. God help us.’ She crossed herself.

  As they approached the Swann house, Lucie asked Ned how well he knew Alisoun.

  ‘I saw her every day when she and Dame Magda were caring for Archbishop Thoresby at Bishopthorpe, though I spoke to her only once or twice.’ He blushed and averted his eyes, looking relieved when a servant welcomed them into the hall.

  ‘Have a care. Dame Muriel’s well-being is in Alisoun’s hands, and hers alone. Consult her regarding anything relating to the mistress of the house.’

  ‘I will. And I’ll keep to the shadows so she forgets I’m there.’ Ned spoke with resolve.

  Lucie bit back a smile at the thought of two stout wills colliding.

  The house was quiet, subdued, the servants going about their work in silent watchfulness. Even Alisoun moved so quietly coming up behind Lucie that she startled her with a touch on her shoulder. She welcomed them both with warmth, noting that she’d not seen Ned since Bishopthorpe.

  They smiled at each other, then both looked away.

  Lucie thought it a good time to explain why he was there.

  Alisoun thanked them, moving straight to a description of the behavior of the two men who had passed her in the yard, and how they smelled. ‘They reeked of dog, as if they’d been rolling about in a kennel. And blood, though it wasn’t until we were in the Fenton garden that I sorted that part. I smelled no ale on them.’ She nodded to Ned. ‘You will want to present yourself to the cook. He will tell you your duties, and where you will sleep.’

  Lucie suggested she go up to Muriel. Alisoun and Ned rose as one, then he headed for the kitchen.

  In the solar, Muriel sat by a small window, a bit of embroidery lying forgotten on her lap. She turned as they entered, greeting Lucie with a shake of her head. ‘I said no visitors, Alisoun.’

  ‘Dame Lucie has brought a physick to calm you and bring up your appetite, but she cannot advise me of the correct dosage without seeing you.’

  Lucie sat down on a stool beside the grieving mother-to-be and took her hand. Despite the warmth of the day and of the room Muriel’s hand was cold. Lucie studied her eyes, felt her pulse, sniffed her breath. ‘You need food.’ Lucie told the servant who waited by the door to bring her mistress some broth. ‘Easily digested, even at such a time.’ Only now did she mention Muriel’s terrible loss. They sat in silence for a few moments, Lucie listening to Muriel’s shallow breathing. At last she rose to give the woman some privacy while instructing Alisoun regarding the physick, a small dosage during the day, more at night. Behind her, she heard Muriel begin to weep. She pressed a cloth to her mouth, as if trying to silence herself. Lucie returned to sit beside her, taking her free hand.

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nbsp; ‘I depend on your husband to find the men who took Hoban from me,’ said Muriel. ‘And his father.’

  A shiver ran from her hand to Lucie’s, who sat there a moment, head bowed, praying that Owen might safely bring the monsters to justice. Safely, I pray you, Lord. ‘He is already out and about, asking questions,’ said Lucie. ‘And he’s placed one of his trusted men in your home, to listen and observe, to go where Alisoun cannot go while she is with you. You are protected.’

  Muriel pressed Lucie’s hand. ‘Bless you, both of you.’ She sat back as the servant returned with the broth.

  Alisoun added the physick, then brought the bowl of broth to Muriel, recommending that she sip it while it was warm. Lucie was gratified to see the woman’s sunken cheeks flush with the warmth, and accepted a cup of watered wine to sip, appreciating the peaceful moment.

  Out of the quiet, Muriel asked the servant to wait outside. As soon as the young woman drew the door shut behind her, Muriel said, ‘I should have come to Captain Archer about my suspicions. If I had done so—’ A deep breath. ‘You must tell him to look at Hoban’s circle, his sister, her husband, and my brother Paul.’ She crossed herself and turned to gaze out the window, her hand to her heart.

  His circle? Lucie glanced at Alisoun, who shook her head. She was about to ask what Muriel meant when she gave a little moan, pressing a hand to her stomach.

  ‘Rest now,’ Lucie whispered, stroking Muriel’s back to relax her.

