A Conspiracy of Wolves

15 A Conspiracy of Wolves

Elaine Braithwaite stood at the door of the manor house, her arms wrapped round her as if to keep her still. Stepping back to allow them entrance, she stood transfixed as Owen and Alan carried Paul Braithwaite’s litter past her, into the hall, as if she could not believe the horror of her husband’s body. Her son Adam walked behind them, shoulders back, eyes trained ahead as tears rolled down his cheeks.

Hempe had returned with the horses, and he and one of his men had helped Elaine and her maidservant from the cart, bringing them up on their mounts to return to the manor house.

‘Brother.’ Alice, who stood holding a baby, bobbed her head at Adam, then motioned to the two girls beside her. Paul’s children solemnly led the litter-bearers through the hall and down a corridor to a small chapel, comporting themselves with dignity despite their muddied clothes and damp hair.

‘Set him down before the altar, awaiting the priest and the coroner,’ Elaine said from the doorway.

When the litter was placed on the stone floor, Owen asked the widow what else they might do to help.

Her composure crumbled, and she bowed her head, sobbing. Owen put his arms round her, holding her until she quieted. The children looked on with grief-stricken expressions.

Wet, weary, Owen felt the chill settling into his bones. He was grateful when at last Elaine took a deep, shaky breath and backed away.

‘What must you think of me?’ She dabbed at her face with a linen, then shook out her skirts. ‘You will forgive me. It has been such a day.’

‘Of course.’

‘We are all in your debt.’

‘I failed to prevent your husband’s death.’

‘I watched from the wagon, Captain, I saw him walk into that burning building.’

‘The hounds–’

‘He walked into the flames for his sins, Captain. I was beside him in the wagon when we saw the flames, then heard the baying. When I cried out – no matter what I thought of his passion for them, they were God’s creatures and I quaked at their danger – he patted my hand, assured me that they must have been rescued from the fire.’ She kissed Owen’s cheek, then went to kneel beside her husband’s body.

Owen withdrew to the stables to see to the injured.

Joss, Galbot, and Cilla huddled in a corner away from four others, talking quietly. When Owen appeared, Galbot called down curses on him and his family. Owen ignored him as he called Stephen and two of Hempe’s men over to help him hold the man down while he removed the arrows, cleaned the wounds, packed them with the paste Lucie prepared for deep cuts, bandaged them, all to a litany of curses.

Next he saw to Cilla’s leg. She no longer struggled – he’d slipped a bit of poppy juice in the wine he told her to drink before he pulled out the arrow. But she muttered to herself, and something she kept saying intrigued him enough that he tried to talk to her.

‘Is that what you were doing, playing the wolf?’

‘I am cat, hear me hiss at you.’ She did a fair job, baring her teeth as she did so. The paint was quite like her daughter’s.

‘Who is the wolf?’

‘And I am wolf.’ She growled. ‘Goldbarn told Gerta the privileged four were a wolf pack, bent on ruining all for us. Conspiring to destroy all that we gleaned from the wood.’

‘Richard Goldbarn said this?’

‘Gerta thought he meant to wed her. My beautiful Gerta.’ She whimpered, tucking her chin in her chest. As Owen wrapped her leg she made animal sounds, little cries and yips. A chilling performance.

He moved on to Joss, his face bloody, one eye swollen shut, and, of course, the arrow in his shoulder. He told Stephen to hold Joss down.

‘Righteous ass,’ Joss muttered.

‘I thought this was all about family vengeance, yet you beat your own daughter.’

‘She betrayed us. The lying hag lives.’ Joss spat, though he took care to face away from Owen.

‘Only a coward beats his children,’ Owen said, and yanked out the arrow.

The man howled. Cilla took up the cry, howling beside him, and continued all the while Owen bandaged Joss’s shoulder. When he moved on to Joss’s eye, Cilla batted him away.

‘Come,’ Owen said to Stephen and the others helping him, ‘we’ll leave him until she’s asleep. Let’s see to the others.’

Rat was obvious from his appearance, though his face was bloodied and his eyes were blackening. He said nothing, staring off to the other side of the stall where his companion, Otto, lay beneath a blanket. He’d fallen from his horse and broken his neck. One death.

The man who’d been about to set fire to the fence had burns and a broken arm. He remained stoically silent, nary a whimper, while Owen tended him.

