A Conspiracy of Wolves

4 A Rumor of Wolves

For a moment Owen let the sounds of a busy night in the York Tavern override the voices of his two companions, George Hempe and Geoffrey Chaucer – tankards thumping on the long tables, feet stomping on the floor in time to Tucker’s fiddling, laughter rising up, folk greeting latecomers, and beneath it all the steady rumble of men’s deep voices. He leaned back and stretched out his legs with a sigh of contentment.

Until Old Bede coughed out his latest conspiracy. ‘The sheriff says he was beaten but he did not show us the body, did he? Wolves attacked Hoban’s grandfather the hour Hoban was born. It’s true. And now the wolves have returned to Galtres. The sheriff and the mayor, and some what are sitting right in this room’ – his eyes slid to Owen’s table – ‘don’t want us to know, but it’s plain, eh?’ The old man sucked his teeth and his eyes narrowed to slits as he prepared to hawk up his bile and spit it out.

‘Not on my clean floor, Bede. Out in the alleyway with you,’ Bess Merchet warned as she entered the public room in the nick of time. ‘And you’re out for good if I catch you spreading such lies in my tavern again.’ With hand to mouth, Bede lurched across the floor, almost knocking over a man who had risen to propose a toast at the next table. ‘I count on you to remind him what he risks,’ Bess told the old gossip’s companions. ‘And it goes for all of you as well. Dogs attacked Hoban. There are no wolves in Galtres, nor in all of England, not any more.’

As if apologizing for her guest, Bess bobbed her head to Bartolf Swann, who had left his seat back in the corner of the tavern, where he’d been drinking with a pair of stonemasons, and was weaving his way amongst the tables, heading for the door. The old man nodded blearily as he departed.

‘She would make a fine bailiff,’ said Geoffrey.

To the other side of Owen, Hempe choked on his ale. ‘A woman? She could never pull her weight.’

‘Oh, I think you are wrong about that, master bailiff.’

Hempe leaned close to Owen. ‘Master Chaucer goes too far.’

‘He meant to rile you, and he succeeded. Be easy, George.’

It was not entirely true, Bess’s claim. There were still a few wolf packs in England, or so it would seem. Whitby Abbey boasted wolf pelts of recent vintage, and the monks of Rievaulx Abbey had reported a wolf pack on the north moors the previous winter, feeding on sheep. Magda Digby knew of a pack that wintered in Galtres, though the warden of the forest denied it, blaming the loss of livestock on poaching outlaws.

So that part of Bede’s story was possibly more accurate than Bess gave him credit for, and the rest was not entirely his imagining. Hoban’s grandfather had been attacked by a pack of wild dogs, not wolves, at the very moment of his grandson’s birth. The midwife had crossed herself when she heard and said it bode ill for the boy. That was long before Owen had come to York, but he had heard the story from enough folk to give it credence. Curséd old man, conjuring the horror of Hoban’s murder in the presence of his grieving father.

Geoffrey rocked his tankard on the table as he observed the room with a half-smile. Owen followed his gaze to the one-armed merchant, Crispin Poole.

Curious, he leaned over to ask, ‘Are you acquainted with Poole?’

Starting, Geoffrey bowed his head as if realizing how he had been staring. ‘He intrigues me. As if a pirate donned the clothing and the bearing of a man of means, a prominent citizen of the city. We are not acquainted, but I hope to remedy that.’

‘The prince is interested?’

Geoffrey looked at him askance. ‘Why would you think that? How would His Grace know of this man?’

‘You discomfited him, Master Chaucer,’ said Hempe. Indeed, Poole now stood, counting out some coin. ‘No amount of tailoring can hide his stump of an arm. A man knows better than to stare.’

Owen agreed. He felt a kinship with Poole. They’d had a few ales together, sharing their mutual discomfort about their appearance. Poole had seemed keen to hear about how Owen had created a new life, started a family. I envy you, Archer.

‘I will seek him out and beseech his forgiveness at the first opportunity,’ said Geoffrey.

‘Oh, aye, that would surely win his favor.’ Hempe made a face at Owen as if to say his companion was quite mad.

But he was wrong about that. Geoffrey’s mind was sharp, focused. What was his business with Crispin Poole, that is what Owen wished to know. He would bear watching.

‘So what have Alfred and Stephen discovered?’ Hempe asked.

