A Conspiracy of Wolves

It was a subdued gathering at the long tables set up in the Swann hall, the servants silently bringing in food, wine, ale.

Lucie leaned close to Owen. ‘Notice the order of the seating. A slight? Or a thoughtless error?’ On the dais sat Dame Muriel, flanked by her parents, her brother and his wife. Braithwaites all. Olyf Tirwhit, daughter and sister of those they honored at the feast, was seated down the table.

‘Either way, she feels the arrow,’ he said, nodding across the table at Olyf, who sat bolt upright with a stiff smile as guests paused to speak with her before taking their seats.

As Muriel rose to address the gathering, Elaine Braithwaite interrupted her.

‘My dear, I have just realized our error. Come, Paul, we have taken the places meant for dear Olyf and her husband. Forgive us, Muriel. The emotions of the day–’ She bobbed her head and drew her confused husband from his chair, gesturing for the Tirwhits to take their places.

Muriel bowed her head as the Tirwhits and Braithwaites changed places, but not in prayer. Owen could see how keenly she watched the exchange. Elaine settled across from Owen, Paul beside her.

Lucie touched Owen’s leg. ‘Make use of this. Find a moment to speak to Paul Braithwaite.’

Perhaps God did smile on his efforts this day.

As she turned into Low Petergate, Alisoun slowed her pace, beginning to question her impulse, trying to recall the image that had flashed in her mind, the danger that led her to bring her bow and a quiver of arrows. Magda encouraged her to pay attention to such forebodings, though not necessarily to act on them. Beyond Christchurch she paused. She knew the Tirwhit house. She’d accompanied Magda there when Adam was ill with a fever. His wife had been a pale presence, hovering in the shadows. Alisoun recalled thinking the woman was uneasy in Magda’s presence. Not unusual. She was wondering whether Adam Tirwhit’s home was the one nearer the church or farther away when she noticed Geoffrey Chaucer ambling past the nearest one, then turned to walk down the street beside it, his pace slowing, his head cocked as if he were listening to something. Curious, she headed for him. As she reached the house she thought she heard a woman’s cry, then – a growl? If it was a growl, it came from a large dog. Forgetting the man who’d drawn her attention to the house, she slipped into the alleyway beside it. Drawing her bow and quiver of arrows from the bag, she fastened the loose end of the string, drew an arrow, slung the quiver over her shoulder so that she could reach for more arrows if needed, and crept down toward the sounds of a struggle.

As Owen glanced round the laden table he noticed Paul Braithwaite down two goblets of wine in quick succession, whisper something to his wife, and rise abruptly, swaying as he glanced round, forcing his large, liquid brown eyes wide as if he might see more clearly, and tugging down on his short jacket as if it might assist him in balancing.

At the risk of insulting the man, Owen darted round and caught him as his first step went awry. He steadied him on his feet. ‘I wonder whether I might impose upon you as an expert in hounds?’ he said, nodding to the curious Elaine Braithwaite to reassure her that he would see to her husband. He guided him down the table, past the servants moving about the kitchen, and out into the back garden.

With a muttered excuse, Paul Braithwaite rushed toward the privy and into the small enclosure. Owen heard a brief, unpleasant exchange within, and a young manservant burst out the door holding one hand over his cock, the other tugging at his leggings as he hurried back to the kitchen.

Pacing the perimeter as he waited for the man to emerge from the privy, Owen greeted the bailiff’s man standing at the far end.

‘The lad – Ned, he’s sitting on the steps to the solar, watching the Fenton garden next door,’ said Hempe’s man. ‘Worried about Mistress Alisoun. She returned from market, fetched a pack, and left again – almost running when I saw her head through the back gardens. Toward the tavern yard.’

Owen could not understand why on this of all days she had vanished. Tempted to send Ned off searching for her, he reassured himself that with all the men set round the city and at Magda’s house someone would be alert to trouble wherever Alisoun might be. ‘Did she look round to see whether she was followed?’

‘Nay.’

Thanking him, Owen settled on a bench far enough from the privy that the stench was masked by the pleasing scents from the kitchen, strong enough that his stomach growled in anticipation.