Another man had plenty to say while Owen set a broken finger and smoothed salve on a wrenched ankle.

‘Galbot tricked me. He said you were coming for the hounds and we had to defend them.’

‘You worked in the kennels with him?’

A nod. ‘No more.’

‘No, you set fire to them.’

‘To fool you! But the mistress will never believe me. And Master John – he’ll see me hanged.’

‘You will have a chance to state your case,’ Owen assured him.

Elaine Braithwaite insisted that Owen, Hempe, and their men stay the night before returning to the city in the morning with their prisoners. Her hall was open to them.

They were more than happy to accept. It had been a long, tiring day, and two of Hempe’s men were in no condition to ride this evening, one limping badly and the other with his eye bandaged after being struck by a burning cinder. Minor casualties for a job well done. Except for Paul Braithwaite’s death.

Owen, Hempe, and their hostess dined at a small table in the hall. The other men sat at a long board nearby. The company was hushed, the food plentiful and hot, the wine much appreciated.

‘My son said there was a woman among them, and that she had been wearing a wolf’s hide,’ said Elaine.

Owen explained who she was.

‘Bring her to me. I would speak with her. Afterward she may rest in the warmth of the kitchen. I have set some dry clothes for her by the door.’

‘You know that she is not innocent of the charges?’ asked Owen. When he had returned to Joss, thinking Cilla asleep, she cursed as he confessed for all of them. Why now? Owen had asked. They’ll be singing a ballad about us this winter, mark me, the wolves of Galtres, Joss had said. Cilla had howled at that, and Joss had joined in. ‘And I cannot vouch for whether she’ll appear animal or human.’

‘Even before this, folk in York thought her mad,’ said Hempe.

‘It is what I wish,’ said Elaine.

Hempe went to give the orders.

While waiting, the widow spoke of her husband, his love for the children and the land, and the hounds. ‘I hated Bartolf Swann for encouraging Paul’s passion for the hounds. Nothing was so important as those curséd dogs. I always feared they would be the ruin of him. When he told me what he’d done to that young woman so long ago, I knew I was right.’

‘He told you?’ Owen had not expected that.

‘After Crispin Poole’s return Paul feared to sleep for the nightmares. He thought if he confessed to me, and also made his confession to a priest, he might be free of the demons.’

‘Did it work?’

‘I believe it did for him, until the trouble began. For me – I will ever carry the darkness of his monstrous act in my heart. He told me he crushed her head with a stone, strangled her for good measure, and sent her floating in the Ouse – all for blinding his favorite hound. I will never understand. Devil dogs. They possessed his soul. They were his undoing, yet he clung to them, as if his devotion would absolve him. I want them gone. My son loves them, but I cannot bear to have them here.’

Cilla appeared leaning heavily on Hempe’s arm, her head bowed, a much-patched gown rendering her more human in appearance.

‘Come. Sit with me and tell me what you remember of Gerta,’ said Elaine.

An unexpected request.

Cilla raised her eyes to the widow. ‘What game is this?’

Elaine held out a cloth. ‘No game. But first, wipe the paint off your face.’

‘Does it offend?’ Cilla smirked.

‘If you wish me to believe anything you say, you will wipe that off.’ Elaine pushed a bowl of water toward the woman.

To Owen’s surprise, Cilla dipped the cloth in water and began to work at the paint, at first merely smearing it, but, as the water grew dark, her features emerged.

When Elaine was satisfied, she gestured to the bench beside her. ‘Now sit and tell me of this young woman my husband murdered.’

Owen and Hempe withdrew.

‘I need to stretch my legs, breathe the night air,’ said Owen, heading for the door.

‘It is raining.’

‘Even so.’ The day had wearied Owen in body and soul. Almost he wished he had ridden home tonight. But he thought better of that. He would not inflict this mood on Lucie and the children. Let the rain wash it away.

In the morning, Owen sought out Dame Elaine to express his gratitude for her hospitality.

‘I will pray for you and your children,’ he said.

She thanked him for the sentiment, but assured him that the family would derive satisfaction from the crown’s justice. ‘For the perpetrators will hang.’ Her flinty eyes challenged him, as if he might suggest a different outcome.

‘Cilla’s words did not move you?’