‘Still no one at Bartolf’s,’ said Owen. ‘They’ve begun searching all the properties nearby. A neighbor told them Cilla rarely worked for just one household, she once worked for Bess – for all of a day – but we’ve found no one who’s seen her since Hoban’s death.’

‘Worked here for a day?’ Geoffrey laughed. ‘What was her crime?’

‘More than a little mad, as Bess put it,’ said Owen.

‘And the taverner would have none of that.’ Hempe laughed.

According to Bess, Cilla had also worked for Archdeacon Jehannes for a brief period. Perhaps he might offer some insight.

‘And none of the barbers recognized the salve?’ Owen asked Hempe.

‘None would admit to it.’

‘Would you?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘Such a murder, and then the bailiff’s man comes round with such a question.’

‘A wretched business, all in all,’ Hempe mumbled into his tankard.

The sun was low in the sky and a freshening breeze had dispelled the late-afternoon warmth. Lucie stood at the entrance to the walled herb garden considering the order of her autumn chores. She had lost time with the trip to Freythorpe and there was much work ahead before the first frost. Owen enjoyed doing the digging and the heavier work, but with Hoban’s murderer to find he might not now have time to help. If only Edric, her second apprentice, had stayed until after Yuletide, as originally planned. But as he’d never seemed at ease after his falling out with Jasper over Alisoun’s affections, Lucie had not tried to dissuade him from what appeared to be an excellent opportunity in Beverley.

‘Dame Lucie?’ Alisoun stood beneath the linden.

With a fleeting thought of having summoned the young woman with her reverie – why did such fantasies arise at dusk? – Lucie hastened toward her, noticing that the young woman shivered in the cooling evening. ‘You came out without a cloak or wrap? Is it Dame Muriel? Do you need help?’

‘I would welcome some advice, but I was most eager to speak with the captain. Is he here?’

‘No. He’s at the tavern. Might I help?’

‘Did you know he gave his men leave to sleep in Magda’s house last night without ever asking my permission?’

‘He did not–?’

‘Dame Magda entrusted her home to me in her absence. It is my responsibility. But he never thought to ask.’

Accustomed to the young woman’s temper, Lucie did not take offense at her abruptness. ‘He knows better than to do that,’ she said. ‘I will speak with him, though I do not believe he meant for them to stay another night.’ She put an arm round Alisoun’s slender shoulders. ‘Come in, do. We will talk in the warmth.’

Lucie guided Alisoun past the table where Jasper poured over some books. ‘My first husband’s garden journals,’ she said softly.

Alisoun greeted Jasper as she passed him, but he did not even look up from his reading. A falling out? Lucie wondered. She led Alisoun to a long bench by the window.

‘Are you at ease biding in the Swann home?’ Lucie asked.

‘I would prefer to sleep at Magda’s, but I cannot in good conscience leave Dame Muriel at the moment.’

‘Of course. They are treating you well?’

‘If you are asking whether they treat me with respect, yes, they do. But I do worry that Dame Muriel might need a more experienced midwife. She picks at her food – the baby cannot be getting enough nourishment.’

‘Fear about her first pregnancy, and now her grief, her husband murdered – I am not surprised she has no appetite. But she must keep up her strength or the baby will grow strong as the mother weakens.’

‘Will you tell the captain he was wrong to send his men to Magda’s without asking my leave?’

‘I am sorry he was so thoughtless, Alisoun. Yes, I will speak with him. But surely you cannot think they would wreak havoc there? They respect Magda. Fear her a little, I think, and her dragon.’ Lucie took Alisoun’s hands. They were still cold. ‘Something warm to drink? Are you hungry?’

‘No, I cannot stay long. I know they are good men, that they will do no harm.’ Alisoun gestured as if at a loss to explain.

‘But my husband should have told you of his plan, and asked your leave.’

Alisoun’s expression brightened. ‘You understand.’

‘I do, Alisoun. I do.’ Owen doubtless devised the plan as he spoke to the men without a thought to how it might seem to Alisoun, how proud she was of the responsibility. He needed to apologize. ‘I will make it clear how he offended.’

‘I am grateful.’ But there was yet a shadow in her eyes. Something still troubled her.

‘Is there more?’

Alisoun glanced out the window for a moment, as if searching for the right words. ‘All the household is frightened.’ She turned back to Lucie. ‘Has the captain learned anything of use? Something that might lead him to the murderers?’

‘I wish I had some encouraging news for you, but I’ve nothing, Alisoun.’

