by Candace Robb
‘Nay.’
Thanking him, Owen settled on a bench far enough from the privy that the stench was masked by the pleasing scents from the kitchen, strong enough that his stomach growled in anticipation.
When Braithwaite reappeared he was still bleary-eyed, but he walked a straighter line and seemed in no danger of toppling. Though his features were regular and well proportioned, there was a morose quality to his face, with his brown eyes dipping downward toward the temples, and his mouth arching the same way. ‘I am in your debt,’ he sighed as he slumped down on the bench beside Owen, doffing his brown velvet hat and wiping his brow with his elegant sleeve.
‘Fresh air clears the head,’ said Owen. ‘I do not envy you this public event on the day you suffered such a loss. It can cut as deep as that of the loss of a brother, I know. One of our herding dogs fell down a well when I was a lad. I mourned him for months.’
‘My wife says I am mad to let it weigh on me, accuses me of mourning for him more than for my friend and his father.’
‘She does not share your passion for the hounds?’
‘Not in the least, though she enjoys spending the wealth they bring.’
‘The pricked ears, the wide chest, the noble bearing – did you breed that into Tempest?’
A proud nod.
‘How do you learn to raise such fine animals? An apprenticeship?’
‘Of a sort, though not regulated by a guild.’ He told Owen how he had befriended the master of hounds on the neighboring estate, how the man agreed to train him in exchange for his work in the kennels. He spoke as if Owen were a prospective buyer, emphasizing his long apprenticeship, the status of his customers – including a few members of the powerful Percy and Roos families, but no Nevilles. His clear affection for the hounds began to soften Owen’s attitude toward him. It sounded as if he’d built his success on treating the animals with respect and love.
‘Your family lived out in the country when you were a lad?’
‘On our manor, where Elaine and I have raised our family, and here in the city.’ He turned a little, facing Owen, and, in a much cooler tone, said, ‘You waste your time pretending interest in my business, Captain. You’ve suspected me all along. I know you count the Riverwoman a friend. She pointed to me as a man with dangerous hounds, am I right?’
Owen did not need to act as if he were caught by surprise, for he was. ‘What has Magda Digby to do with this? And with you?’
The sad eyes challenged him. ‘I was but a boy when she warned me not to betray the trust of the hounds by involving them in our pranks. Her concern was for them, and her words changed how I saw them. She woke my love for them. But she does not believe I’ve changed, eyes me with disdain when we pass in the street. She told you none of this?’
‘No. I’ve not spoken to her since I left her at Freythorpe Hadden, nursing the steward’s wife. For all I know she’s not yet heard of the murders.’
Paul Braithwaite blinked. ‘Not here? God’s blood, and you let me think—’
‘It was you who spoke of her, not I. How had you used the dogs?’
‘Childish mischief. Laughed to see folk bolt when a great hound moved toward them with seeming purpose. She warned me that folk might want to harm my dogs because of that fear, as they do wolves, asked me whether I’d thought of that, how I thought I’d bear that. I crumpled to think of it.’
‘Tell her some time. She will warm to you when she hears how you care for them now.’
‘So what do you want?’
‘I sought you out as one whose knowledge of hounds might help me in finding the men who murdered the Swanns. I’m curious about this practice of lawing in the royal forests.’
‘Pah. All to protect the king’s hunt. His steward culls the herds of deer and hunts the boar for his own pleasure, not the king’s.’
‘Cutting off the claws – do the animals suffer?’
‘Do they feel it, do you mean? Of course they feel it.’ Paul took off his hat and raked a hand through his hair. ‘I do not subject mine to that savage practice. Never will.’
‘Can you think of anyone who might risk taking their unlawed dogs into the forest?’
‘If I heard that anyone had done that to my dogs …’
Tempting to mention that he had as a boy, but Owen was after something else. ‘Not yours, but someone heedless of his animals.’
‘There are plenty who count them dumb beasts.’
‘The Neville family? Have they ever brought such dogs into the forest?’
‘I know nothing of the Nevilles.’
‘Did Hoban and Bartolf have any business with them?’
‘The great Nevilles own property in Galtres, so Bartolf might have encountered them as coroner, but I do not recall him mentioning the family. Hoban’s trade did not put him in such company.’
