A Conspiracy of Wolves

by Candace Robb

‘I meant to say – I have seen the dead man before, watching the house, sometimes from the back garden, at night, sometimes staying in the shadow of the church. I told the captain that. And I’ve seen his companion as well, the one who ran.’

  ‘Recently?’

  ‘This very day.’

  Never underestimate the importance of household servants as witnesses. ‘How long has he watched?’

  ‘Since we moved here. More often of late. Both of them.’

  ‘You saw both men before you hid?’

  An embarrassed nod and shrug. ‘And I believe I saw them talking to Wren, the Tirwhits’ maidservant, early this morning.’

  ‘Thank you. Again, you have been most helpful.’

  ‘I shamed myself, hiding from the wolf that attacked my mistress.’ Eva wiped her eyes with her sleeve.

  ‘The priest is here,’ Geoffrey announced from the doorway, startling them both.

  ‘You asked whether Dame Euphemia might wish the priest’s blessing, Mistress Wilton,’ said Eva. ‘I believe she would.’

  ‘I will tell him,’ said Lucie.

  Just before he stepped out into the yard, Geoffrey turned to Lucie. ‘The Tirwhit maid, Wren. She has a great curiosity about what the Pooles are about when home. I notice her peering toward the house often. And I’ve just recalled seeing her earlier today with Alisoun near the chandler’s shop on Finkle Street. They were talking, but Alisoun was only half-listening, glancing about as if alert to danger. I cannot help but wonder whether something Wren said to Alisoun drew her here, ready for trouble.’

  ‘That would explain Alisoun’s presence.’ Lucie told Geoffrey what Eva had said about the two men watching the house, and speaking to Wren.

  He looked chagrined. ‘I am a poor spy if I did not catch that. Both of them. So they chose a time when Crispin was called away. By the plotters?’

  ‘I wondered as well.’ Lucie had much to discuss with Owen. ‘I will talk to this Wren after we’ve spoken to the priest,’ she said.

  ‘If she returned to the Tirwhit home. Which, I am sure you’ve not forgotten, is Olyf Swann’s home.’ He raised a brow.

  A complex web indeed. ‘I pray you, find Owen, tell him all this. And that Magda is here.’ She was quite certain he would wish to ask Magda what she had known, foreseen.

  Geoffrey did not argue. ‘I will find him.’

  A discreet brothel stood to one side of the alleyway to which the woman had pointed. Owen stepped inside, doffing his hat.

  ‘Now this is a day for celebration. Captain Archer himself gracing my house.’ The voice came from a settle piled high with bright cushions, but in the dim light Owen could not at once see the speaker. When she moved he found his bearings – the woman was stretched out on the settle, her gown the same fabric as the cushions.

  ‘My apologies for the intrusion,’ Owen said. ‘You are doubtless closed for business at this hour.’

  ‘There is no particular hour for pleasure, Captain. This is as good as any.’ Her voice was low, melodic, her tone teasing.

  He counted on the women of this house being regular clients of Magda and Alisoun, and therefore motivated to assist him. ‘I am searching for a man and a dog who attacked the widow Poole at her home on Colliergate. The Riverwoman’s apprentice, Alisoun, was injured protecting the widow.’

  ‘Young Alisoun? How might I help?’

  ‘Word is the man fled into the Bedern. Have you seen him?’

  As he spoke, the woman sat up, moving with a fluid, studied grace. She was not young, but no less beautiful for the years. Though no stranger to the delights of brothels, he’d never been one to patronize those in York, for he’d lost his heart to Lucie Wilton on his first day in the city. Yet something about the woman was familiar.

  ‘Alas, Captain, I cannot help you. But there were whispers about a wolf entering a house nearby a few nights past. A search the next morning came up with nothing. A man and his dog are nothing of note in ordinary times, but at present – no one is at ease with such apparitions since dear Bartolf was taken from us.’

  The affection with which she spoke the coroner’s name interested Owen. ‘Was Bartolf a client?’

  ‘Oh, we all knew the dear old man and competed for his coin – he spent freely here. He’d quite an appetite for a man his age.’ A dimple appeared as the smile brightened her lovely face. ‘Now for you, Captain … I know several of my compeers would forgo payment to lie with you.’

  He felt his face redden. Her sinuous movements, the scent, her voice …

  ‘I did not know that about Bartolf.’