‘Nothing?’

A momentary light in Alisoun’s eyes gave Lucie pause. Relief? Why would she be relieved? Gone now. It had flickered out as quickly as it had appeared, yet it had been there, she was sure of it.

‘I hoped to have something to tell Dame Muriel,’ said Alisoun. ‘Not that it would cheer her, but – I worry about how little she eats. Have you a powder to stir her appetite? Safe for a woman with child?’

Time to grieve, that is what the widow needed, but Lucie understood Alisoun’s concern. ‘Of course. I will send Jasper with a physick in the morning, if that will do.’

‘That will do very well, thank you.’ Alisoun took Lucie’s hands, pressed them.

Hers were warmer now, but the smile was tight, forced. Had Lucie imagined that? Knowing how quick the young woman was to take offense, she resisted reassuring her that she was equal to the task. Best to say nothing. She seemed to have her wits about her, which was essential. The child Muriel Swann carried was all the more precious now that Hoban was dead. But the expectant mother’s history of miscarriages did not bode well.

Bess had joined the group of friends at Owen’s table, but kept an eye on old Bede as he stumbled back in from the yard. ‘A round on the house for my good friends,’ she told a passing servant, gesturing round the table. ‘We could all use it after that scurvy pizzle spouted off,’ she growled.

Geoffrey choked on his ale.

Bess patted him on the back. ‘A pity to waste Tom’s ale up your nose, Master Geoffrey.’

Beside them, Owen watched Bede and Crispin Poole crossing paths. Bede bobbed his head to Poole, who ignored him and walked out.

‘I don’t blame Poole. That old fool Bede cannot bear seeing folk enjoying themselves,’ Hempe muttered.

‘Scurvy pizzle, spouting off, oh, my dear Mistress Merchet, you are a poet,’ said Geoffrey, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. ‘But the old man means no harm, does he?’

‘He is not good for business,’ said Bess. ‘You saw Crispin Poole take his leave. And Bartolf Swann. And now his companions.’ She nodded to the stonemasons as they passed. ‘Folk come here to forget, not be minded of the day’s miseries.’

‘To be fair, it’s common knowledge that dogs played a part in Hoban’s death,’ said Owen. ‘For once the old gossip is merely repeating what he’s heard.’

‘To what purpose? That’s my point,’ said Hempe.

‘He wants attention,’ said Bess, ‘and with neither wit nor charm all he has is his knack for annoying.’ She slipped a hand over Owen’s. ‘Am I to have a bailiff living next door?’

‘I will not be hurried in this decision, Bess. Not by you, nor George, nor the aldermen.’

‘Or Lucie?’

‘Even my beloved wife.’

Bess patted his hand, and as she rose called out to her husband, ‘Tom! You have left your bailiffs high and dry.’ She pretended to misunderstand Owen’s protest. ‘These are on the house, my friends. It is a good night and I am feeling bountiful.’

By the time Lucie rose to see Alisoun to the door Kate had lit the wall sconces against the night. ‘I don’t want you walking through the city without escort. Jasper will accompany you to the Swann house.’ He was good with dogs.

‘Me?’ Jasper did not bother to hide his irritation.

Not much more than a month past Lucie had worried that Jasper, who was only eighteen, might be too eager to ask for Alisoun’s hand, long before he reached the level of journeyman. Even then his earnings would be modest. Perhaps she need no longer worry.

‘I hadn’t meant to still be out after dark,’ Alisoun was saying.

Lucie assured her it was no problem. ‘On your way back, peek into the York, Jasper, see whether your father is still enjoying his evening with George and Geoffrey or whether he looks as if he’d welcome an excuse to escape. If so, tell him he is needed at home. He will come.’

Nodding glumly, Jasper closed the books and kicked back the bench.

‘I would offer you a more congenial escort if I could,’ Lucie said to Alisoun, ignoring Jasper’s glare. While he was gone she would return Nicholas’s garden journals to the chest in her bedchamber where they would stay until he apologized for his behavior.

Hempe lifted his tankard to hide his laughter as Bess glanced back at Owen with a wink.

‘You’d best make your decision soon, else she’ll do it for you,’ Geoffrey noted, lifting his tankard to salute her as she weaved among the tables.

‘You would be right about that.’ Owen knew only too well the power of Bess’s will.

‘How many husbands has the fair Bess survived?’ Geoffrey asked.