‘You and Hoban were good friends?’
A glance down at his hands. ‘We were, though once wed, with children and work, I saw him only on occasions the family came together, or I came to the city for a civic celebration.’
‘He was a good husband to your sister?’
The gentle smile previously reserved for dogs lit the long face. ‘He was a man smitten to the bone, Captain. And so eager to meet his son – sure he was Muriel carries a son and heir.’ His voice broke. He slapped his thighs and rose. ‘Speaking of Hoban, I should say a few words in his memory.’
Owen rose with him, met his stride as Paul headed back toward the hall, thinking it a kindness to bring his thoughts back to the dogs. ‘The attack on Tempest – such violence. It worries me. I’ve heard from your father that you favor large, powerful dogs. And you mentioned the Riverwoman’s warning. Could this have been meant as retribution?’
‘Tempest? No.’
‘Have any of your hounds injured another’s animals? Or a man?’
Paul began to trip, but caught himself. ‘No.’
‘Some folk have long memories. Anyone who blamed you or your dogs for a loss?’
Paul quickened his stride.
No challenge for Owen’s long legs. ‘You did not know that Magda Digby’s been away all this time?’
‘I told you I didn’t.’
Silence through the kitchen, stumbling once as he tried to avoid a serving man carrying a tray with two steaming platters of meat. At the door of the hall, Paul removed his hat, smoothed back his hair, set the hat back at a slight angle.
‘One more question,’ said Owen, startling the man, who’d clearly thought himself alone. ‘Who has dogs that might be trained to attack as Hoban and Bartolf were attacked?’
‘I have been wondering that myself. To so bond with the animals as to train them to assist you in attack, which this seems, yet do what he did to Tempest?’ Paul’s large eyes seemed black in his pale face. ‘No, I know of no such monster. Now you must allow me to return to my family. My sister has suffered a terrible loss.’
Not him, his sister.
‘Was Hoban party to the pranks for which Magda reprimanded you?’ he asked, but too late. Paul had gone straight to his sister, leaning close, speaking to her.
TEN
Lying Dead in the Garden
Alisoun crept down the alley, prepared to assess her best aim as quickly as she might. As she walked she noticed an overturned bench where the alley gave way to the garden, a trampled flowerbed, the soil churned. Now she could hear a woman begging for her life, answered by a growl. In the distance a man cried out in agony. Holding her breath so as not to give herself away, Alisoun crept to the end of the house and peered around. Not much farther than an arm’s length along the back wall of the house stood Euphemia Poole, her sightless eyes wide with terror. A brindle-coated creature – wolf? – had her pinned against the house with its forepaws on her shoulders, its head so close it might catch the woman’s breath. Twenty or more paces past them two men struggled with a pitchfork, one of them bleeding, his knees beginning to give out, clearly overpowered by his tall, hefty opponent.
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br /> Suddenly a man rushed out from behind a garden shed, shouting, ‘For my father’s honor!’ and brandishing a long, curved dagger as he made straight for Euphemia and the creature. Alisoun stepped out and drew her bow, aiming for his shoulder. But she’d misjudged his speed and the arrow skewered his neck. He threw his weapon as he stumbled and fell to the ground. Alisoun stepped out of the dagger’s trajectory and reached for another arrow.
‘Drop down, lass!’ someone shouted from behind.
She was glancing back to see who had spoken when she caught a movement at the edge of her sight – the creature was lunging toward her. Too late to aim, too late to do anything. It threw its weight against her, pushing the air from her lungs. She let go her bow and arrow, reaching out for something to break her fall, but her legs buckled beneath her and her head hit the ground. Searing pain, the darkness blood-red.
Geoffrey’s stomach twisted at the sound of Alisoun’s head hitting the edge of the stone wall. As soon as he saw that the beast was now moving toward the pair struggling on the other side of the garden, Geoffrey went to Alisoun. Blood flowed from a gash in her head and she lay motionless, alarmingly limp. Kneeling to her, he leaned close to listen for a heartbeat, any sound.
