A Conspiracy of Wolves

‘You are deserting us, Captain?’ Elaine Braithwaite cried, reaching a hand up to touch his arm. Short and plump, she seemed a child dressed up in her mother’s elegant robes, until one noticed the lines crossing her forehead and radiating from her dark eyes. She’d borne five children to Paul Braithwaite, raising them in the vicinity of his aggressive dogs – that must cause some discomfort between them.

‘There are guards all along the way,’ Owen assured her, ‘and one of my best men right here at your door.’

Janet Braithwaite patted Elaine’s arm. ‘Do not fret. The captain will protect us.’

‘As my husband’s beloved Tempest could not,’ said Elaine, turning aside.

He’d never before heard the word ‘beloved’ spoken like a curse, but the sentiment did not surprise him.

‘Enough about Paul and his dogs,’ Olyf muttered, calling out to a servant to fetch the master of the house.

On his way to the Swann house, Owen ordered one of the bailiff’s men to stand watch at the Braithwaites’ door. Stephen was now to escort the family gathered in the hall to the Swann residence, then on to the church if Owen had not yet joined them there.

As he walked, Owen decided to include Alisoun in the discussion with Ned. He might tug at her conscience with the tale of the murdered dog. She was particularly fond of dogs, which had concerned him when she cared for Gwenllian and Hugh. His daughter would return from walks with Alisoun excited about all the dogs they had met, describing them in such detail that it was plain she had petted them. Owen objected. Anything larger than a lapdog would have been trained to guard its owners, not engage with strange children. Time and again he had made his position clear, time and again Gwenllian came home with stories of large dogs who were ‘so friendly’, Alisoun assuring him that she could tell a dog’s nature, he must not worry. He had been relieved when they had hired a new nursemaid for the children. But he knew Lucie missed Alisoun; neither Maud, nor her recent replacement Lena, were as adept at controlling Gwenllian and Hugh by engaging them in something that excited them. That had been Alisoun’s gift. In Owen’s opinion it came at a price.

Unfortunately, Alisoun was away. Ned said she’d hurried off moments before. Owen told him about the dog.

He looked sick at heart. ‘Two houses away, yet I heard nothing in the night.’

‘Neither did anyone in the Braithwaite household, apparently.’

‘Then it was done with practiced stealth. God have mercy.’ Ned crossed himself.

‘If Alisoun returns, tell her, but impress upon her that she must say nothing about this to Dame Muriel. Trust that Janet Braithwaite knows the best for her daughter.’

As the bell in St Helen’s Church began to ring, George Hempe and a fellow bailiff led the procession from the Swann home, followed by the coffin-bearers – John and Paul Braithwaite, Adam Tirwhit, the two York coroners, the king’s forester of Galtres, and two of Hoban Swann’s household servants. The women of the households followed, and behind them, Owen, turning his head this way and that, checking for trouble with his one good eye.

Neighbors lined Coney Street and spilled into the lanes along St Helen’s churchyard, heads bowed, honoring the lives of two good men of the community. As Owen passed the apothecary, Lucie appeared, falling into step beside him.

‘Moments like this, all the neighbors …’ Lucie’s voice caught.

‘Moving, but dangerous. If one of them rushed forward with a knife, or set dogs on the gathering, and others entered the fray to help, no matter how well-meant–’ He stopped as they entered the church.

‘All is well,’ Lucie assured him.

Too well. He did not like this quiet.

‘Here,’ Lucie whispered, guiding him to the left rear corner. ‘We can observe the family without too much notice.’

Bless her. Blinded in his left eye, this spot afforded him the greatest range of vision without too much turning of the head.

Muriel Swann, slender and pale, placed her hands on her husband’s coffin. Her father drew her away, his arm around her, protective, loving. She shrugged him off and straightened, but in a moment her sob broke the silence. Her mother was quickly there, offering a scented linen, speaking softly to her.

‘Where is Alisoun?’ Owen wondered aloud.

When Lucie said nothing he turned to see what had her attention. Her gaze was fixed on Olyf and Paul, who had their heads together, whispering. As Owen watched, Elaine Braithwaite elbowed her husband. With what must have been a muttered curse and a look that spoke of more than the usual marital discord, Paul straightened. After an uneasy glance round that Owen just avoided missing, Olyf returned her attention to the priest.

The service continued uninterrupted, the families on their best behavior.

And Owen fought to keep his seat, his entire being shouting that he should be out on the streets, that the murderers would take this opportunity to deepen the family’s pain. He told himself he had sufficient men on watch. But it was little comfort.