‘Tom is her third,’ said Owen. ‘And no, you have not a chance with her, even were either of you free to marry.’

Hempe laughed low in his throat. ‘No southerner could ever tame that fine woman.’

‘Tame?’ Geoffrey feigned shock. ‘I should hope not.’

Owen welcomed their banter, turning his mind from the horrific ruin of Hoban’s body.

This angry silence. Alisoun wished Dame Lucie had not insisted Jasper escort her. But in truth she was grateful for the company, and for the light he carried. Her footsteps pounded on the gravel path as she matched Jasper’s quick pace through the garden, past the back of the apothecary, and out the gate that opened into the yard of the York Tavern. Two tipsy men stumbled past them, saluting Jasper and clumsily trying to bow to her. Something about them made her glance back. They’d not smelled of wine or ale, but something else, something …

‘Are you coming?’ Jasper waited for her behind the tavern, at the gate into the next yard.

‘Did you smell–?’ She stopped. The smell was stronger here. And the back of her neck tingled.

‘Drunks reek. Yes, I know. Come on, then.’ Jasper began to open the gate.

She touched his arm. ‘Were you not to stop in the tavern?’

‘I’ll do it on the way back.’ Jasper swung wide the gate.

Alisoun hesitated.

‘What?’

‘I don’t know.’ She fought the urge to rush back toward the well-lit, warm, raucous tavern. The night was so dark. She gathered her courage and brushed past him, into the Fenton garden. But the feeling intensified. She wanted to turn and run back to the tavern yard. It was torment to wait for Jasper to close the gate and join her.

‘More light,’ she implored. There were no lights in the Fenton house. The family were away in the country for the harvest.

Jasper opened the shutter on the lantern without argument, illuminating a hedge and beyond it an untended garden, redolent of rotting fruit and moist earth.

‘Something’s not right.’ Alisoun fought down bile and the urge to touch him for comfort. ‘I smell blood. On the ground just by the far gate. This side.’

He stopped suddenly, holding out his arm in a warning to stay back. ‘It’s a man. Beaten.’

She pushed past him. Bartolf Swann lay slumped against the gate. Blood had bubbled out of his mouth with his last breaths. He was still now, released from the pain of a knife in the heart, the clubbing that had caved in one side of his head. She knelt to him, whispering his name.

Jasper crouched beside her, shining the lantern on the battered body. ‘Are you certain it’s him?’

‘Yes.’

‘We need to fetch the captain and the bailiff from the York. Come.’ He rose and held out his hand.

‘I don’t like to leave him,’ said Alisoun.

‘He’s dead. There’s nothing you can do. And how do we know his attacker is gone?’

‘I don’t sense anyone here. I’ll be safe.’

‘If you’re wrong, I’ll be blamed. You’re coming with me.’ Jasper took her hand and tugged.

She did not resist, but as soon as she was standing she tried to free her arm. ‘I need to pray for his soul’s passing, as Archdeacon Jehannes taught me to do in the birthing room.’

Jasper held tight as he hurried her away from the body, not stopping when she faltered. She had never known him to be so rough.

And then they were in the tavern yard. She blinked in the sudden light as they approached the open doorway. Jasper handed her the lantern and ordered her to wait while he went in to fetch Captain Archer.

Owen was on his feet the moment his son appeared. Even from across the room he noticed the blood on Jasper’s linen sleeve, saw with what agitation he shook his head at Bess’s flood of questions. And was that Alisoun he’d glimpsed holding a lantern? She’d disappeared before he was halfway across the room.

‘Is it Muriel Swann?’ Bess was asking when Owen reached them. ‘Is the babe come betimes? Bartolf has already left. Did you not cross paths?’

Jasper shook his head as he turned to address Owen. Ghostly pale, he was.

‘It’s Bartolf Swann, Da. Stabbed in the heart, his head bashed in. By the gate into his yard from the Fenton garden.’

‘Dead?’ Owen asked, though he knew the answer by how Jasper’s voice broke as he described the injuries. The lad nodded, then crossed himself.

‘God help us,’ said Hempe.

Geoffrey was right behind him.

Tom already waited at the doorway with the lantern.

‘Where’s Alisoun?’ Jasper impatiently pushed the hair from his forehead. ‘I told her to stay.’

Owen put his hand on Jasper’s shoulder. ‘How did you find him?’