He lurched upright as one of the pair across the garden gave a sharp whistle. His opponent was on the ground, the beast pawing him. ‘Now!’ shouted the man, and he and the beast stumbled away, clumsy in their haste, heading through the back gardens toward St Andrewgate.
A faint rasp of breath. Geoffrey crossed himself, leaning down, felt Alisoun’s breath on his cheek, felt a pulse in her throat. God be thanked for this small mercy.
‘How might I help?’
Geoffrey looked up into the frightened face of the man who’d struggled with the other attacker. His face and clothes were filthy. ‘Are you injured?’ Geoffrey asked.
‘I’ll be limping and bruised, but I want to help.’
Sitting back on his heels, Geoffrey surveyed the garden. Dame Euphemia lay curled up on the ground, the man who’d thrown the dagger sprawled a few feet away. No question of his causing trouble. The other man and the beast were gone.
‘Your mistress?’
‘Injured, I do not know how badly.’
‘I am worried for her champion. What is your name?’
‘Dun, sir.’
‘Come here, Dun.’ Geoffrey motioned for him to sit down on the path beside Alisoun. He gently lifted her by the shoulders, her thick hair coming loose and fanning out over one shoulder. Geoffrey’s breath caught in his throat. He’d thought of her as a warrior, but she was suddenly a fragile, beautiful young woman whose life might depend upon him. ‘Move closer.’ Dun shifted. ‘Sit cross-legged.’ When the man was in position, Geoffrey arranged Alisoun so that her head was cradled in Dun’s lap, her hair held away from the blood pooling on the path. She moaned softly.
‘Where is Master Crispin?’ he asked Dun.
‘Called away to Master John Gisburne’s home in Micklegate. Wore his best clothes. Meaning to join the mourners at Swann’s after seeing to business?’ A shrug.
Gisburne. A familiar name, a wealthy merchant for whom there was no love in Owen and Lucie’s household. As for Poole joining the mourners, Geoffrey very much doubted that to be the case, but as he was already headed there to find Lucie and Owen, he would ask. ‘Stay right here, with your hand on her shoulder so that she feels your presence, and talk to her, tell her tales, keep assuring her that help is coming.’
‘Tales?’
‘Anything that coaxes her back to us. Sing, if you’ve a voice that won’t pain her.’
‘I can sing.’
To Geoffrey’s relief, the man raised a competent voice in a love ballad. It would do. He left Alisoun with her troubadour and went to see about Dame Euphemia. The elderly woman whimpered as he approached, curling into a tighter ball.
‘I will bring help,’ Geoffrey said softly.
Dun broke off his singing to say, ‘My fellow servant, Eva, she will be hiding in the kitchen. She can calm my mistress.’
‘The kitchen?’
‘Dogs frighten her. Even ladies’ lapdogs.’
And that particular hound … Geoffrey found the woman under the work table beneath two overturned laundry baskets. Hardly invisible.
‘The hound is gone, and his handler. You must see to Dame Euphemia.’
The woman peered out. ‘The wolf is gone?’
‘I have no time to waste, your mistress and the young woman who saved her are injured. Look to your conscience, find your courage, woman.’ He left her with that.
Outside, Dun had paused in his singing.
‘Another song,’ said Geoffrey. ‘I told you, sing her back to us. I will return as quickly as I might.’
As he hastened down the alleyway, Geoffrey noticed the Tirwhit maidservant standing at the edge of the street. When she saw him, she turned aside as if to pretend she was just passing. He’d come to know her on his watches, a young woman most curious about her neighbors. He would test her purpose.
He hurried forward. ‘I’ve often observed you watching this house, now is your chance to befriend the Pooles. Your neighbors, are they not? Are you not employed by Adam Tirwhit?’ He caught her arm as she made to walk away.
‘Is that blood on your sleeve?’ she asked.
So it was. His heart ached to see Alisoun’s blood on his cuff.
‘I dare not—’ She tried to shake him off.
But Geoffrey did not let go. ‘They have suffered a grievous trespass. I pray you, see what you might do to make Dame Euphemia more comfortable.’
She gasped and reared back, her eyes seeking escape.
‘Useless wench.’ He pushed her away and hurried off.
