A Conspiracy of Wolves

As they walked into the garden Lucie caught sight of a sweet group on the long bench that ran below the large window in the hall: Gwenllian and Hugh crowding round a small figure with Emma in her arms. Magda’s multi-colored robe glimmered as she rocked Lucie’s youngest.

To come to them this day, in their hour of need, this was no accident. Lucie’s heart steadied. All would be well. There was magic in the woman, she had no doubt.

In the hall, fierce eyes met Lucie’s over Emma’s sleep-tousled hair. ‘So Bird-eye comes to the aid of a city haunted by the wolves of their darkest dreams.’

‘Did you doubt that he would, when the time came?’ Lucie asked.

Magda kissed Emma’s forehead. ‘He protects what he loves.’ She handed Gwenllian her sleeping sister and rose, shaking out her skirts. ‘Come. The king’s man can describe all that he witnessed on the way.’

‘I thought I was “the poet” to you,’ said Geoffrey.

‘Now and then.’

As they moved through the garden and out into Davygate, Geoffrey described what had happened.

‘Euphemia Poole? If she is aware of Magda’s presence, she might curse thee for it. But mayhap she will be too desperate to care about an old pagan healer crossing her threshold.’

As Lucie reached up to knock on the door of the Poole home it opened. A disheveled woman, a servant by her simple gown, welcomed them with such emotion Lucie suggested she sit down.

‘No time. The captain said you would be coming, Mistress Wilton, though he did not mention you, Dame Magda. I am so glad you have come. Your apprentice lies injured, Dun is trying to keep her awake. Come. I will escort you.’

It was Geoffrey who led the procession through a narrow passageway to the garden door, providing Lucie an opportunity to speak with the woman, ascertain that her name was Eva, long in service for the family, as was Dun, the man who was now singing hymns out in the garden.

‘My mistress – she will not welcome Dame Magda,’ Eva said as they reached the open doorway.

‘I will see to her, Dame Magda will see to the others,’ said Lucie as she stepped out the door.

And paused, taking in the grim scene. Dame Euphemia lay to her right, crumpled against the house, one leg bent beneath her, her white hair undone, draping over her arms. Ten strides beyond, Alisoun lay with her head cradled on the lap of the singing manservant, her face pale as death. Dun sighed and fell silent when he saw them. A few strides from Lucie a man lay face down, an arrow through his neck.

‘Deus juva me,’ she whispered, crossing herself.

She felt Magda’s hand warm on her shoulder. ‘A troubling sight. Magda will see first to Alisoun. Thou shouldst examine the dead, in case Bird-eye missed a hint of life.’ Magda took the basket from Lucie’s arm.

Crouching down, Lucie felt for a pulse, a breath, but found no sign of life. She peered at what was visible of the dead man’s face. Nothing about it to make him noticeable, no scars, warts, neither handsome nor repulsive. Not familiar. He had the hands of a laborer, clothes made for utility, not show, not too clean. River mud on his shoes. Brown, thick hair beneath a leather hat.

She felt Eva hovering behind her. ‘Did Captain Archer examine him?’

‘Much as you just did,’ said Eva. ‘Then he told us you would be with us soon and went off after the man and the wolf, toward St Andrewgate. Dun told him where to go.’

Lucie joined Magda, who was kneeling beside Alisoun, listening to her heart, using her hand to feel her breath. Suddenly she snapped her fingers close to one ear. Alisoun jerked, a slight movement, but her eyelids did not flicker.

Lucie took that as a bad sign.

‘Master Chaucer ordered me to sing to keep her awake, but I failed,’ the singer said. His voice was going hoarse with the effort.

A tisane of bark oil and horehound later, Lucie thought.

‘Thou art called “Dun”?’ Magda asked.

He nodded.

‘Magda thanks thee for thy care, Dun. Now rest thy voice. Magda will soon relieve thee of thy charge.’ Lucie watched as Magda slipped a bony hand beneath Alisoun’s head to lift it, running her free hand across the blood-soaked area, grimacing at what she felt. Gently she continued, examining Alisoun’s hands, wrists. Looking up at Geoffrey, who had joined them, she asked, ‘No time to break her fall?’

‘She dropped her weapon too late.’

Kneeling down beside Magda, Lucie followed her lead as they cleaned Alisoun’s wound, dressed and bandaged it, saw to her other injuries – bruised hip, grazed elbow – and dribbled into her mouth a tisane that would calm and strengthen her. Now and then her eyelids flickered, but she did not wake.

‘How she fares within … We cannot know until the child wakes.’ Magda’s pale eyes were sad.

Biting her lip, Lucie bowed her head, silently praying that God grant Alisoun her life. She might do much good with her healing skill.

‘Art thou praying?’ Magda asked in a soft voice, pressing Lucie’s hand when she admitted that she was. ‘Magda does as well, in her own way.’

‘She has become dear to me.’

‘To Magda as well.’