A Conspiracy of Wolves

by Candace Robb

  As they poured wine into two bowls, Braithwaite said to one of them, ‘Ask Master Paul to step in, tell him we need to speak with him. At once.’ He seemed to have regained his senses with Owen’s outburst. Good. When the servants withdrew, he said, ‘I hadn’t thought how ridiculous it sounds. I see myself as a man of the world. But I return to such a horror – something I would never have dreamed.’ John Braithwaite shook his head, his eyes glazed with the shock of the memory. ‘I saw what they did to Bartolf. The ruin of such a good man. Why? I have no experience in such matters.’

  Fortunate man, until now. ‘Is it true that no one in the house heard anything last night? Not a bark? A growl?’

  ‘So it seems.’ Braithwaite was quiet while a servant reported that Paul had already departed. He nodded and waved the servant off. ‘I am sorry, Captain. It appears he has already headed to the church.’

  It would seem Paul was avoiding Owen. ‘Do I detect a doubt that no one in the household heard anything?’

  Braithwaite had leaned forward to pour a little water into his wine. He sat back, moving the bowl to swirl the mixture, tasted, took a longer drink. Owen waited for the man to speak.

  ‘I do not like to tell tales, but in such circumstances polite discretion feels negligent. Though he is my son.’ A pause. ‘I sense that Paul is holding something back. His reaction to the slaughter of his dog was—’ He leaned forward to add more wine to the bowl, no water this time, wrinkling his forehead in thought. ‘He was not surprised. He’d expected trouble. Do not mistake me, he was quite shaken, and I do sense a deep sorrow in him, for my son has a passion for hunting dogs. Not long ago Bartolf sold Paul a pair of his dogs. Did you know?’

  ‘No. I did not.’

  ‘Ah, well, there you are.’ Braithwaite nibbled on a piece of cheese, nodding, suddenly frowning. ‘I see the fire in that hawk eye of yours, Captain. If you are thinking Paul committed these crimes you are wrong. He and Hoban were the best of friends. And he both respected and liked Bartolf. But, like I said, he’d expected trouble.’

  ‘Was Tempest one of Bartolf’s?’

  ‘Tempest? Oh, no, no he descended from a line of dogs stretching back to the pup presented to my son when he began to walk. Fierce dog – I was of a mind to take it from him, inappropriate for a child, but my father chided me for protecting the lad when I should be encouraging him to be a warrior. A warrior merchant?’ His eyes laughed, but his mouth twisted sideways in doubt.

  ‘So your son favors fierce dogs?’

  A shrug and a nod.

  ‘Ever cause harm? Have there been complaints about his animals?’

  Braithwaite shot his jaw forward, as if readying a verbal attack, but he checked himself. ‘When he was a lad … A boy’s mischief … But that is years past.’

  ‘Anyone injured? Wounds that proved fatal?’

  ‘No. Mischief, as I said.’

  Answered too quickly. There was something there. ‘It might be important. I am here to help you, not to judge.’

  ‘One of his dogs was blinded by a muddy conger in the forest. Heartsick, he was. The lad cared for it with such tenderness …’ A tight shake of the head. ‘I suppose the three of them had bothered someone.’

  ‘Three of them?’

  ‘Olyf, Hoban, Paul – Muriel never warmed to them. She was younger …’

  ‘The dog was blinded in both eyes?’

  ‘No. Just one. Stone damaged it—’ He nodded toward Owen’s patch, then seemed to remember himself. ‘Forgive me, I did not mean …’

  ‘No offense taken.’ Owen was after something more interesting.

  ‘The hound was never right after that,’ said John. ‘I finally convinced Paul to put the poor thing out of its misery.’ A heavy sigh.

  Owen gave him a moment with the memory, then said, ‘So Paul did take his dogs into the forest, despite their not being lawed—’

  ‘I – yes, as a boy he did. Bartolf came to some agreement with the steward. The three of them loved to be out there in the forest.’

  Owen let that be for now. ‘What do you know of Galbot’s background?’

  ‘Galbot? Paul’s servant? Nothing.’ John paused. ‘Oh, I see.’

  ‘I must consider every possibility. As you do in a business deal.’