Owen stood sharply as Geoffrey rushed into the Swann hall, his hat awry, an urgency in the way he searched the room. So he’d been right in predicting an attack, but wrong about the location. Owen was out of practice, idle too long, his wits dulled.
‘Blessed be, you are here.’ Geoffrey wheezed out the words. ‘Forgive me, it’s been a long while since I ran so far. You must come with me. And Lucie. We need her healing skills.’ He tugged on his jacket and straightened up, as if suddenly aware he was in public in disarray. His sleeves were bloody.
Touching the cuff of one, Owen found it saturated. ‘Whose?’ he asked.
‘Alisoun Ffulford’s, God help her.’
‘My dear Alisoun,’ Lucie whispered, lifting Geoffrey’s arm, ‘and so much blood? How? Where is she?’
‘At Poole’s home. Dame Euphemia is injured as well, but Alisoun – I fear most for her, a head wound. The animal pushed her down and she fell against a stone wall. She bleeds from the head.’
‘I knew she was in danger,’ said Ned, appearing from nowhere. ‘I will come.’
‘You will stay here in my stead,’ Owen commanded. ‘Watch the room. Note everyone’s movements.’
‘But—’
‘I need you here.’ Owen stared down the young man until he saw him awaken to his duty and nod.
Geoffrey was straining to see all at the long table. ‘Is Crispin Poole among you?’
Owen met Lucie’s gaze as Geoffrey explained why he’d asked. ‘A convenient coincidence,’ Owen said.
Lucie raised a brow.
‘I pray you, come quickly, both of you.’ Geoffrey edged toward the hall door.
The crowd had grown quiet, the guests craning their necks to hear and see what news the late arrival brought with him. Owen considered their expressions, especially the Swanns and the Braithwaites. All looked frightened.
‘Come.’ Owen led Lucie and Geoffrey out into the afternoon.
‘Bold bastards, to strike in daylight,’ Geoffrey said, rushing to catch up as Lucie and Owen hurried toward the gate through the back gardens to the tavern and apothecary.
‘How many?’ Owen asked.
‘Two men – that I saw, and the hound. A great, slavering—’
‘Did you recognize the me
n?’ Owen asked.
‘A rush of violence, no time to pause for introductions. My concern was to warn Alisoun. She was aiming at one of the men and did not notice the hound coming for her.’
‘Alisoun was armed?’ asked Lucie.
‘Bow and arrow,’ said Geoffrey. ‘She came prepared for trouble.’
‘How?’ asked Owen. ‘How did she know?’
‘I know nothing of that.’
‘Did she fell the one at whom she aimed?’
Geoffrey crossed himself. ‘Shot him through the neck. He is dead.’
‘Mon dieu,’ said Lucie.
‘And the other?’ Owen asked.
‘Fled with the beast. Out the back garden.’
‘No one ran after them?’ As Geoffrey began to defend himself, Owen said, ‘I merely want to know all that you know. No judgment. Anything else?’
Coming to a halt in the Fenton garden, Geoffrey closed his eyes as if to gather his thoughts, then realized he’d lost his companions. Hastening out the gate into the tavern yard, he caught up, describing in detail all that he’d seen – Euphemia pinned against the wall, Dun and one attacker struggling, the other attacker’s dagger, Alisoun aiming the bow, then being knocked aside by the hound. ‘What manner of man attacks an elderly blind woman in such wise?’ he fumed.
‘Did anyone come to your aid?’ asked Lucie.
‘Dun, as I said. The man had tried to fend them off with a pitchfork. Most fortunate fool, to have survived that gambit. The Tirwhit’s maidservant watched from afar. I found her at the end of the alley and asked her to help the Pooles’ maidservant, Eva, who’d hid from the hound. But I’ve no faith the maid will do as I asked.’
‘Who is with Alisoun now?’
‘Dun. Cradling her head, trying to keep her awake.’
‘Well done,’ said Lucie. ‘Go, search,’ she said to Owen as they reached the gate to their garden. ‘Geoffrey will help me collect what I might need from the apothecary and escort me to the Poole home.’
‘Tell Jasper to keep the children safe,’ Owen said. The shop was closed in honor of the funerals. Jasper was likely working in the garden.