‘Alisoun was visiting and I was walking her back to the Swann house.’ His voice shook. ‘If she’s returned to him, I’ll–’

‘Did you hear anything?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Fetch a priest, son.’ St Helen’s was near. ‘Prayers must be said over the body before the soul departs.’

Jasper nodded and headed back through the yard.

Alisoun stood by the gate leading to the Swann yard, her lantern illuminating a woman on the other side.

‘For the love of God, Mistress Alisoun, he is my father.’ Olyf Tirwhit’s voice rang out. Hoban’s sister, she had married Adam Tirwhit, her brother’s good friend.

But Alisoun stood firm. ‘You must not move him until Captain Archer and the bailiff see how he fell.’

‘Dame Muriel is desperate to come to him,’ said Olyf. ‘You know how weak she is, you of all people. We must carry him into the house now.’ Two men stood behind Olyf, only partially visible in the light. ‘You do not want to draw her out into the night in her condition.’

‘That’s all we need is a Tirwhit meddling,’ said Hempe. ‘They go to law almost as often as the Braithwaites.’

‘It is her father on the ground,’ Owen noted. He stepped into the light. ‘Alisoun is right, Dame Olyf. It is important for us to see how your father fell. As soon as we have examined the area we’ll bring him to the house, I promise you.’

‘Thank you, Captain Archer.’

‘My son is fetching a priest.’

‘I’ve already sent for one.’ The woman bowed her head. ‘I did not mean to meddle,’ she said softly as she turned and departed with the two men.

Jasper returned, breathlessly announcing that the priest was on his way. And then he and Alisoun began to argue.

‘I’ll see to the lad,’ Geoffrey told Owen, slipping over, resting a hand on Jasper’s shoulder and having a quiet word.

Alisoun joined Owen. ‘I did not want to leave him here alone, with no one to pray over him.’

‘Pay Jasper no heed. We all express our grief in different ways.’

‘This puts me in mind of Hoban, such brutality,’ Hempe noted. ‘We need to find their common enemy.’

‘Enemies. This looks to me the work of more than one.’ Owen crouched down to feel Bartolf’s neck. ‘He’s still warm.’ He asked Tom to shine the lantern on the ground around Bartolf’s body. But it was too disturbed to pick out prints.

‘The ground’s well churned as if he fought them,’ said Hempe.

‘If only he had lived long enough to speak their names.’ Owen eased himself up and paced slowly toward the gate. There. Two partial prints, much larger than Alisoun’s, facing away. So at least one of them had departed through the Swann yard, bold cur. And something more, paw prints. By the look of them he’d had a dog with him, a large dog. ‘We might not have seen this had Dame Olyf and the servants come through, Alisoun.’ She wrapped her arms round herself, and he saw she was shivering. ‘Why don’t you go on to the house and see to Dame Muriel? Jasper can walk you.’

‘I can go alone. Look. There are torches in the yard.’

Geoffrey stepped forward. ‘Permit me to escort you, Mistress Alisoun. I’ll be of more use there, gauging the temper of the household, than standing out here trying to keep out of everyone’s way.’

They went through the gate arm in arm as the priest from St Helen’s arrived, dropping to his knees as he signed the cross over Bartolf’s shattered head.

Hempe unclasped Bartolf’s scrip from his belt and rose with a grunt. ‘I get too old for this. So says my wife, and tonight I would agree.’ As he handed it to Owen, coins rattled inside. ‘So it was not a robbery.’

‘Or Jasper and Alisoun frightened them away before they could search him,’ said Owen. ‘But such violence for the little he might carry.’

‘Would you talk to the family, take a look at Bartolf when we have him in a lighted room?’ asked Hempe. ‘You’ve more experience with something on this order. And you saw his son’s injuries. You might see similarities. I’ll bring in Bartolf’s body, talk to his friends.’

Now was the time to thank Hempe for the compliment but remind him he was the bailiff in York. Yet Owen felt himself nodding. Hoban, now Bartolf … This was an organized attack on a law-abiding family of York. He would not rest easy until the murderers were caught.

In the Swann yard the torchlight danced in a sudden breeze. Menservants stood on either side of the door of the two-story house, their daggers visible. As Owen had expected, they told him they had taken up the watch after Olyf Tirwhit had sounded the alarm.

Owen stepped into the hall. Muriel’s mother, Janet Braithwaite, stood with Olyf near the fire in the center of the room, the latter giving instructions to a small group of servants. Jasper and Geoffrey hung back toward the door.

