A Conspiracy of Wolves

by Candace Robb

  She turned toward him, her hands to her heart. ‘Captain Archer. God bless, you are just the man I hoped to see. Tom Merchet told me to wait right here, you would be over before long. It’s my Da, Old Bede as they call him. He didn’t come home last night. I’ve looked all the places he sometimes sleeps it off and no one saw him after he left the tavern. I’m that worried, Captain. With the murder last night, and Tom Merchet saying Da had been out in the yard, he might have seen something.’ Owen recalled her name now, Winifrith. ‘You must find him for me. I pray you.’ She drew a penny from her sleeve. ‘I’ve little to offer.’

  Owen gently closed her fingers over the coin. ‘There’s no need, Dame Winifrith. Just tell me where you’ve looked and I’ll take over your search. I need him as well.’ He offered her his arm. ‘Shall we talk in the tavern over a bowl of ale?’

  After she’d departed, Owen sat a while with Tom and Bess.

  ‘I wondered about him when he returned,’ Bess said. ‘We’ve danced this dance many a night and he’s always walked back in with a proud glare, but not last night. He sat slumped over in his chair and said little while I had the doors locked so they wouldn’t all spill out and crowd round poor Bartolf. Do you think Old Bede saw something?’

  Owen told them about the two drunks.

  Tom frowned down at his hand on the table, shaking his head. ‘No one left in that condition last night, except for Old Bede. And Bartolf, I suspect. The stonemasons sitting with him walked straight lines out the door. Poole never drinks much, though he pays as if he does.’

  Bess agreed that only Bartolf and Old Bede had been drunk. Nor did Owen recall anyone else leaving during that time.

  ‘Nor I,’ said Geoffrey from the doorway. ‘I’ll come with you, Owen. I’ve developed a fondness for the old gossip.’

  ‘Go on, then, you two,’ said Bess, ‘find the old troublemaker.’

  Groups of people stood out on the street, heads together as they swapped stories about the tragedy, but they all followed Owen and Geoffrey with their eyes as the two passed. All along Coney Street and across the Ouse bridge conversations halted as people turned to watch them. A few called out to Owen, asking if he needed help. He paused to speak to some, quietly asking whether they’d seen Old Bede. He saw the worry in the faces even before they answered. The old man might be a tell-tale, but he was York’s tell-tale, and no one wished him a violent end. One man suggested they check a house down an alley on Peter Lane, the home of Old Bede’s best friend, Timkin. Bede’s daughter had not mentioned it.

  They found it to be more a shack than a house, no windows, a hole in the roof that would vent the smoke if there were a fire beneath it, but the ashes in the middle of the earthen floor had been ground into the dirt by the old man’s coming and going. He was huddled in a corner, snoring so loudly he did not hear them enter. Owen shook him awake.

  A snort. Eyes wide. ‘I didn’t do it! I swear. Sleepin’ it off. I’m just an old drunk, no harm to anyone.’

  ‘Rest easy, Timkin,’ said Owen. ‘We’re here looking for Old Bede. He didn’t come home last night and his daughter’s worried. Someone thought he might have stopped here, but I see you’re alone.’

  ‘Old Bede, now?’ Timkin scratched himself. ‘Nay. He has the coin for the York, but it’s a long while since I could pay the Merchets’ prices. Pray God he’s not fallen in the river. Strong swimmer, Bede is, but not when in his cups.’

  Alfred insisted on coming across the stones to help Lucie over to Magda’s rock. ‘They’re slippery at the beginning of low tide.’ Rob and Rose were already hopping across, balancing small bundles of clothing on their heads. ‘Am I to mind them?’ Alfred asked.

  ‘No,’ Lucie laughed. ‘They’re relieving you of your watch. My husband needs you.’

  ‘Bartolf Swann’s murder?’

  ‘You’ve already heard about it? Out here?’

  ‘A visitor told me. You’ll want to talk to him. He’s why Stephen went to Bartolf’s alone this morning.’ Alfred called out to the twins to wait for him before opening the door. ‘I don’t want to startle him,’ he said. He was not smiling.

  By the time Lucie and Alfred reached the rock the twins had disappeared round the side of the house. Everyone in York was curious about the strange, dragon-guarded dwelling, and they were clearly no exception. Alfred knocked on the door and called out that Dame Lucie Wilton, the apothecary, was with him, then pushed it open.