  ‘Of course. Of course.’ A moment of quiet. ‘My sweet daughter – God help her, I pray this has not jeopardized the babe in her womb. A child will help her heal, I know it will. She has prayed for one for so long, as had Hoban.’ His voice broke with emotion, and Braithwaite drank down the bowl only to refill it.

  Owen rose. ‘Perhaps your son was right. It is no time to be troubling your family. You will wish to ready yourself to depart. I believe Dame Janet and Dame Elaine await us.’

  ‘You are to escort us?’

  Owen told him of the precautions, the bailiffs’ men along the route, Stephen staying here, Ned at the Swanns’, he and Alfred at the church.

  ‘Is all that necessary?’

  ‘Even more so now. The killing of Tempest must be treated as a threat to your son.’

  Braithwaite paled. ‘A threat to Paul? I had not thought—’ He crossed himself.

  It was clear that he found Owen’s suggestion likely to be true. That he should so quickly realize the implication, without argument – yes, there was something there.

  ‘I am grateful,’ said Braithwaite as he rose and put a hand on Owen’s arm. ‘You will attend the mass? And you must come to dinner in my daughter’s home afterwards, you and Dame Lucie. Your wife has been such a blessing for my Muriel. And young Alisoun, of course, she is so good with her. My wife has nothing but good to say of her. Will you come?’

  Owen had planned to be out on watch, but it would be useful to observe the family as the wine and ale flowed. Surely Lucie would agree. ‘We would be honored.’

  ‘God bless you, Captain. And now you are quite right, my manservant must tidy me.’ He walked Owen out into the hall. ‘So all of this – these deaths are all of a piece?’

  ‘Did you ever doubt it?’

  ‘I prayed it was not so. Help us, Captain. Find the monsters who have destroyed our happiness.’

  Destroyed our happiness. Curious how the Braithwaites had taken charge, though it was Olyf who had lost father and brother. It was not for Owen to judge. But Paul Braithwaite’s behavior – that was Owen’s concern. Did he fear he might be a suspect merely because he owned dogs, or was it something more?

  He noticed Olyf and Adam Tirwhit standing with Janet and Elaine, all clearly irked to be left waiting for the master of the house.

  Greeting them, he asked Dame Olyf if he might speak with her. ‘I promise to be brief.’

  Frowning as she fussed with a flowing sleeve on her silk gown, Olyf led Owen to the far corner of the hall.

  ‘Forgive me for intruding on your grief,’ said Owen.

  ‘Dame Janet and I are retaining you to investigate the murders of my father and brother, Captain. You need not apologize.’

  He bowed to her courtesy. ‘I could not help but notice that when Paul said he never took his dogs into the forest, he glanced at you. I wondered why.’

  ‘Paul? Did he?’ Her look was far away.

  ‘I thought perhaps because you knew about the blinding of his boyhood dog?’

  ‘His—? What has that poor creature to do with the murders of my father and brother?’ Her tone was sharp, but her expression wary, one might even say fearful.

  ‘Did you witness the attack?’

  ‘Why should you think so? And why should you care?’

  ‘Do you recall who attacked his hound?’

  ‘You are not thinking that the person, so long ago …’ She shook her head. ‘If I was there, I cannot remember. We did our best to avoid the men who lurked in the woods.’

  ‘So it was a man?’

  A silken shrug. ‘I told you, I don’t remember.’

  ‘According to John Braithwaite, your father arranged for the forest steward to look the other way
regarding Paul’s dogs in Galtres.’

  ‘Well, yes, as long as he kept them on leads. He disliked going anywhere without a pair of them.’

  ‘So when the one was attacked, there was another?’

  ‘What? I’ve no idea, Captain. As I said—’

  ‘No counter-attack by the hound’s companion?’

  ‘I said I have no memory of it.’ She was angry now.

  ‘On the night you found your father, did you see a man and a dog out beyond the archway, in the street?’

  ‘I recall no one. Now I must go bury my kinsmen, Captain.’ With a sweep of her skirts, she turned from him and hurried across the room.

  He followed, assuring her companions that John would not be long. ‘I must see to a few things,’ he said, ‘but I will be at the church.’ He must tell Ned about the latest violence, and send word to Lucie of their invitation.

