A Conspiracy of Wolves

10 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.

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 men?’ 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.

‘Hurry.’ Lucie took Geoffrey’s arm and waved Owen on.

Lucie plucked jars and bandages from the shelves in the workroom behind the shop as Geoffrey stood with eyes closed searching his memory for details about the nature of the injuries. He described Alisoun’s head wound, realized he’d no idea of Dame Euphemia’s injuries, believed Dun might have a sprained or broken ankle, and sundry wounds or bruises. So, Lucie thought, possible broken bones, sprains, bruises, open wounds, and, of course, the terror of the attack. Betony, boneset, comfrey, hawthorn in case the elderly Euphemia’s heart sounded weak, moneywort, red nettle for bleeding, sanicle, walwort, wintergreen, most in mixtures Lucie found efficacious for speeding the healing of wounds, bruises, and broken bones, as well as valerian and poppy to calm. She added a potion Brother Wulfstan had devised to stimulate healing by drawing up the blood, but not in a way that would cause Alisoun’s wound to open. At least Lucie prayed that was so. She was urging Geoffrey to come along when Jasper stepped through the door.

‘Ma! Master Geoffrey! She said you were here, but I didn’t understand–’ Jasper looked at the basket of medicines and bandages. ‘Another attack?’

‘At the Poole home,’ said Lucie. ‘We are fortunate that Geoffrey witnessed it. He fetched us from the feast. Your father is searching for those who fled.’ She paused, belatedly puzzled. ‘Who told you we were here?’

‘Dame Magda. She has been sitting with us, calming Kate, now she’s holding Emma, you know how Emma reaches out to her, always begging for Magda to pick her up.’

‘You said calming Kate – about her sister? Is Tildy–’

‘She will be well, but she lost the babies.’

‘Both?’ Lucie crossed herself at his nod. Tildy might have survived in body, but her spirit … To lose both babies carried all these months …

‘Who’s that for?’ Jasper pointed to the basket.

‘Three were injured,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Dame Euphemia, a manservant, and Alisoun.’

‘Alisoun?’ Jasper frowned at Lucie. ‘You did not say.’

‘You gave me no chance.’ She silently cursed Geoffrey for not thinking to prepare Jasper.

‘I will come with you.’

Lucie put a hand on Jasper’s arm. ‘I need you here with the children. Alisoun will have Magda and me, the best care, but the children have only you.’

‘But–’

‘Only you, son.’

A reluctant nod. ‘Will you bring her here?’

‘We will do what is best for her.’ Lucie touched his cheek. ‘I love her, too. As does Magda. Does Magda know of all that’s happened? The murders? The dogs?’

‘We spoke of it.’

‘Could she see a pattern in the attacks?’

‘If she did, she did not say.’

Which might mean anything.

As they walked into the garden Lucie caught sight of a sweet group on the long bench that ran below the large window in the hall: Gwenllian and Hugh crowding round a small figure with Emma in her arms. Magda’s multi-colored robe glimmered as she rocked Lucie’s youngest.

To come to them this day, in their hour of need, this was no accident. Lucie’s heart steadied. All would be well. There was magic in the woman, she had no doubt.

In the hall, fierce eyes met Lucie’s over Emma’s sleep-tousled hair. ‘So Bird-eye comes to the aid of a city haunted by the wolves of their darkest dreams.’

‘Did you doubt that he would, when the time came?’ Lucie asked.

Magda kissed Emma’s forehead. ‘He protects what he loves.’ She handed Gwenllian her sleeping sister and rose, shaking out her skirts. ‘Come. The king’s man can describe all that he witnessed on the way.’

‘I thought I was “the poet” to you,’ said Geoffrey.

‘Now and then.’

As they moved through the garden and out into Davygate, Geoffrey described what had happened.

‘Euphemia Poole? If she is aware of Magda’s presence, she might curse thee for it. But mayhap she will be too desperate to care about an old pagan healer crossing her threshold.’

As Lucie reached up to knock on the door of the Poole home it opened. A disheveled woman, a servant by her simple gown, welcomed them with such emotion Lucie suggested she sit down.