  Someone wrapped in a blanket was struggling to rise from a seat close to the fire.

  ‘I pray you, rest easy,’ Lucie said. ‘I will come and join you.’

  Letting the blanket slip down from his head to settle on his shoulders, Old Bede greeted her hoarsely.

  ‘God be thanked. I am so glad to see you.’ Bess had told her he was missing. Lucie noticed his clothes hanging from the rafters. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I swam here in the dark of night. Upriver. They didn’t think a dried old bean like meself had it in him. Faith, I wasn’t so certain meself. I’m thankful it’s late in a dry summer. I wouldn’t have made it when the rain on the moors comes thundering downriver.’

  Lucie glanced up at Alfred, who nodded. ‘He was soaked through and shivering so hard he couldn’t talk until he’d shed his clothes and I’d rolled him in blankets and stoked the fire.’

  ‘Tell me what happened,’ Lucie said. ‘Did someone follow you when you left the York Tavern last night?’

  Old Bede nodded. ‘They came up behind me down on staithe, as I was doing my business. Stopped me from heading upriver to bridge. Two of ’em, big men. I reckoned I’d seen them playing drunk earlier, coming out of that very gate Bartolf Swann had gone through and died, eh? But now on staithe they’ve another with ’em, has a dog, all teeth and straining to break free and jump at me. Between the wolf and the dog, I was, so to speak, them or the river. With the river I had a chance. I dived in and pushed down, down. God was looking out for me, leading me to piss at staithe, where river’s dredged and I could go deep. I fought current till my chest wanted to burst. They couldn’t find me in night black as pitch, water such a good brown. But I can’t go home now, can I?’

  From the doorway, Rose said, ‘We’ll keep you hidden here, Old Bede. No one will know.’

  Lucie nodded. Rose and Rob could do it. ‘You can trust them. We’ll take care of the rest. You’ve seen any of them before?’

  ‘Mayhap the one with the dog. Can’t say for certain. Minds me of one worked on staithe. He’s been gone some time. Ran off after some trouble. Bailiff Hempe could tell you his name. Always with a dog back then, nasty. Had the devil in ’im. Not the same dog now, but those same teeth …’ He shook his head.

  For once Lucie was grateful for Old Bede’s love of gossip.

  As they crossed back over the bridge, Geoffrey noted how folk watched them, ‘Or, rather, you. They bow to you, grateful for your protection. What is it like, having such a noble calling?’

  ‘Burdened by their faith that all will be as it was as soon as I’ve caught the guilty. It won’t. It can’t be. Men are dead, Hoban Swann’s child will never know his father, the Swanns’ lives are forever changed. And how many more will suffer?’

  ‘Ah. I am humbled.’

  ‘No. I am. I’ve discovered nothing of use. Nothing.’

  They walked in silence for a while, until Geoffrey tapped Owen’s arm. ‘The prickly bailiff approaches.’

  George Hempe strode toward them with two of his men, his expression grieved. ‘I’ve heard about Old Bede’s disappearance after leaving the York, heading for the King’s Staithe. My men will search the riverbanks up and downstream.’ Owen offered to help, but Hempe shook his head. ‘Janet Braithwaite awaits you at her house. Olyf Tirwhit and her husband Adam are with her, planning the Swanns’ burials. John Braithwaite’s expected by nightfall – he had business in Kingston-Upon-Hull. But Janet will brook no delays. She means to hire you to bring to justice the murderers of her son-in-law and his father. The mayor and council ap
prove of her plan.’

  As Jasper had said. ‘I will attend her this afternoon,’ said Owen. ‘Lucie should be back, perhaps with Alfred and Stephen. They might have noticed something on the river.’

  Hempe nodded. ‘I’ll set my men to the search and join you at your house. I’d like to hear what your men have to say.’

  ‘You might ask the gatekeepers whether anyone arrived with a large dog yesterday, and whether they’ve left.’

  ‘I will.’

  Owen thanked him and hurried down Coney Street.

