A Conspiracy of Wolves

The name caught Alisoun’s attention. ‘Adam Tirwhit? He is your master?’ Not her place to question, just to heal, according to Magda, so she’d not asked the name of Wren’s employer.

‘So he is.’

The back of Alisoun’s neck felt prickly. Providence? So her mistress was Olyf Tirwhit, part of the circle Dame Muriel had spoken about. ‘The murders – your master and mistress have reconciled in their grief?’

‘No, it’s not like that. He’s accused her of having a lover. He watches her. Angry.’ She leaned close again, though they’d both kept their voices low as they stood beneath the eaves of a house next to the chandler’s shop. ‘She slips over to the house he leased next door whenever she has a chance. She pretends it’s the aged widow Poole she’s visiting, but she fusses with her hair and her clothes before she goes.’ A knowing nod.

Crispin Poole was her neighbor? Had God sent Wren to her? Or … Alisoun almost backed away. Wren seemed too eager. It was of course possible that Crispin was Olyf’s lover. Or she feared that whoever had murdered two of her kin might aim the next arrow at her own heart, and Crispin, a former soldier, might protect them. Though he had but one good arm … Alisoun had heard Captain Archer say that a soldier injured in the field went on.

‘But the troubles began after he returned, so no one else trusts Crispin Poole. Neither her brother nor her father did, may God grant them rest. I pray my mistress is not walking into danger.’ Wren grasped Alisoun’s arm. ‘Are we in danger?’

Alisoun was now convinced that it was no accident Wren had discovered her here. Had she been scheming from the start? Coming to Alisoun the very night Hoban Swann was murdered? Keeping her from rushing out when she heard the dogs? ‘I doubt you need fear for yourself. But if you see anything that seems a threat to your mistress, you might send me word.’

A hesitant nod, then more vigorous. ‘I will. I want to help.’

‘Bless you. I am biding at the Swann home on Coney Street. Dame Muriel is with child, and with all that has happened she felt the need of me. Her losses – her husband, his father, I fear she might succumb, and lose the baby.’

‘Poor woman.’ Wren wiped her eyes with her sleeve.

‘She and Master Hoban waited so long for this child. But Captain Archer means to find the murderers,’ said Alisoun, ‘and if there is anything I might learn to help him …’

‘So I should bring word to you about anything that I learn about Dame Olyf and Master Crispin?’

She was keen to focus on them. ‘Or anything that happens at either house that does not seem as it should. Any strangers loitering about.’

‘Strangers,’ Wren whispered.

‘Yes. Can you do that?’

‘I can, Mistress Alisoun. But why are you here in the market when the Swanns are to be buried this morning at St Helen’s? Does Dame Muriel not need you?’

Was that what she was after this morning? ‘I might ask the same of you. Did Dame Olyf not need your help dressing?’

‘She woke me before dawn to dress her, then left with the master to be with the family. Did you not see her?’

‘No.’

‘Oh, perhaps they went to the Braithwaite home.’

‘And you are not attending her today?’

‘Blessed be, no. But I must be on my way, I’ve much to do before they return this evening.’ She began to turn away, then stopped, staring at a man emerging from an alleyway close to them.

Alisoun shifted feet to see beyond the people milling about in between. A servant’s dress, patched, something handed down from his master, a large wart on the side of his nose.

‘Who is that?’ Alisoun asked.

‘Who?’

‘You held your breath as you watched him, you know of whom I speak.’

‘I– He was out near the midden last evening. I shooed him away.’

‘He was in the Tirwhit yard last evening?’ Alisoun tried to keep her voice steady. That wart … She recognized him. He had once come to Magda for savine, a type of juniper, so he might make a paste to remove the wart, he said. Magda had refused him, for it might also be used as a poison, offering a paste of houseleek instead. He had brushed it away, demanding the savine. Tie a toad round thy neck, Alisoun had snapped. Red-faced and cursing, he’d hurried off, slipping and sliding across the rocks to the riverbank in his blind fury. Magda had chided Alisoun. Insult a seeker with a useless charm and he’ll never return. Alisoun had not known it was useless, though she admitted she’d meant to insult him. What do you mean, a seeker? Magda had looked at her, disappointed. Thou’rt not such a fool as to believe he was after a cure?

‘He was lurking back there,’ said Wren, ‘watching the houses. Both of ours.’

There was more to the memory – Magda had muttered something about Bartolf the coroner being a fool for keeping him. Was he Joss, the missing servant? ‘You said you shooed him away?’ she asked. ‘What did he then?’

‘Backed away into the dark.’ Wren gave a little shiver.

‘Did you tell your master or mistress?’