A Conspiracy of Wolves

‘A person wearing a skin, some claws – fear can twist our minds to see what we expect,’ said Lucie.

‘How do you think he, or they, chose the order, and how they attacked?’ Owen asked.

‘If it is vengeance, Roger – and perhaps his brother or a cousin – considered Bartolf as much to blame as Euphemia – or more so. First her son was attacked, but the way he described it, it was a gesture, meant as a warning. Warin might have told his children the tale of Crispin’s brave rescue. Then Bartolf was made to suffer his son’s murder – or perhaps that was a mistake, corrected the next night when Bartolf was taken. Paul’s dogs were the spark, so he lost a dog. Then Euphemia, but Roger had not counted on Alisoun. The Tirwhits’ maidservant Wren is a puzzle. If she watched the house, had Roger placed her there? Was it she who learned of Crispin’s summons?’

They were interrupted by passing folk telling Lucie that they prayed for Alisoun. She reassured them that she and Magda were caring for her. A few asked after Dame Euphemia. More were concerned about their own safety. Owen told them that he and George Hempe had their men searching for the man and dog. As happened since Bartolf’s murder, some folk reported sightings of fearsome beasts in the streets, or, more typically, in the alleyways. Owen had come to disregard them after Hempe’s men exhausted themselves hunting down phantoms. And if the beast were a woman in costume …

At the house, Geoffrey rose from the floor, where he had been entertaining the children. Brother Michaelo sat on the bench outside the long hall window, in the shelter of the linden.

‘Escaping the children,’ Lucie quietly commented to Owen. ‘He winces when they speak, as if their high voices offend him.’

‘Our children might just save his soul,’ Owen said, winning a surprised laugh from Lucie.

But levity soon vanished as the children observed Alisoun being carried in, their faces puckered in fear, while Geoffrey attempted to report all he’d observed. Lucie hugged Gwenllian and Hugh and whispered assurances.

Owen rubbed the scar beneath his patch, the familiar shower of needle pricks joined now by a pressure between his eyes, as he listened to Geoffrey’s description of Paul Braithwaite’s face when he heard about the men who’d attacked Euphemia Poole. Owen could not quite gauge Paul’s part in all this, but it felt more significant than an old resentment regarding his dogs. Michaelo wanted to tell Owen something, in private, something he thought important. Owen put him off, telling him he hoped to return within the hour, asked if Michaelo could stay that long.

‘I could, I’ve little else to do, but I would rather be of help than stand about waiting for a moment to speak.’

Lucie looked up from Alisoun’s pallet. ‘I’ve a favor to ask. Would you inquire about Muriel Swann? Find out whether she needs me?’

‘As you wish,’ said Michaelo, following Owen to the door. ‘And while we walk, I can briefly give you my news.’

Moving out into the garden, Owen said, ‘I take it you did not want someone in that room to hear what you have to say?’

‘It touches on Geoffrey Chaucer.’

Owen listened with interest as they walked. Geoffrey visiting a lodging in the Bedern that housed clerics used as messengers between the religious houses in York and Westminster, London, Canterbury, and elsewhere was interesting, but not unexpected.

‘And one thing more,’ said Michaelo. ‘Dom Jehannes had word of an important visitor biding at Holy Trinity Priory – the new archbishop’s secretary, Dom Leufrid. He arrived yesterday in the company of an emissary from Prince Edward, Antony of Egypt, who is biding at St Mary’s Abbey.’

Forgetting himself, Owen slapped Michaelo on the back. ‘So it is Antony.’ An African scholar and military genius, Antony and Owen had enjoyed each other’s company at Kenilworth when Owen was in Grosmont’s service.

‘This means you are pleased?’ Michaelo asked.

‘I am indeed.’

‘But I tell you nothing new.’

‘I was not certain it was him. All I knew is that Gisburne traveled with Leufrid and a Moor in Prince Edward’s service.’

‘A Moor?’ A shrug. ‘There is one more item. Dom Leufrid is my kinsman. The one who robbed me of the money my family had provided to buy me a position of responsibility in one of the large abbeys near London and Westminster, set me on the path to become a prior or abbot.’

‘This man you despise is our new archbishop’s secretary?’

‘As I was to John Thoresby, he is to Alexander Neville.’ Michaelo laid a hand on Owen’s forearm. ‘If you mean to protect York from this Neville, I would use all my knowledge, my connections, and my diplomatic skill to assist you. And I might dare say, I have been known to hold my own in a physical encounter.’

Owen had not forgotten how he did so on a dangerous journey long ago.

‘Whether you work for the prince or the city, I wish to serve you, Captain.’

Seizing the moment, Owen asked, ‘Might you find it in your power to shake off the penitential gloom, approach it with more mischievous glee?’ He grinned.