  A chuckle. ‘Then you did not know him well. I can see that your mind is on your work – but the offer stands, Captain. Here, let me point out the house to you.’ As she passed she caught his hand, drew him to the doorway, leaning her head against his shoulder as she pointed to a modest structure a few doors down and across the alleyway.

  He was not as immune to her charms as he’d thought. Stepping away from her he forced himself to focus. ‘Do you know the owner of the property?’

  ‘Alas no, but I might inquire for you.’ She placed a cool hand on the back of his neck.

  He took the hand, kissed it, and gave her his most charming smile. ‘I would be grateful.’

  ‘Grateful!’ A throaty chuckle, her smile teasing. ‘Worry not. I know you are devoted to your apothecary wife, and I am glad for her. And for you. Lucie Wilton is wise, competent, and beautiful. But my offer holds. Come round in a day, and I hope to have a name for you, at the least.’

  ‘I’d like to hear more about Bartolf as well.’

  A nod. ‘I am more than happy to spend more time in your company, Captain. I promise I’ll keep my distance. You know you can trust me – or do you not recognize me out of the garb of a lay sister of St Leonard’s?’

  The moment she reminded him, he remembered. Honoria de Staines. She’d been a good friend to Bess Merchet’s late uncle, and, yes, a lay sister at St Leonard’s Hospital. But there had been secrets in her past …

  ‘Dame Honoria, of course.’

  She smiled and gathered her skirts, about to withdraw to her seat, when she held up a hand. ‘I have remembered something I overheard. It is several weeks now. Otto and Rat – yes,’ she laughed, ‘he looks like one. The two of them are unlikely sorts to grace my house, but they did, showing me they had good coin. When they were in their cups and ready to ascend to the bedchambers they spoke between them of a young woman murdered a long while ago, Gerta, the daughter of a charcoal-burner in Galtres. Their money had to do with that in some way. I thought it odd, so I made a point of remembering it.’

  ‘And now I benefit. I am most grateful.’

  She kissed the tips of her fingers and touched them to his cheek. ‘I am repaid by bringing out that dimple. May God watch over you, Captain.’

  Stepping out into the alleyway, Owen took a deep breath.

  ‘Captain?’ George Hempe strode toward him from the direction of St Andrewgate, frowning. ‘A bawdy house?’

  ‘Looking for witnesses,’ Owen assured him. ‘You’ve heard of the attack at Poole’s?’

  ‘Man and wolf fleeing here,’ Hempe glanced round, ‘where I’ve no jurisdiction. Nor have you. Though if Thoresby were alive—’

  ‘—I would be free to chase them down in here, yes, I’ve thought of that. But he’s not. Still, I know of no law against asking whether a man and a dog passed by, and where they went, and we will continue to ask so that folk know it’s not safe to hide them here, for in time we could convince the dean to allow us to take them.’

  They both turned as Geoffrey Chaucer hailed them. ‘God’s blood, I’ve run the gauntlet only to find you so close to hand. Lucie sent me, to tell you all that we have discovered, and that the Riverwoman is at Poole’s.’

  Magda was here. God be thanked. ‘But not Poole? He’s not returned?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Let me set some of my men to walking the Bedern while we hie to the Poole home,’ said Hempe.
‘They say Alisoun Ffulford shot one of the two men, but you’ve not seen him, have you, Owen? It needs your eyes.’

  ‘I have. No one I know. A woman saw them come this way. The man she described – he could be Galbot, Paul Braithwaite’s man. And a man and a wolf were rumored to have been seen entering a house down the way a few nights ago.’

  ‘Let my man check it, the one who’s watching this alley on your orders.’ Hempe grinned. ‘He’s glad to have you as captain.’

  Geoffrey made a rude sound.

  ‘First to Gisburne’s on Micklegate,’ said Owen. ‘Walk with me a way, Geoffrey. Tell me all you know.’

  ‘I should accompany you – and bring some of my men,’ said Hempe.

  Owen agreed.

  Once Geoffrey had told them all he knew, Owen sent him off on a mission. First to Brother Michaelo, to ask him to walk through the minster yard, in case there was talk of a man and a dog, or, even better, a sighting. Then to the Swann home, to tell Muriel, Olyf, and the Braithwaites all he knew, and see whether Ned needed assistance. And then to Owen’s home, to bide there a while, have an ale, tell Jasper all that he’d seen and heard so far. The lad would never admit it, but Owen thought he would be grateful to have another man in the house for a time. Geoffrey had begun to protest, but Owen had not been too proud to beg, winning his agreement.