‘No time. The captain said you would be coming, Mistress Wilton, though he did not mention you, Dame Magda. I am so glad you have come. Your apprentice lies injured, Dun is trying to keep her awake. Come. I will escort you.’

It was Geoffrey who led the procession through a narrow passageway to the garden door, providing Lucie an opportunity to speak with the woman, ascertain that her name was Eva, long in service for the family, as was Dun, the man who was now singing hymns out in the garden.

‘My mistress – she will not welcome Dame Magda,’ Eva said as they reached the open doorway.

‘I will see to her, Dame Magda will see to the others,’ said Lucie as she stepped out the door.

And paused, taking in the grim scene. Dame Euphemia lay to her right, crumpled against the house, one leg bent beneath her, her white hair undone, draping over her arms. Ten strides beyond, Alisoun lay with her head cradled on the lap of the singing manservant, her face pale as death. Dun sighed and fell silent when he saw them. A few strides from Lucie a man lay face down, an arrow through his neck.

‘Deus juva me,’ she whispered, crossing herself.

She felt Magda’s hand warm on her shoulder. ‘A troubling sight. Magda will see first to Alisoun. Thou shouldst examine the dead, in case Bird-eye missed a hint of life.’ Magda took the basket from Lucie’s arm.

Crouching down, Lucie felt for a pulse, a breath, but found no sign of life. She peered at what was visible of the dead man’s face. Nothing about it to make him noticeable, no scars, warts, neither handsome nor repulsive. Not familiar. He had the hands of a laborer, clothes made for utility, not show, not too clean. River mud on his shoes. Brown, thick hair beneath a leather hat.

She felt Eva hovering behind her. ‘Did Captain Archer examine him?’

‘Much as you just did,’ said Eva. ‘Then he told us you would be with us soon and went off after the man and the wolf, toward St Andrewgate. Dun told him where to go.’

Lucie joined Magda, who was kneeling beside Alisoun, listening to her heart, using her hand to feel her breath. Suddenly she snapped her fingers close to one ear. Alisoun jerked, a slight movement, but her eyelids did not flicker.

Lucie took that as a bad sign.

‘Master Chaucer ordered me to sing to keep her awake, but I failed,’ the singer said. His voice was going hoarse with the effort.

A tisane of bark oil and horehound later, Lucie thought.

‘Thou art called “Dun”?’ Magda asked.

He nodded.

‘Magda thanks thee for thy care, Dun. Now rest thy voice. Magda will soon relieve thee of thy charge.’ Lucie watched as Magda slipped a bony hand beneath Alisoun’s head to lift it, running her free hand across the blood-soaked area, grimacing at what she felt. Gently she continued, examining Alisoun’s hands, wrists. Looking up at Geoffrey, who had joined them, she asked, ‘No time to break her fall?’

‘She dropped her weapon too late.’

Kneeling down beside Magda, Lucie followed her lead as they cleaned Alisoun’s wound, dressed and bandaged it, saw to her other injuries – bruised hip, grazed elbow – and dribbled into her mouth a tisane that would calm and strengthen her. Now and then her eyelids flickered, but she did not wake.

‘How she fares within … We cannot know until the child wakes.’ Magda’s pale eyes were sad.

Biting her lip, Lucie bowed her head, silently praying that God grant Alisoun her life. She might do much good with her healing skill.

‘Art thou praying?’ Magda asked in a soft voice, pressing Lucie’s hand when she admitted that she was. ‘Magda does as well, in her own way.’

‘She has become dear to me.’

‘To Magda as well.’

Lucie resolved to keep her mind on her work. Grief must wait. ‘I will see to Dame Euphemia myself.’

‘Nay. Magda will assist thee.’

‘But Euphemia–’

‘Who is to tell her?’ A conspiratorial smile. ‘She is not aware of aught at present.’

Working together, Lucie and Magda examined Euphemia, deciding how she could best be moved without causing further injury. A shoulder out of joint and a swollen ankle already bringing up a bruise appeared to be the worst of what she had suffered, though at her age such an abrupt drop to the ground might well break fragile bones. Geoffrey and Dun, who had been replaced by a thick cushion beneath Alisoun’s shoulders and head, carried Dame Euphemia to her bed, assisted by Lucie. The maid, Eva, fussed over her mistress’s placement. And still Euphemia did not wake. A too-deep sleep?