  SIX

  A Matter of Conscience

  In the early hours, after Dame Janet at last departed for her own home, Muriel fell into a deep sleep. Alisoun was sitting in a chair beside the bed, dozing fitfully, when one of the servants placed a blanket over her. The warmth was welcome, but steady sleep still eluded her. She’d dreamt of her parents, faceless, but somehow recognizable. Sometimes, when surprised by her reflection in water, she saw her mother in the set of her own mouth, her cheekbones, her hairline, and her father in the shape of her eyes and nose. But she could no longer put those features together into clear memories of their faces. How long would it take Muriel to forget Hoban’s appearance? Would she remember that her husband was handsome, but be unable to see what made him handsome?

  Alisoun gently rubbed the ribbon edging of the scrip she wore to hold her medicines. Jasper had bought the ribbon for her at the Lammas Fair, and she’d sewn it to her scrip so that it would be with her wherever she went, reminding her that she was loved. She had felt so alone since her father’s death, the one person who had made her feel as if she had blessed his life. Magda was good to her, but Alisoun did not feel she had a place in the Riverwoman’s heart. Jasper’s love had been a revelation. She’d felt whole again. But she had ruined that when she lied to the father he respected above all others. Alone again. She tucked her hands beneath her and bit back tears, refusing to cry over Jasper. No, refusing to cry over her own fecklessness. She could think of no way to explain why she protected Crispin Poole, except that she had promised. Magda would never break a promise.

  But would she have agreed to such a secret?

  Was it just the promise? Wasn’t it more than that? He’d been bitten. A deep, bone-scraping bite. And he’d been shaken by the experience. That was not the reaction of a guilty man.

  What she needed to do was prove his innocence.

  Her charge stirred in the bed. Alisoun did not wish Muriel this awakening, as the horror and sorrow of the previous evening added to that of her husband’s death. She worried for the health of the baby.

  ‘Alisoun?’

  ‘I am here beside you.’

  ‘My husband. His father. Was it a dream?’

  She felt the question like a hand squeezing her heart and heard Magda’s voice in her head, Breathe deep. Know her pain, but do not take it on. She needs thee sound, whole, strong, unwavering. ‘No. Not a dream.’ Alisoun took Muriel’s hand and guided it to her stomach. ‘Bring your heart here. Here there is life.’

  Muriel pulled her hand from Alisoun’s and turned on her side as a sob racked her thin frame. Alisoun rose to gather the herbs for a morning tisane, then opened the door to tell the maidservant to bring hot water. And so a new day of grieving began.

  ‘Swam to Magda’s from the King’s Staithe? Most men half his age couldn’t do that.’ Owen had never believed half of the old man’s stories. ‘I underestimated him.’

  Alfred laughed. ‘I’m not saying he wasn’t half dead when he washed up on the rock, and shaking so hard I built up the fire, wrapped him in blankets, and prayed he did not go from freezing to burning with fever.’

  But as far as the man whom Old Bede suspected had pursued him, Hempe, who’d just joined Owen, Lucie, and Alfred in the kitchen, remembered little. ‘If it is the same man.’ He shrugged. ‘His name was John, like half the shire. I don’t know where he was from. The trouble was his dog. Big. Nasty. Trained to attack anyone who challenged his master. Mauled more than one who came at John, and some who didn’t. That’s several years ago or more. Do you recall it, Owen?’

  ‘No, but I’ve had little to do with the staithes,’ said Owen. ‘Did he have any friends? Family in the city?’

  It was Alfred who’d piped up. ‘Now I remember. John with the wolf dog.’

  ‘Wolf dog?’

  ‘He called it a mastiff, but it looked more wolf than dog to most of us.’ Alfred ran his hand over his bald head. ‘The man was a queer sort. Dead eyes. Quiet. Too quiet.’

  ‘Young? Old?’

  ‘Alfred’s age, more or less,’ said Hempe. ‘I’ll ask about him down at the staithe. Maybe someone knows where he’s been, and where he is now.’

  ‘And if anyone noticed a small boat on the staithe,’ said Owen, ‘something that could glide away in the night, no one the wiser.’

  Hempe nodded.

  ‘What of Bartolf’s servants?’ Owen asked Alfred. ‘Did you or Stephen learn anything?’

  ‘Stephen came as we were leaving the rock,’ said Lucie. ‘No one has seen Cilla since Hoban’s death. But a neighbor says he heard a woman shriek not long before he heard Swann’s dogs barking the night Hoban was murdered.’