  ‘A stranger comes to the city with a hound and a friend to attack a blind widow,’ Owen said to Hempe.

  ‘You make him a riddle,’ said Hempe. ‘I’d say he was hired for the job.’

  ELEVEN

  An Old Enemy

  Owen’s height, patch, and reputation preempted any plan to slip through the city unnoted. Folk called out to him, asking about the attack at Poole’s home. Word had spread quickly, but the city was haunted by the deaths, the specter of great wolves prowling the streets. Owen envied Hempe. Though he’d served as bailiff for years, he was the sort of man who could move through a crowd unremarked, vaguely familiar, unthreatening. Except, of course, for those he’d arrested. One of those skittered away from them near St Crux, sliding into the shadows, but Hempe had his men drag him out.

  ‘Brown-haired man in a leather jerkin in the company of a large hound. You see anyone like that, you find one of my men as quick as you may and I’ll overlook your latest theft.’

  ‘The purse? But there were naught in it, Master Bailiff.’

  ‘Leave it on her doorstep and I’ll forget about it – if you keep an eye out.’

  A vigorous nod and the man loped away.

  ‘He’s simple, but he has an eye. The purse was valuable in itself. And he never wastes his time on those with nothing of value. He knows everyone’s worth in the city.’

  ‘You should hire him.’

  ‘I would, but he disappears. He’s plagued by fits. The Riverwoman puts a few drafts in him, gives him a cot while he sleeps it out, and he’s back on the streets, bright and keen as ever.’

  ‘The city depends on her for a great deal.’

  ‘And you. Even in death you will be revered – your corpse will work miracles, mark me.’ Hempe laughed.

  By the time they reached the Ouse Bridge Owen no longer heard the questions about the attack, his mind on Gisburne, how to handle him. The man was slippery as an eel, powerful in the city and the shire, rotten to the core. That his fellow merchants and city counselors overlooked his criminal dealings confounded Owen. Lucie believed they feared what he knew of them, for his men spied on all in the city. What might he have to gain in aiding the attacks on the Swanns and their friends? Did he hope to take on the role of coroner? Surely his calls to parliament already gave him more power than would the post of coroner in Galtres. Perhaps a favor for a friend?

  Owen nodded to one of the Graa clan, wealthy, powerful, and assured the man he would soon give the mayor his decision regarding the position of captain of bailiffs.

  ‘We need you, Archer. Today’s attack makes that plain. A blind widow?’

  Hempe was grinning about the support for Owen as captain when Owen said, ‘Crispin Poole approaches.’

  The man they sought was obliging them by making his way toward them through the throng of folk on the bridge. As Crispin grew near, Owen heard people hailing him to express concern for his mother. Graa hastily took his leave.

  ‘God’s blood, they’ve attacked my home?’ Crispin growled as he reached Owen and Hempe. ‘I hope you are on their heels.’

  ‘We’re on yours, to be frank,’ said Owen. ‘What did Gisburne want of you this morning?’

  ‘I couldn’t say. No reason for a sudden summons.’ Crispin glanced at the folk pressing round them, eager to hear.

  ‘Move on,’ Hempe called out.

  ‘Damnable woman,’ Crispin muttered. ‘I feared – is my mother alive?’

  Damnable woman? ‘Yes,’ said Owen. ‘Injured, but I do not believe her life is in danger.’

  ‘God watches over her. Heaven knows why.’ Crispin’s eyes flicked between Owen and Hempe. ‘Are you come to escort me home? Both of you? Do you think the attack was meant for me? That I might be attacked on the way?’

  ‘The man who came at your mother shouted something about vengeance for his father’s honor,’ said Owen. ‘He seemed to be addressing her, according to Chaucer.’

  Crispin blanched, there was no other word for it. White round the mouth, which opened a little in a prolonged sigh. ‘I see.’

  ‘Do you? We would like to know what exactly you see,’ said Owen.

  ‘It is a long tale.’

  ‘Has it anything to do with the death of a young woman named Gerta?’ Owen was rewarded by Crispin’s muttered curse. ‘We will talk later. At your house.’