Magda shook her head at Lucie’s concern. ‘Her pulse is strong.’

In silence they set Dame Euphemia’s shoulder and wrapped her ankle and her swollen knee. The elderly woman slept the while.

‘When she wakes, if she protests your presence, will we move Alisoun?’ Lucie asked.

‘Not until she rouses. Dame Euphemia may fume in her chamber. Her inner blindness came upon her over many years, as she drew in on herself until she could see no one but her husband and her son.’

After Geoffrey carried Alisoun to the bed Eva had prepared for her in the hall, Lucie saw to the manservant, asking Dun about his own injuries. Sprains, a blossoming black eye and a gash on his cheek – the caked mud had stopped his bleeding, and a hand beginning to spasm. She thanked him for caring for Alisoun despite his discomfort. Then she set to work cleaning his hands and face in order to find the wounds and bandage them, splinting two fingers, wrapping a sprained ankle, backing off when with fear in his eyes he begged her not to sew the wound on his face.

‘It will take longer to heal, and the scar will be more noticeable.’

‘Folk do not see me. And I was never fair to look upon.’

‘You fought with courage today,’ she said. ‘The Pooles should be grateful.’

‘Dame Euphemia has always been a fair mistress.’

‘And her son?’

‘Kinder than his mother, truth be told.’

‘You will need help for a while. But Crispin Poole brought his own servants, did he not?’ She was prying, for they looked like retainers, not house servants.

‘One of them dresses him, assists where he struggles with but one hand. The other,’ Dun leaned in close, ‘he does little but walk about, spying on folk.’

‘They accompanied him today?’

‘No, they have been away. In Galtres, I think, watching the coroner’s property.’

‘Why?’

He shook his head.

‘How kind of him to watch over Bartolf’s house,’ said Lucie, storing that away for Owen. ‘I will speak to your mistress about hiring someone to assist you for a time.’

He pressed her forearm in gratitude.

The hall was a long, high, echoing space with few furnishings or hangings. Not an inviting room. Magda bent over Alisoun, smoothing back her hair, murmuring to her. She claimed to use no charms, but Lucie knew she fashioned bundles of herbs, stones, feathers, and twigs, and had experienced the power of her murmured words, a deep warmth, heavy limbs and eyelids, the silencing of thought.

Sensing Lucie behind her, the healer glanced over her shoulder. ‘Magda will stay with Alisoun until she is well enough to move to thy home or the river house.’

On St Andrewgate, Owen noticed a woman hurrying in his direction, peering back over her shoulder as she tugged her child along behind her. He hailed her and asked whether she had seen a man and a large dog.

The woman lifted her child up in her arms, hugging her tight. ‘I did see them, though the creature was like no dog I’ve ever known. The man clutched the collar of the beast with one hand, dangling a knife from the other. I screamed and scooped up my Jen, and others shouted. He fled into the Bedern.’

‘Can you describe the man you saw, what he wore?’ Owen asked.

She closed her eyes, rocking the child as she conjured the image. ‘Not so tall as you, brown hair, no hat. His clothes – a worker’s garb, leather tabard. Nothing to set him apart.’

Could it be Galbot? He’d worn a leather vest. Owen cursed himself for not asking Paul Braithwaite how long Galbot had worked for him, what he knew of the man’s past. But by then he’d fled, so it would have done little good. At the funeral feast he’d had a moment with Elaine Braithwaite, nothing of note until she said something about Tempest’s death not being the first loss Paul has suffered, his precious dogs. She’d been silenced by John Braithwaite, who said her jealousy regarding the dogs was unbecoming. Owen must speak to Paul.

He thanked the woman.

‘You will protect us, Captain? Protect the city?’

So far he had failed at that, but, seeing her fear, how she pressed the child to her, he did not voice his frustration. ‘I have all the bailiffs’ men on the streets, searching for these men. And I have your keen eyes.’ He forced a reassuring smile. ‘We will find them. What of the dog? You said he was unlike any you’d seen?’

‘He was a great beast, a wolf, I think, all black.’

‘Black?’

‘With fiery eyes and a long red tongue. A devil dog, to be sure.’ She bobbed her head to him and hurried on.