‘Go warm yourselves,’ Owen suggested.

Nodding, the two moved toward the fire circle. Geoffrey was talking, and, head bowed, Jasper listened, nodded. God bless the man. He might be irritating at times, but he understood that the lad needed to be drawn out of himself, away from the memory of Bartolf’s shattered skull.

Olyf noticed them passing, then looked back toward the door. She nodded to Owen, the jewels in her crispinette twinkling in the firelight. Though tall and large-boned, she was a graceful woman with a way about her that caught a man’s eye. She gave some last orders to the servants, whispered to Janet, then came over to Owen.

‘They obey your orders,’ he noted.

‘They welcome someone telling them what to do at such a time.’

‘Of course. The bailiff has asked me to talk to Dame Muriel and the family.’

‘Alisoun is calming her. She wisely sent Dame Janet down here to calm the servants, but as you saw–’ She gestured toward Janet, who still stood staring into the flames. ‘It proved too much for her. I will send a servant for Muriel when father’s body–’ She seemed to choke on the word, and bowed her head for a moment, as if her sharp efficiency had been but an act she could no longer sustain.

‘Forgive me, Dame Olyf, but I hoped I might ask you a few questions.’

‘Of course.’ She told a passing servant to bring brandywine. ‘You want to know what drew me out to the gate in the dark.’ She waited for his nod. ‘I had been sitting in the hall waiting for Dame Janet – she was saying goodnight to Muriel. The fire – you can feel the heat. Too much! I stepped out for some air and saw Alisoun and the young man hurrying away across the neighbors’ garden. They leaned toward each other, but walked so quickly–’ Olyf glanced toward Jasper. ‘I thought they were young lovers, and regretted spying on them. But then – now I know they were running for help.’ She looked round. ‘Where is that girl with the wine?’ There were tears in her eyes. ‘Ah, here she comes now.’

‘I am sorry to ask you to recount such a discovery. Did you notice any movement elsewhere?’

‘I was so intent on them–’

‘Any sign of a dog?’

‘Father’s dogs?’

‘Had they been his, would they not have protected him?’

‘Yes, yes, they would. They are devoted to him.’ She had begun to pluck her sleeve as if uneasy.

‘We saw only one set of prints,’ said Owen. ‘A large dog.’

Her beringed hand rose to her throat. ‘They said my brother was attacked by a wolf.’

‘I do not give credence to the rumor of a wolf.’

‘I pray you are right. For certain I cannot see how such a creature might find a way into the city– Was Father bitten?’

‘We will know when we examine him.’ He asked whether anyone in the house had expected trouble, whether there had been any sense of danger, a stranger watching the house, anything that caused concern.

‘I know of nothing. My father and my brother were such kind men. They had no enemies, surely.’

‘As a coroner, your father might very well have made some enemies. But your brother would have no part in your father’s responsibilities as coroner, would he? Did he help your father in any way?’

‘No. Hoban had no interest in that. I had not thought about the danger of Father’s position. But he held it so long, without any trouble–’

The hall door opened to the servants bearing their master’s corpse. George Hempe and the priest followed close behind. In the light from the wall sconces, Bartolf’s injuries were all too horrific.

Olyf gave a little cry.

Owen bowed to her and followed the procession into the buttery off the kitchen, a place become too familiar. The servants placed Bartolf on the same stone counter where Hoban had so recently lain. Oil lamps and a lantern provided light for a pair of maidservants who stood ready to clean the body. Owen told them to begin with Bartolf’s face, so that he might see the extent of his wounds.

‘Bless you. Best to do this before Dame Muriel sees him,’ one of the women whispered to Owen.

It was a futile courtesy. There was no way to make pretty Bartolf’s ruined face, the crushed skull. One of the servants gently turned Bartolf’s head to the right, to hide the worst of the devastation.

‘God in heaven,’ Olyf whispered at Owen’s elbow.

He had not noticed her following him. ‘You might wish to forgo this,’ he said.

She crossed herself and hurried from the room.

Owen joined Hempe in a close examination of Bartolf’s wounds. The knife had been thrust with such force it had broken a rib. Blood clogged the old man’s mouth. A dog had clawed him high on his left thigh. Again, not Bartolf’s lawed dogs.

‘I would say a bodkin, narrow blade,’ said Hempe. ‘Do you agree?’

