A Conspiracy of Wolves

‘Someone came up to you and told you he’d seen a wolf in the forest? And your dogs running loose?’

‘Zactly.’

Had one person really given him both pieces? Or had Owen just put the idea in his head?

‘Did you tell anyone about this when you came home?’

‘Hoban.’

Bartolf attempted to pour himself more ale. Owen took the jug and poured a small amount into the bowl, then set the jug out of Bartolf’s reach.

‘Were you and Hoban alone when you told him?’

‘Why d’you ask?’

‘I am hoping that you described the man who stopped you on the street, might even have said his name, and someone here in the house overheard.’

‘What man?’

Owen closed his eye and prayed for patience. Changing the subject, he asked, ‘Where does Cilla live?’

‘Oh, Cilla. She works for many, not just me.’ Bartolf reached up to scratch his head, found he was still wearing his hat. ‘Bloody – I kept this on to remind myself to go back out there, search for Zeph and Pol.’

‘My men will search for them at first light, Bartolf. Tell me, are they lawed?’

‘Course they’re lawed. Three claws cut off on each paw, poor fellows, but that’s the rule of the forest. See? That’s why I worry. Joss – he doesn’t remember they can’t defend themselves against wolves or dogs who haven’t lost claws. Shouldn’t be in the wood, not like that, but I’ve heard howling and I fear– Then this man, he said a wolf is about. Hoban went to bring them home.’ Bartolf sucked in breath. ‘My son.’

Quickly, before the man began to sob, Owen asked him who he used as a scribe.

‘Elwin. He clerks at the minster. I’d send for him when I had need.’ Bartolf touched his hat and began to scramble to his feet. ‘My dogs.’

‘I told you, my men will search for them at first light. You stay here tonight. Get some rest. Stay safe. Muriel needs you.’

‘Oh, aye, the poor bairn. Aye.’ As Owen was rising Bartolf grabbed his arm. ‘First light? You swear?’

‘They will spend the night at the Riverwoman’s house and go forth at dawn. I swear.’

‘Bless you, Captain. Bless you.’

Owen patted him on the shoulder and took his leave, promising again to search for the dogs. Bartolf, slumped, did not look up.

Alisoun handed Dame Janet a cup of wine and then moved to the window of the bedchamber, opening the shutters for some air. Her heart jumped as Captain Archer strode out from the kitchen, taking off his hat as he paused in the back garden and raked back his hair. The dark curls were threaded with silver that caught the late-afternoon sun. So handsome. Lucie Wilton was a most fortunate woman. Alisoun fought the urge to hurry down to catch him, tell him she’d been frightened, but she’d thought better of it and wanted him to know that she had prepared that salve for Crispin Poole after he was attacked by a large dog. The captain would do all he could to protect her, and Poole as well, if he was innocent, she knew that. All she need do was run down.

But she just stood there, watching him don his hat and stride off.

3 Salves, Barbers, Secrets

Home at last, God be thanked. Owen paused at his garden gate, watching his two eldest race round the tall linden in raucous play. He took advantage of their distraction to slip into the workshop behind the apothecary, hoping that Jasper might have a moment to examine the salve. It was even possible that he’d prepared it.

He heard voices, but the shop appeared empty until he looked beyond the counter and saw his son placing small packages into a basket held by a young woman. They spoke quietly, but the tone was playful, teasing. When the basket was full, Jasper took it from her arm and carried it as he escorted the young woman to the door, bowing as he handed it to her. She blushed up at him, then hurried out into the street with a soft Benedicite.

When had Jasper grown so tall, and so courtly? With his fair hair ever tumbling in his eyes, he still seemed a lad to Owen, but he was a man now. Eighteen.

Owen strode forward into the shop.

‘Da!’ Jasper looked satisfyingly happy to see him. ‘Is it true Hoban Swann was felled by his own dogs?’

The rumors had begun. ‘I am not certain what happened, but I doubt his dogs were the attackers. Unless Zephyrus and Apollo have mastered the use of a dagger. I would appreciate your not spreading that round.’

‘That the dogs are gods, running loose with daggers?’ Jasper laughed. ‘Who would believe such a tale? Have you found them?’

‘No. I’ve found precious little for my pains.’ It was Owen’s turn to grin. ‘She is pretty.’

A vivid blush, the curse of such fair skin and hair. ‘She is betrothed to a blacksmith. Fortunate man. He’ll never deserve her.’

‘And you would?’

‘My heart belongs to a brown-haired, brown-eyed healer.’

Pity, Owen thought. ‘Speaking of whom, Alisoun said this was not her preparation. Perhaps yours?’ He drew out the pouch, opened it, placed the parchment on the counter.

Jasper bent down to sniff, glanced up. ‘Safe to handle?’

‘I am unharmed. I smell boneset and betony. What do you think?’