  ‘Not now? You are not headed there?’

  ‘I would like to watch Gisburne’s face as he’s told about your mother’s ordeal. You were summoned to Micklegate – John Gisburne’s home, and while you were away …’

  ‘You are thinking Gisburne arranged for me to be away?’ Crispin looked aside, as if working to control his temper. ‘I will accompany you.’

  ‘Then come,’ said Hempe, breaking his silence. ‘We continue to draw a crowd.’

  Owen glanced round, nodded to folk who began to ply them with questions. ‘If you will let us pass,’ he said, beginning to push through them.

  ‘And how readily the crowd parts for the captain,’ Hempe muttered, still amusing himself about how the folk venerated Owen.

  ‘How did Gisburne behave?’ Owen asked Crispin when they were clear of the worst of the crush of curious onlookers.

  A shrug. ‘Friendly. He served wine, cheese, and bread, asked how I liked the house in Colliergate – with the air of having arranged it for me.’

  ‘Had he?’

  ‘No. Olyf … Dame Olyf and I met by chance in the market a while after my return. I complained about the damp in my mother’s house and she mentioned that their neighbor was letting their house. Large, airy, empty.’

  ‘You and she were childhood friends?’

  A glance as if checking Owen’s meaning, then a nod.

  ‘So what was the urgency?’

  ‘None that I could tell. He told me he will be in York for at least a fortnight, likely longer, and he means to fulfill his promise of introducing me to the prominent merchants in the city, see to it that I found satisfactory trading partners.’

  ‘Promised you?’

  ‘No. I’m of little value to him in myself. Who do I know? What luster might I add to his crown? No, he promised …’ Crispin seemed to be surveying the crowd with a worried frown.

  ‘Promised whom?’ Owen asked. ‘Is it Alexander Neville, His Grace the Archbishop of York?’

  Crispin looked at him, startled. ‘You knew?’

  ‘I guessed.’

  ‘I see why the prince and the city want you to spy for them.’

  ‘Spy for the city?’ Hempe grunted. ‘We’ve no need of spies.’

  Oh, but they did, with worms such as Gisburne and Neville about. Owen
was sorry to be right. Neville and Gisburne. Now that was a pairing to turn a sour mood bitter.

  ‘A Neville,’ Hempe said, as if things began to make sense to him.

  ‘What are you to Alexander Neville?’ Owen asked.

  He did not like Crispin’s reaction to the question, how he sped up and averted his eyes, pretending sudden interest in the fishmongers on the south end of the bridge.

  ‘Why should Neville care how you are received in York?’ Owen guessed, of course, but he was keen to hear how Crispin would phrase it.

  ‘I am a member of his household, in a sense, here to smooth the way for him with the citizens of York, provide him a list of those with influence.’

  ‘And Gisburne has presented himself as one who should appear on that list?’ Owen asked.

  A small smile. ‘He has. But His Grace wishes an independent assessment.’

  ‘Then Gisburne would hardly cause you trouble.’

  ‘I would think not. I – he did impart some news. I suppose he wants me in his debt …’

  ‘That would be his way,’ said Owen. ‘This news?’

  ‘He traveled here in the company of the archbishop’s secretary, Dom Leufrid. On the archbishop’s barge.’

  ‘And this Leufrid could be expected to inform you of his arrival in York in short order?’ asked Hempe.

  ‘Not before he has received all the gossip available from the prior of Holy Trinity across from Gisburne’s house.’

  ‘So Gisburne did you a favor,’ Hempe noted.

  ‘He does not do favors, he makes deals,’ said Owen.

  ‘Might this attack have nothing to do with the recent murders? Bartolf and Hoban?’ Hempe wondered aloud. ‘You are aware that Gisburne retains an unusual number of armed servants, Poole?’

  ‘So I am told,’ said Crispin.

  ‘The man is a menace,’ said Hempe.

  ‘Even so, this attack on my house, I fear – in truth, I am quite certain it is related to the Swann murders. I will explain later.’

  ‘Something to consider,’ said Owen. ‘One of Gisburne’s household servants might have let slip your impending visit to someone who decided to make use of your absence.’

  ‘Hence your curiosity about Gisburne’s purpose,’ said Crispin. ‘I see. I have much to learn about the undercurrents in the city.’