‘I do. But whether that killed him, or whether the shattered rib tore through his lung–’ Owen turned Bartolf’s face so that Hempe could see the blood in his mouth. ‘Or he might have choked on his own blood.’

‘He was such an old man. Who so brutally attacks an old man?’ Hempe asked. He rubbed his face. ‘I am so tired my eyes want to close on me. I will send men round to warn the wardens at the gates, and the night watch. Perhaps someone will have something for me in the morning.’

Out in the hall, there was no sign of Dame Olyf. Owen said goodnight to Hempe and went in search of the servants, asking whether anyone had accompanied Dame Olyf outside when she had discovered the body. All looked toward an elderly man who seemed reluctant to admit his part. Owen drew him out into the yard.

‘Dame Olyf said she heard something without. Told me to get a lantern and come out with her,’ said the servant. ‘The yard was empty, but there was a man out on the street with – I don’t know what it was – a wolf?’ He crossed himself. ‘He just stood there, looking back at us, then hurried off when I walked toward him with the lantern. When I turned, she’d walked to the gate. We saw two people hurrying off through the neighbors’ garden, young, must have been Mistress Alisoun and your son, and then Dame Olyf moaned to see Master Swann–’ The man’s voice broke. He dropped his eyes and crossed himself.

‘Is there anything else?’

‘She whispered, “Dogs again.” And something else, but I couldn’t understand it. But the dog, if it was a dog, had been out on the street.’ The man shook his head. ‘Then she hurried inside. Ordered us to arm and guard the house. And sent for the priest. I’d seen the man and beast before, I think, in the neighbors’ garden. Early one morning. Walking away, toward the York Tavern yard.’

‘Would you recognize his face?’

‘Never saw it, Captain. I’m sorry for that. But the dog, he looked like a wolf, I swear he did.’

‘You’ve seen wolves before?’

‘Have I–?’ The man screwed up his face. ‘Long ago. In the forest. Saw two run down one of the king’s deer.’

‘You said like a wolf.’

A nod. ‘Very like. But – I can’t say. Seemed wrong somehow.’

‘You’ve been most helpful.’

‘Master Swann was a good man, Captain. And Master Hoban. I pray you find who did this.’

‘The bailiffs and I will do our best.’

Curious that Olyf Tirwhit had not mentioned seeing the man and beast out on the street.

It grew late, and Owen had much to think about. He collected Jasper, who was pacing near the hall door. ‘Geoffrey deserted you?’

Jasper gestured toward the fire where Geoffrey lay stretched out on a bench, asleep. Hempe strolled over and gave him a boot in the leg, chuckling as the man snorted and sputtered in confusion.

‘I learned something that might be of interest,’ Geoffrey said as they made their way through the gate, guarded now by one of the servants. ‘The cook told me of a man and a large dog or wolf watching the house a few days ago.’

‘Standing in the Fenton yard?’ Owen asked.

‘Ah. You’ve already heard.’

The Fenton garden again. Because the family was away? It was next to the Swann home? The owners were kin to the steward of Galtres? ‘Would he recognize the man?’ Owen asked.

‘Said he saw his back.’

Owen cursed under his breath. ‘Did you tell this to Hempe?’

Geoffrey laughed. ‘That half-wit?’

‘He is no half-wit, my friend. And this is his investigation.’

‘He may believe it is his investigation, but mark me, Owen, the Braithwaites and the council will insist you take the lead.’

‘He’s right, Da,’ said Jasper. ‘When Dame Janet was departing with Dame Olyf she said as much, she would speak with the mayor and aldermen on the morrow, see that they offered you whatever you asked to solve the two murders.’

So everyone connected the deaths of father and son, even before hearing of the clawing.

Tom greeted them at the tavern door with a request to send Bess home. ‘She went to warn Lucie why you would be late home.’

Owen was grateful. In the confusion, he had forgotten she would have at least expected Jasper to return earlier.

Tom nodded. ‘She went for a favor and stayed for herself, it seems. I’d be grateful if you would tell her I want to lock up now.’

It was wise to lock up tonight. The city gates had been locked hours ago. Bartolf’s murderers were near, within the walls.

Geoffrey bid them goodnight and disappeared into the tavern. ‘He’ll tell you all he’s learned for the price of a pint of your best,’ Owen told Tom. ‘Though you might want to wait for Bess, else he’ll insist on two.’

Owen felt a weariness descend as he and Jasper crossed the tavern yard toward home.