A Conspiracy of Wolves

As they crossed back over the bridge, Geoffrey noted how folk watched them, ‘Or, rather, you. They bow to you, grateful for your protection. What is it like, having such a noble calling?’

‘Burdened by their faith that all will be as it was as soon as I’ve caught the guilty. It won’t. It can’t be. Men are dead, Hoban Swann’s child will never know his father, the Swanns’ lives are forever changed. And how many more will suffer?’

‘Ah. I am humbled.’

‘No. I am. I’ve discovered nothing of use. Nothing.’

They walked in silence for a while, until Geoffrey tapped Owen’s arm. ‘The prickly bailiff approaches.’

George Hempe strode toward them with two of his men, his expression grieved. ‘I’ve heard about Old Bede’s disappearance after leaving the York, heading for the King’s Staithe. My men will search the riverbanks up and downstream.’ Owen offered to help, but Hempe shook his head. ‘Janet Braithwaite awaits you at her house. Olyf Tirwhit and her husband Adam are with her, planning the Swanns’ burials. John Braithwaite’s expected by nightfall – he had business in Kingston-Upon-Hull. But Janet will brook no delays. She means to hire you to bring to justice the murderers of her son-in-law and his father. The mayor and council approve of her plan.’

As Jasper had said. ‘I will attend her this afternoon,’ said Owen. ‘Lucie should be back, perhaps with Alfred and Stephen. They might have noticed something on the river.’

Hempe nodded. ‘I’ll set my men to the search and join you at your house. I’d like to hear what your men have to say.’

‘You might ask the gatekeepers whether anyone arrived with a large dog yesterday, and whether they’ve left.’

‘I will.’

Owen thanked him and hurried down Coney Street.

6 A Matter of Conscience

In the early hours, after Dame Janet at last departed for her own home, Muriel fell into a deep sleep. Alisoun was sitting in a chair beside the bed, dozing fitfully, when one of the servants placed a blanket over her. The warmth was welcome, but steady sleep still eluded her. She’d dreamt of her parents, faceless, but somehow recognizable. Sometimes, when surprised by her reflection in water, she saw her mother in the set of her own mouth, her cheekbones, her hairline, and her father in the shape of her eyes and nose. But she could no longer put those features together into clear memories of their faces. How long would it take Muriel to forget Hoban’s appearance? Would she remember that her husband was handsome, but be unable to see what made him handsome?

Alisoun gently rubbed the ribbon edging of the scrip she wore to hold her medicines. Jasper had bought the ribbon for her at the Lammas Fair, and she’d sewn it to her scrip so that it would be with her wherever she went, reminding her that she was loved. She had felt so alone since her father’s death, the one person who had made her feel as if she had blessed his life. Magda was good to her, but Alisoun did not feel she had a place in the Riverwoman’s heart. Jasper’s love had been a revelation. She’d felt whole again. But she had ruined that when she lied to the father he respected above all others. Alone again. She tucked her hands beneath her and bit back tears, refusing to cry over Jasper. No, refusing to cry over her own fecklessness. She could think of no way to explain why she protected Crispin Poole, except that she had promised. Magda would never break a promise.

But would she have agreed to such a secret?

Was it just the promise? Wasn’t it more than that? He’d been bitten. A deep, bone-scraping bite. And he’d been shaken by the experience. That was not the reaction of a guilty man.

What she needed to do was prove his innocence.

Her charge stirred in the bed. Alisoun did not wish Muriel this awakening, as the horror and sorrow of the previous evening added to that of her husband’s death. She worried for the health of the baby.

‘Alisoun?’

‘I am here beside you.’

‘My husband. His father. Was it a dream?’

She felt the question like a hand squeezing her heart and heard Magda’s voice in her head, Breathe deep. Know her pain, but do not take it on. She needs thee sound, whole, strong, unwavering. ‘No. Not a dream.’ Alisoun took Muriel’s hand and guided it to her stomach. ‘Bring your heart here. Here there is life.’

Muriel pulled her hand from Alisoun’s and turned on her side as a sob racked her thin frame. Alisoun rose to gather the herbs for a morning tisane, then opened the door to tell the maidservant to bring hot water. And so a new day of grieving began.

‘Swam to Magda’s from the King’s Staithe? Most men half his age couldn’t do that.’ Owen had never believed half of the old man’s stories. ‘I underestimated him.’

Alfred laughed. ‘I’m not saying he wasn’t half dead when he washed up on the rock, and shaking so hard I built up the fire, wrapped him in blankets, and prayed he did not go from freezing to burning with fever.’