  Hempe had risen from the table with a grunt, thanking Lucie for the bread and cheese. Owen stayed him a moment. ‘What of Bede’s daughter? Can we tell her he’s safe? Do you think Winifrith could behave as if she’s still desperately waiting for news of him? It would be cruel to draw out her worry, but far crueler to risk her father’s life.’

  ‘Tell her,’ said Hempe. ‘Winifrith’s strong. When she was widowed she told her children she would not bring in a man who would beget more children on her who he would love more than them. That their granddad would now be their father. You can trust her to do whatever she must to protect Old Bede.’ He bowed his head. ‘I’d offer to be the one to go to her, but I don’t want her to think … we once … and now I’m married …’

  ‘I’d not put either of you through such agony. I’ll speak with her before I attend Janet Braithwaite.’

  ‘You are a good friend,’ said Hempe. ‘I’ve arranged for Ned, one of my men – he’s not been with me long but he served you in the archbishop’s guard for a short time – to join the servants at the Swann home, listen, watch. Dame Janet approved the idea, and convinced Dame Muriel.’

  ‘Ned’s a good lad,’ said Owen. ‘I should inform Alisoun who he is.’

  Lucie touched Owen’s arm. ‘I’d rather you see to Janet first. She is of course fiercely protective of her daughter at the moment, a difficult pregnancy and now such grief. Janet’s factor was short with Jasper in the shop, and if you don’t attend his mistress, he’ll be back. Ah. Here’s Ned now.’

  The young man was bounding along the gravel walkway and came to a skittering halt outside the open garden door. He doffed the hat holding back his unruly hair, dark as Owen’s, to bow to Lucie, then nod toward Hempe and Alfred. ‘Is it true, Captain? You’ve need of me?’

  Owen laughed. ‘Are you so eager to escape the bailiffs’ company?’

  ‘They seldom need me, so I’m stuck at my father’s cooperage. Back-breaking work, coopering. Is this about the murders?’

  While Lucie wrapped up the medicine she’d prepared for Muriel, Owen explained why the household needed protection.

  ‘I’ll guard Mistress Alisoun and the household with my life, Captain. You may be sure of that.’

  ‘Mistress Alisoun is able to defend herself, Ned, have a care with her,’ said Owen. A kindness, as there was a gleam in the young man’s eyes. So Jasper had a rival. Owen recalled that the young man had wooed a serving maid when in service at Bishopthorpe Palace. Perhaps it meant little.

  Ned put a finger to the side of his nose and winked. ‘I am aware of Mistress Alisoun’s courage, Captain. And her skill with a bow.’

  Owen thought to say more, but Lucie gave him a look signaling it was best left as it was. The four of them departed the house, Owen and Alfred lea
ving Ned and Lucie at the gate of the Swann residence, then continuing on to the Braithwaite residence farther down Coney Street. They were announced by the barks of a mastiff pulling against his chain near the hall door, his claws rasping on the stones. Not lawed.

  A man appeared in the doorway, followed by Dame Janet who called out a welcome as the man crouched to the dog, softly speaking to it while stroking it behind the left ear until it settled back down.

  ‘Forgive the noise, but he is an effective guard, isn’t he?’ said Dame Janet.

  Perhaps. But it was one thing to bark, another to know how to attack. And how to control a dog so trained.

  ‘Do come in.’ The woman who had the previous night wept and wrung her hands now wore an air of calm authority as she led them into the hall. Olyf and Adam Tirwhit sat side by side on a cushioned bench lit by the afternoon sun pouring in through a high window. Her head rested on his shoulder and he held her close, his head bowed. Near them was another couple, plump with prosperity, he garbed in a dark jacket and leggings, she in a gown a subtle shade of blue adorned with seed pearls, her hair caught up in a silver-threaded crispinette. ‘I do not believe you know my son Paul and his wife Elaine,’ Janet said quietly.

  Olyf straightened and moved away from her husband as Owen and Alfred took seats near them. Janet wasted no time. As soon as Owen introduced Alfred, their hostess went straight to the point. Owen would be generously compensated. He had only to tell them what he needed and he would have it at once. The city needed him. The mayor, council, and sheriff agreed that Owen should take charge.

  Adam Tirwhit quickly added his plea that Owen do all that he could to bring the murderer of his wife’s father and brother to justice. Anger sharpened his words so that the plea came out sounding more like a command.