  ‘You are deserting us, Captain?’ Elaine Braithwaite cried, reaching a hand up to touch his arm. Short and plump, she seemed a child dressed up in her mother’s elegant robes, until one noticed the lines crossing her forehead and radiating from her dark eyes. She’d borne five children to Paul Braithwaite, raising them in the vicinity of his aggressive dogs – that must cause some discomfort between them.

  ‘There are guards all along the way,’ Owen assured her, ‘and one of my best men right here at your door.’

  Janet Braithwaite patted Elaine’s arm. ‘Do not fret. The captain will protect us.’

  ‘As my husband’s beloved Tempest could not,’ said Elaine, turning aside.

  He’d never before heard the word ‘beloved’ spoken like a curse, but the sentiment did not surprise him.

  ‘Enough about Paul and his dogs,’ Olyf muttered, calling out to a servant to fetch the master of the house.

  On his way to the Swann house, Owen ordered one of the bailiff’s men to stand watch at the Braithwaites’ door. Stephen was now to escort the family gathered in the hall to the Swann residence, then on to the church if Owen had not yet joined them there.

  As he walked, Owen decided to include Alisoun in the discussion with Ned. He might tug at her conscience with the tale of the murdered dog. She was particularly fond of dogs, which had concerned him when she cared for Gwenllian and Hugh. His daughter would return from walks with Alisoun excited about all the dogs they had met, describing them in such detail that it was plain she had petted them. Owen objected. Anything larger than a lapdog would have been trained to guard its owners, not engage with strange children. Time and again he had made his position clear, time and again Gwenllian came home with stories of large dogs who were ‘so friendly’, Alisoun assuring him that she could tell a dog’s nature, he must not worry. He had been relieved when they had hired a new nursemaid for the children. But he knew Lucie missed Alisoun; neither Maud, nor her recent replacement Lena, were as adept at controlling Gwenllian and Hugh by engaging them in something that excited them. That had been Alisoun’s gift. In Owen’s opinion it came at a price.

  Unfortunately, Alisoun was away. Ned said she’d hurried off moments before. Owen told him about the dog.

  He looked sick at heart. ‘Two houses away, yet I heard nothing in the night.’

  ‘Neither did anyone in the Braithwaite household, apparently.’

  ‘Then it was done with practiced stealth. God have mercy.’ Ned crossed himself.

  ‘If Alisoun returns, tell her, but impress upon her that she must say nothing about this to Dame Muriel. Trust that Janet Braithwaite knows the best for her daughter.’

  As the bell in St Helen’s Church began to ring, George Hempe and a fellow bailiff led the procession from the Swann home, followed by the coffin-bearers – John and Paul Braithwaite, Adam Tirwhit, the two York coroners, the king’s forester of Galtres, and two of Hoban Swann’s household servants. The women of the households followed, and behind them, Owen, turning his head this way and that, checking for trouble with his one good eye.

  Neighbors lined Coney Street and spilled into the lanes along St Helen’s churchyard, heads bowed, honoring the lives of two good men of the community. As Owen passed the apothecary, Lucie appeared, falling into step beside him.

  ‘Moments like this, all the neighbors …’ Lucie’s voice caught.

  ‘Moving, but dangerous. If one of them rushed forward with a knife, or set dogs on the gathering, and others entered the fray to help, no matter how well-meant—’ He stopped as they entered the church.

  ‘All is well,’ Lucie assured him.

  Too well. He did not like this quiet.

  ‘Here,’ Lucie whispered, guiding him to the left rear corner. ‘We can observe the family without too much notice.’

  Bless her. Blinded in his left eye, this spot afforded him the greatest range of vision without too much turning of the head.

  Muriel Swann, slender and pale, placed her hands on her husband’s coffin. Her father drew her away, his arm around her, protective, loving. She shrugged him off and straightened, but in a moment her sob broke the silence. Her mother was quickly there, offering a scented linen, speaking softly to her.

  ‘Where is Alisoun?’ Owen wondered aloud.

  When Lucie said nothing he turned to see what had her attention. Her gaze was fixed on Olyf and Paul, who had their heads together, whispering. As Owen watched, Elaine Braithwaite elbowed her husband. With what must have been a muttered curse and a look that spoke of more than the usual marital discord, Paul straightened. After an uneasy glance round that Owen just avoided missing, Olyf returned her attention to the priest.