He had encountered wolves on campaign across the Channel, but never black ones, though he knew no reason why one could not exist – but fiery eyes? Unless she meant the expression. A long red tongue? Might someone describe a dog’s tongue thus? What had Magda said? What do folk see when they see a wolf, Bird-eye? The animal? Think again. Their darkest fears?

Whoever the man was, it sounded as if he had tight control of the animal.

The bailiff’s man who’d gone on to Monk Bar to question the gatekeeper returned, shaking his head. ‘No one’s come through with a large dog today, Captain.’

Owen told him what he’d learned.

‘The Bedern. Bad luck for us. If he’s a churchman we’ll never draw him out, the devil piss on him.’

‘I very much doubt we seek a cleric,’ said Owen. ‘But we are not the law in the Bedern, that is true.’

The Bedern was part of the minster liberty, set aside to house the vicars choral, who said masses in the chantry chapels in the minster, and Owen would need the dean’s or the archbishop’s permission to search there. The bailiffs had no jurisdiction in there either. Damn Thoresby for dying. Damn him. Owen would waste precious time convincing the dean …

‘Might have ducked in and out the far side,’ said Hempe’s man. ‘Headed for the river. They’ll spit him out when they see he’s not one of theirs.’

‘Pass the word along the watch to keep an eye out for this man, and a dog, likely a large one.’ Owen said nothing of the woman’s description of the dog. He began to suspect that what Magda had meant was that folk saw not what was there, but the beast from their nightmares. ‘I’m going to take a stroll in the Bedern.’

A surprised laugh. ‘You’re not one for rules, Captain? Can we expect that when you’re our captain?’

Owen slapped the man on the shoulder. ‘If I captain your bailiffs, they’ll keep to my rules.’ He grinned, though he felt no cheer.

While in the kitchen fetching some brandywine for Magda, Lucie heard an unfamiliar voice out in the garden. Geoffrey had sent Dun to fetch a priest to say prayers over the dead man. Had the priest arrived? She should speak with him. She handed Magda the brandywine and headed out.

On her way she thought to check on Euphemia. She found her still asleep in the bedchamber whose walls were covered with small tapestries. Unfinished, Lucie realized, looking round, all religious scenes in vibrant colors, delicate, beautiful work.

‘She had great skill,’ said Eva.

‘They caught my eye as I came to check on your mistress.’

‘I am grateful for your care.’ The maid reached up to straighten one of the hangings.

‘You are devoted to her.’

‘She has been good to me, in her way.’

‘And her son? Is he difficult?’

‘He is a fair man. But–’ She looked down at her hands. ‘I should not speak of the master and mistress of this house.’

‘Even if it might help us catch the men who attacked your mistress?’

Eva toed something on the floor. ‘He cannot forgive Dame Euphemia for what she did. But she did it so that he might come home. If that poacher had not been hanged for the girl’s murder …’

Trying to sound as if she knew something of what the woman spoke, Lucie asked, ‘What was your mistress’s part in it?’

‘If the master had kept the boy’s secret, she would not have done it. And how people know that the mistress pushed him to name Warin as the girl’s murderer – I don’t know who told them.’

A thread of memory. A young woman’s drowning, the girls at St Clements’ whispering. ‘This Warin was not the murderer?’

‘No. He helped Master Crispin save her from drowning. Then the young master went away. No one knows why. Folk thought he might have done it, Master Crispin. Maybe he hid for a few days, made certain she was dead before she went in the Ouse this time, and then ran off to be a soldier.’

‘They thought Crispin saved the young woman, then murdered her?’

‘I don’t know that folk knew of the first drowning. But what if he hadn’t been trying to save her? What if Warin saw that?’ She met Lucie’s eyes, questioning. Unsure even now.

If this woman who had known him so well was unsure of his innocence … Was it this long-ago tragedy that haunted them now?

‘And he knows what his mother did?’

A nod. ‘I should not have told you, but–’

‘No, I am grateful, Eva. You have helped me see.’ Lucie might have gone on, but hearing once more the unfamiliar voice in the garden she remembered her mission. ‘The priest is here. Do you think Dame Euphemia would like him to bless her after he’s given the man the last rites?’

‘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.’