‘That wretch?’ Her lips curled in disdain. ‘As for Paul, he was but a boy when he killed the charcoal-burner’s daughter and might have been forgiven, but he chose for himself an honorable death. Our children can be proud of that.’ Again, she watched Owen, her eyes daring him to object.

To take one’s own life was a mortal sin. She knew that, yet chose to ignore it. Would her children be so confused? And what of compassion? Cilla, Galbot, and Roger had lost their father because Paul had not the courage to admit his crime. Joss had lost his sister to the man for the blinding of a dog.

As he rode out with Hempe and the others, Owen felt sullied by his part in taking the prisoners they now escorted to York. He was not at all sure that justice had been served. His companions were likewise quiet, as were the prisoners. Otto’s body remained behind, awaiting the coroner’s examination.

In late afternoon they entered the city, heading straight for the castle.

‘Leave them to stew overnight,’ said Hempe. ‘I’m for home, and Lotta.’ The name brought a smile to his beaky face. ‘Bless that woman. I’ve not once worried about the business through all of this, knowing she had it all in hand. God’s grace brought her into my life.’

‘God’s grace? It was a murderer threw you together as I recall.’

Hempe poked him with an elbow. ‘You know what I mean.’ As they reached the York Tavern, the bailiff hesitated. ‘One before we part?’

‘Bess will want to know all,’ Owen warned.

‘Ah. I’ve no mind to talk of it tonight. I will come by after I’ve been to the castle in the morning.’

‘You’ll not be charging the girl?’

‘Wren? I see no cause. But she’ll be alone. They’re all for hanging, Owen. They’ve more than disturbed the king’s peace. And whether or no they wielded the weapons, they assisted. When you’re captain of the bailiffs, this will be your task.’

‘If I accept I’ll not be a bailiff. My understanding is that I would not be called upon unless your men cannot cope.’

‘We’ll work you hard, Owen. Never doubt it. But so would the prince. Your skill with the bow yesterday was worthy of a captain of archers. If His Grace should hear of that … I’ll not be the fool to speak of it, but it will be all over the taverns of York tomorrow.’ Hempe slapped Owen’s back and continued on toward Stonegate and home.

Gwenllian and Hugh came running to greet Owen as he stepped through the door. He’d come through the kitchen, loath to leave a trail through the hall.

‘We’ll pull off your boots, Da,’ Gwen offered. ‘Sit thee down.’

Ah. A budding Magda Digby. ‘Wouldst thou?’ he asked, grabbing her up and tickling her.

‘Hugh, too!’ his son shouted.

‘Alisoun has company,’ said Kate as she handed him an ale. ‘Master Crispin and Dame Muriel.’

‘Together?’

‘No. But, well, if I were to wager– Oh, Hugh!’

The lad had fallen onto the flagstones as the boot he tugged on released unexpectedly. His face crinkled as he felt the pain, and his mouth opened, releasing a loud howl.

‘I met a couple who howl like that together,’ said Owen, leaning over to pick up his son with the fiery hair and the powerful lungs. ‘And she was wearing skins, had her face painted like Wren’s.’

That got Hugh’s attention, and he quieted, even began to smile as Owen tickled him.

Over the boy’s shoulder Owen looked at Kate. ‘Is Wren still here?’

‘She is, much to Mistress Alisoun’s discomfort. She would do everything for her, and you know Mistress Alisoun, such fussing is most unwelcome.’

‘My friend says you shot people with your bow and arrows, Da. Is it true?’ Gwenllian’s voice broke a little on the question.

He set Hugh down and crouched to his daughter. ‘I did so to prevent them from causing more harm, and to slow them down so that I might catch them and bring them to answer for their crimes. I do not kill unless it is the only way to save others.’

‘Alisoun killed.’

‘She did not mean to. The man moved too quickly.’

‘Master Burnby the coroner came to tell Alisoun she should not bring her weapons into the city. A girl has no business with such things.’

‘He said that to Alisoun?’

A grave nod. ‘She does not like him.’

‘I doubt she does.’

‘But he said, “Captain Archer has power now, so he’ll defend you,” and then he left. I thought you should know.’

So Owen and the coroner had a problem. ‘I am grateful for the warning, my love.’

‘I think he wishes he had her courage.’

‘I do, too!’ Hugh shouted.

How had Owen’s children grown so wise so quickly?