  The service continued uninterrupted, the families on their best behavior.

  And Owen fought to keep his seat, his entire being shouting that he should be out on the streets, that the murderers would take this opportunity to deepen the family’s pain. He told himself he had sufficient men on watch. But it was little comfort.

  It was a subdued gathering at the long tables set up in the Swann hall, the servants silently bringing in food, wine, ale.

  Lucie leaned close to Owen. ‘Notice the order of the seating. A slight? Or a thoughtless error?’ On the dais sat Dame Muriel, flanked by her parents, her brother and his wife. Braithwaites all. Olyf Tirwhit, daughter and sister of those they honored at the feast, was seated down the table.

  ‘Either way, she feels the arrow,’ he said, nodding across the table at Olyf, who sat bolt upright with a stiff smile as guests paused to speak with her before taking their seats.

  As Muriel rose to address the gathering, Elaine Braithwaite interrupted her.

  ‘My dear, I have just realized our error. Come, Paul, we have taken the places meant for dear Olyf and her husband. Forgive us, Muriel. The emotions of the day—’ She bobbed her head and drew her confused husband from his chair, gesturing for the Tirwhits to take their places.

  Muriel bowed her head as the Tirwhits and Braithwaites changed places, but not in prayer. Owen could see how keenly she watched the exchange. Elaine settled across from Owen, Paul beside her.

  Lucie touched Owen’s leg. ‘Make use of this. Find a moment to speak to Paul Braithwaite.’

  Perhaps God did smile on his efforts this day.

  As she turned into Low Petergate, Alisoun slowed her pace, beginning to question her impulse, trying to recall the image that had flashed in her mind, the danger that led her to bring her bow and a quiver of arrows. Magda encouraged her to pay attention to such forebodings, though not necessarily to act on them. Beyond Christchurch she paused. She knew the Tirwhit house. She’d accompanied Magda there when Adam was ill with a fever. His wife had been a pale presence, hovering in the shadows. Alisoun recalled thinking the woman was uneasy in Magda’s presence. Not unusual. She was wondering whether Adam Tirwhit’s home was the one nearer the church or farther away when she noticed Geoffrey Chaucer ambling past the nearest one, then turned to walk down the street beside it, his pace slowing, his head cocked as if he were listening to something. Curious, she headed for him. As she reached the house she th
ought she heard a woman’s cry, then – a growl? If it was a growl, it came from a large dog. Forgetting the man who’d drawn her attention to the house, she slipped into the alleyway beside it. Drawing her bow and quiver of arrows from the bag, she fastened the loose end of the string, drew an arrow, slung the quiver over her shoulder so that she could reach for more arrows if needed, and crept down toward the sounds of a struggle.

  As Owen glanced round the laden table he noticed Paul Braithwaite down two goblets of wine in quick succession, whisper something to his wife, and rise abruptly, swaying as he glanced round, forcing his large, liquid brown eyes wide as if he might see more clearly, and tugging down on his short jacket as if it might assist him in balancing.

  At the risk of insulting the man, Owen darted round and caught him as his first step went awry. He steadied him on his feet. ‘I wonder whether I might impose upon you as an expert in hounds?’ he said, nodding to the curious Elaine Braithwaite to reassure her that he would see to her husband. He guided him down the table, past the servants moving about the kitchen, and out into the back garden.

  With a muttered excuse, Paul Braithwaite rushed toward the privy and into the small enclosure. Owen heard a brief, unpleasant exchange within, and a young manservant burst out the door holding one hand over his cock, the other tugging at his leggings as he hurried back to the kitchen.

  Pacing the perimeter as he waited for the man to emerge from the privy, Owen greeted the bailiff’s man standing at the far end.

  ‘The lad – Ned, he’s sitting on the steps to the solar, watching the Fenton garden next door,’ said Hempe’s man. ‘Worried about Mistress Alisoun. She returned from market, fetched a pack, and left again – almost running when I saw her head through the back gardens. Toward the tavern yard.’

  Owen could not understand why on this of all days she had vanished. Tempted to send Ned off searching for her, he reassured himself that with all the men set round the city and at Magda’s house someone would be alert to trouble wherever Alisoun might be. ‘Did she look round to see whether she was followed?’