  But Muriel shook her head. ‘They keep some secret, I’ve always felt it. Hoban kept things from me. At first I told myself he protected me, sheltered me in his love, but …’ She caught her breath and pressed Lucie’s hand, her eyes swimming with tears. ‘I do not like to say it of him. He was so happy about being a father. And I loved him so.’

  ‘A little more of the physick, Alisoun,’ Lucie said, ‘in some watered wine.’

  Muriel shook her head. ‘No. No first let me tell you what you must tell your husband. Since Crispin Poole returned – you know of whom I speak?’ Lucie nodded. ‘Since then, they’ve whispered and argued under their breaths. Frightened. Or angry. Both?’ She rubbed her forehead. ‘How can I be certain of anything when he would never tell me? Nor would she, Olyf—’ She crossed herself. ‘Poor woman, she has lost brother and father. I do not like speaking ill of her. But she is a shrewd one, though she plays the innocent.’

  Alisoun knelt in front of her charge and took her hands, catching her eyes and holding the gaze, calming her.

  As Magda would do. Lucie asked if she should go.

  ‘No!’ Muriel broke away from Alisoun and took Lucie’s hand. ‘Crispin Poole. As I said, since his return, they’ve not been the same. The captain must hear this.’

  ‘Poole,’ Alisoun whispered, so softly that Lucie almost missed it.

  She glanced at her. The young woman seemed lost in herself. Crispin Poole. He had consulted Lucie earlier in the summer about pain in what remained of his right arm. The haunting of the lost hand and forearm. She had sent him to Magda Digby, who knew how to work with such soul wounds. Owen knew him better than she did. ‘I will tell my husband what you have said,’ Lucie promised.

  Muriel nodded. ‘My brother asked me if I wanted his dog Tempest here. Stupid man. A dog? After what a dog did to my husband? I’ve always hated his dogs.’

  ‘Whose? Your brother’s? Has Paul always kept dogs?’ Lucie asked.

  ‘Breeds them for hunting. Wealthy men come from far and wide to purchase his beasts. I believe his wife – Elaine – I believe she hates them as much as I do.’ She gave a sob. ‘Hoban never blamed me for being barren, ever. He was the most patient, loving man. When I told him I was at last with child … How his eyes lit up …’ Muriel stared out the window, her body shaken with sobs.

  Alisoun handed Lucie a cup of watered wine containing more of the physick. ‘For the baby’s sake you must rest,’ said Lucie.

  Muriel drank it down quickly, then rested her head against the back of the chair with a sigh. ‘I can sleep now. Captain Archer will know what to do.’ Alisoun helped her rise, supporting her with an arm round her waist as she slowly crossed the room to the bed.

  When Muriel was asleep, Alisoun joined Lucie on a bench by the window, thanking her for coming. ‘Your presence is a balm for her.’

  Lucie noticed shadows of exhaustion beneath Alisoun’s eyes. She wanted so much to ask about the pouch, but it was not the time. ‘Would you like me to stay with her while you rest?’

  Alisoun let her shoulders slump. ‘Would you? I’ll just lie down here. If Dame Janet or Dame Olyf should come—’

  ‘I doubt Janet Braithwaite will have the time to visit her daughter today, but if she does, she can wait in the hall. The same for Dame Olyf.’

  ‘Bless you.’

  Lucie poured the weary young woman a cup of wine, then told the servant to shutter the window. In the dim quiet, Alisoun slipped out of her dress and beneath the bedclothes, and Lucie settled beside the sleeping widow, letting her mind quiet before sorting through Muriel’s tearful confidences.

  ‘Keep an ear pricked about Paul Braithwaite,’ Owen told Alfred as they parted on Coney Street. ‘I don’t know what I’m looking for. Any gossip, any enemies. And Galbot. Find out if he’s a local man. Hempe’s men might know. I want to see how Ned’s been received, then I’ll go to see Archdeacon Jehannes.’

  Alfred nodded and strode off.

  At the Swann house he found Ned out in the back garden pushing a barrow behind the cook, who was picking late-season herbs for a stew. Ned excused himself and stepped aside to talk to Owen.

  ‘They’ve put you to work out here?’

