A Conspiracy of Wolves

‘Perhaps. But the manservant who raised the hue and cry is also missing,’ said Owen. ‘What do you know of her background?’

‘Nothing. I would not know where to tell you to search.’

‘The two of you were deep in prayer. For the Swanns?’

Brother Michaelo inclined his head.

Jehannes sighed. ‘That, of course. But you must know, I have just received word that our new archbishop, Alexander Neville, means to visit the minster after Martinmas. So soon!’

‘And you dread it.’

‘I do. He was insufferable as a prebend of the minster, but as Archbishop of York, heady with power … God help us.’ Jehannes made an apologetic face as he crossed himself.

‘God help us indeed,’ Owen muttered.

Michaelo sniffed. ‘I cannot believe Alexander Neville has anything to do with this tragedy. His nose is far too high in the air for him ever to lay eyes on a family such as the Swanns.’

‘I pray you are right,’ said Jehannes.

‘And yet …’ Michaelo paused for effect, catching Owen’s eye. ‘In inquiring about Elwin, the clerk Bartolf Swann used as his recorder, I learned that he has worked for several of the minster canons, including Alexander Neville. He’d had little work from him until Neville was campaigning for the archbishopric, and then his orders came from the family rather than the man himself. Kept him busy. He might prove interesting …’

‘Thank you, Michaelo,’ said Owen. ‘That gives me much to consider.’ Much unpleasantness. Was this a Neville battle? Why would they slaughter such a family? Michaelo was right, the coroner of a royal forest was beneath them.

‘There is one more thing about Elwin. While I was talking to him, he was called to the home of Crispin Poole.’

‘Oh?’ Owen was interested. Poole again.

Michaelo rose. ‘And I believe I might be of further use to you. A woman who goes by the name of Cilla has been biding in the minster yard for the past few days. Badly bruised face, when I caught sight of her.’ He raised a warning hand as Owen began to rise. ‘Not you, you are too noticeable, and not until sunset. Perhaps I might take Dame Lucie to her, to see whether there is aught she might do for the injury?’

‘You are a wonder, Brother Michaelo.’

The monk bowed his head and coughed, as if to hide his pleasure in the compliment. ‘I seek to serve.’

‘Bless you. I will consult Lucie. If she agrees, she will meet you here after sunset. I will escort her.’

‘Better that I escort her from your home, Captain. As if fetching her to someone in need.’

Owen glanced at Jehannes, who gave a subtle shrug.

‘Of course. Most prudent.’

‘And now I shall go see to some tasks.’ Michaelo bowed to Owen, to Jehannes, and withdrew.

Owen said nothing for a few minutes, absorbing the fact that Michaelo was aware of the poor who lived in shacks pressed up against the minster walls.

‘His penance,’ Jehannes said, softly. ‘He dons an old, threadbare habit and goes among them, offering some of his food, praying with those who ask. Difficult to believe?’

‘I had no idea.’

‘Nor had I. I saw him return one evening and asked what had happened – I thought he’d had some mishap, tumbled into the river, borrowed some old clothes at the abbey. He told me. Reluctantly. Since then I’ve learned a little from Brother Henry in the infirmary, things he learned from his teacher, Brother Wulfstan. You know Michaelo is of noble birth, Norman. One of twins. Both sons raised as if to be heir to the land, until Michaelo’s brother won over his father with his martial skill and popularity amongst his peers. Still, Michaelo, with his education and noble mien, expected money to cross hands ensuring him a swift rise in the Church in France or here in England. But something went awry, and he was sent off to a distant cousin in York, abbot of St Mary’s, a man of no influence.’

‘Abbot of St Mary’s? Campion?’

‘His predecessor, who died within months, leaving gentle Campion to deal with the resentful Norman whose cousin had decided he should begin humbly and prove his worthiness.’

‘It explains his resentment.’

‘And his contentment in John Thoresby’s service. If you do accept the prince’s offer … Well, you see why he is so eager to prove to you his worthiness.’

It explained a great deal.

7 Ripples in Time

Lost in the rhythm of grinding mother of pearl to a dust with her mortar and pestle, Lucie was not aware of Brother Michaelo’s presence until she paused to sip some well-watered wine. It was a dry, dusty chore.

‘Grinding pearls?’ he said, from his perch on a bench by the door, one of the few cleared spaces. Harvested plants and partially completed mixtures crowded the workshop as she prepared the apothecary for winter illnesses.

‘Brother Michaelo! Forgive me for not noticing you.’

‘I thought it best not to interrupt. Such a fine powder, I did not wish to be responsible for a disaster. Might I ask the purpose of such a powder?’