An afternoon and evening with his family did much to restore Owen. Once the children had gone up with Lena, Jasper had retired, Alisoun and Magda had moved their pallets into the kitchen, Wren insisting on sleeping on a pallet at the foot of their bed, Owen and Lucie settled in front of the hearth fire.

‘I cannot recall the last time we were so alone,’ said Lucie, ‘except in bed.’

‘Do not say it! You will jinx the moment.’ Owen laughed as he pulled her close, kissed her. ‘I hated being away from you.’

‘I am glad you did not try to ride into the night. But the bed was so cold.’ She kissed him back, rubbed his hands.

He asked her how she was coping with the loss of Philippa, the aunt who had become so much a part of their lives. He watched her lovely face as the emotions rose, and held her close as she spoke with love of her aunt’s big heart, her strength, her quiet support.

‘Yesterday I found Gwenllian curled up in Philippa’s cape, whispering to herself,’ she said. ‘And Hugh seems confused about whether or not she’ll return. He seems to think that good souls resurrect, and he is certain she qualifies. At any moment she might appear on our doorstep.’

‘The worst time for them to see their beloved Alisoun bedridden,’ said Owen.

‘I know. Of a sudden they see that those they love can be hurt, or even die,’ said Lucie. ‘As I did with my mother.’ Her mother had died when Lucie was quite young, her father so devastated he sent her to Clementhorpe Nunnery while he went off on pilgrimage.

‘They have us,’ said Owen.

‘Yes.’

As Lucie rose to poke at the fire, Owen told her of his conversation with Gwenllian regarding the coroner and Alisoun’s prowess.

‘It is rumored that he often dines with John Gisburne,’ said Lucie. ‘Need you know more?’ She kissed Owen as she returned to her seat. ‘We’ve nothing to fear from Burnby.’

‘Fear, no. But he will find ways to annoy me.’

‘Here’s something to cheer us. I went to Winifrith, to tell her that her father was safe in York, and would soon be home. She told the children right then and there. The joy on their faces, the happy shrieks – how they love him. Old Bede is home now, the coroner happy with what he had to add. He’s asked him to sit on the jury.’

‘God help us. We will never hear the end of that at the tavern.’

‘While I was there, Olyf Tirwhit was sitting with Euphemia, the two of them trading insults and accusations. I learned from Crispin that Adam Tirwhit had known of his plan to return almost two years ago, when Neville first realized Thoresby was dying. He wanted Crispin here to clear the way. Word had passed round among the merchants. That must be how Joss and Warin’s children learned of his imminent return. In the end Crispin was delayed, giving them ample time to be in place.’

‘Such a complex plan.’

‘Such a long-simmering hate.’

‘Crispin and Muriel. Kate believes they may become a couple.’

Lucie smiled at the fire. ‘I noticed it as well. I do not know whether to wish them that joy. Olyf Tirwhit will never forgive them.’

‘We know Crispin and Olyf could never be. And for the child about to be born to have a father, that would be a blessing.’

Lucie took his hand. ‘Yes. Crispin is nothing like Hoban, and perhaps that is all for the best. I wish them joy if they choose each other. For another couple, I see stormy seas ahead.’

‘Alisoun and Jasper?’

‘Magda tells me that while I opened the shop, giving Jasper some time with Alisoun this morning, Ned came to call. With flowers from the Fenton garden.’

‘Ned?’

‘I knew nothing of what had happened, but when Jasper stormed into the shop to begin his day, tossing his jacket with such force I rushed to save a jar from crashing to the floor, I ordered him to sit down in the workroom and say ten Hail Marys before coming back into the shop.’

‘Did he confide in you?’

‘He spoke of how he wished to model his life after his beloved Brother Wulfstan.’

After the infirmarian of St Mary’s Abbey sacrificed his life to tend plague victims, Jasper had talked of taking vows. It was a recurring theme, especially when their son questioned his feelings for Alisoun.

‘It will pass,’ said Owen.

‘If Wren has anything to say about it, he will have an alternative.’

‘God protect him.’

‘Olyf Tirwhit has asked her to return to their house.’

‘Will she accept?’

‘Muriel has also expressed interest.’

‘I begin to distrust Muriel’s intent.’

Lucie sighed. ‘As do I.’ She turned to Owen. ‘So? What have you decided about your future?’