  ‘I offered. I thought it a good way to hear the gossip of the household, Captain.’ He grinned. ‘And I have. I can tell you that the servants resented Olyf Tirwhit ordering them about last night, saying she’d never have dared if their mistress had not been bedridden. Dame Muriel and Dame Olyf – no affection there, it seems.’

  ‘Do you know why?’

  Ned shook his head, then lifted his cap and bowed to someone approaching.

  ‘Lucie!’ Owen took her hands. ‘Any news?’

  ‘I must get right back, but I saw you down here and wanted to give you a message from Dame Muriel.’

  He listened with interest about Hoban’s ‘circle’, the secrecy, the discomfort about Crispin Poole’s return, her dislike of Paul Braithwaite’s dogs. He had Ned tell her what the servants said about Olyf and Muriel.

  ‘There may be something there,’ said Lucie, ‘though we need more.’

  ‘Did you show Alisoun the pouch?’

  ‘Forgive me, but she is exhausted. I thought it better to wait.’

  As Archdeacon of York, Jehannes had a substantial house near the minster. Surrounded by a modest but welcoming garden, it was a place of refuge. Owen often came here seeking the counsel of his good friend. Jehannes managed to retain an innocent joy and an open heart.

  A young clerk opened the door to Owen, gesturing with a finger to his lips that he must enter the hall in silence. ‘As you can see,’ he whispered, ‘Dom Jehannes and Brother Michaelo are at prayer.’

  The two knelt at prie dieus before a corner altar, heads bowed, hands pressed together. The clerk escorted Owen to a seat by a low window that looked out onto a walled garden, and offered him a cup of wine.

  The hall was simply furnished, Jehannes’s spiritual life being that which drew his attention. Yet where in the past neither hangings nor painted plaster had brightened the interior, that was no longer so. His cook had wed a stonemason who worked at the minster, and the couple, both artists, had transformed the hall. Tree boughs arched along the walls, beneath which hung large embroidered panels depicting the flora and fauna of the moors. With paint and thread they brought the beauty of the North into Jehannes’s home.

  Once Owen had settled, sampled the fine wine, studied the artwork, the well-tended beds of herbs and roses in the garden, he turned his mind to Muriel Swann’s warning. An unexp
ected revelation, old friends keeping a secret, excluding Muriel, though her brother was part of it. And Crispin Poole. Might it be nothing but a cache of fear unleashed by recent, horrific events? Or was it possible that Poole’s return had stirred up some darkness from their shared past? Owen searched his memory for any clues in his conversations with the man, but Poole’s only mention of ill feelings pertained to John Gisburne, who had provided him with letters of introduction to influential merchants in the city – apparently at the command of a patron whom Poole declined to name. It was not done graciously, and though the letters had gained him entry into business, he’d been received coolly in society, and ignored by Gisburne’s family. Perhaps it was time to dig into Poole’s past.

  ‘I sense a storm brewing in that head of yours.’ Jehannes smiled as he settled across from Owen. ‘More wine?’

  Owen declined the offer. ‘I came to ask you about a woman you once employed – Cilla.’

  Jehannes frowned. ‘Cilla?’ He began to shake his head, then his eyes widened with memory. ‘Ah, Cecelia, the odd little woman who wanted nothing to do with a secure position. I’d forgotten she preferred to be called by that odd name.’ He glanced up as he noticed Brother Michaelo hovering nearby. ‘Michaelo, you are welcome to join us.’

  The monk glanced at Owen, who waved him to a chair beside him.

  ‘So you remember her,’ Owen prompted.

  Jehannes smiled. ‘Oh yes. Quite a peculiar woman, dancing about, making the oddest noises. In truth, I enjoyed her presence, though I cannot say I ever understood her. Hard worker. Alas, she likes to drift, work a few days here, a few days there, then disappear for a week or so. We parted as friends, I like to think. She left me feeling as if I might be the dullest man in the North country. What is your interest in her?’

  ‘She worked for Bartolf, kept his house in Galtres. No one’s seen her since Hoban’s murder.’

  ‘I pray she is safe. As I say, she stayed nowhere long. She might have moved on beforehand.’