A Conspiracy of Wolves

Michaelo removed his hand. ‘I offer you assistance and you insult me?’

Owen threw up his hands. ‘I mean it as no insult. I am in earnest.’

Michaelo sniffed. ‘I seek only to redeem myself in working for the community.’

‘You would not take delight in hindering the loathsome Leufrid?’

‘You are not listening to me. I seek to atone for my sins. Pride, ill-will – what you suggest, that way lies damnation.’

And who was Owen to push him from his path? ‘I meant only – your wit is refreshing. Laughter is a balm most welcome in my work.’

Michaelo gave him a long look down the length of his noble nose. ‘My expressions of scorn amuse you?’

‘Oddly, yes. I miss the Michaelo who scoffs at fools.’

‘Even when you are the target? You, the one on whose broad shoulders all would lay their burdens?’

‘Would it not be virtuous to tutor me in humility?’

A pause. ‘I will pray over the matter.’

Owen was glad to hear a lighter note in Michaelo’s voice for he might be quite an asset. It amused Owen that all the while he’d thought Thoresby kept Michaelo as a penance, he had in truth harbored a bloodhound.

‘So Antony of Egypt is your friend?’ asked Michaelo.

‘He was the old duke’s good friend. I knew him in the field. An expert on obscure weaponry. I suppose the prince finds him useful. Or did in Aquitaine. But what is he doing here?’

‘If Prince Edward knows of your friendship, I would guess Antony is here to improve on Chaucer’s efforts to recruit you.’

‘You don’t trust Chaucer.’

‘I trust few men, and even fewer women. Children, not at all.’

Owen chuckled, a gift on such a trying day.

‘I am pleased you are amused.’ Michaelo sniffed.

They had reached the Swann home.

‘If you learn anything I should hear at once, come to me at the Braithwaite home, two houses away,’ said Owen.

‘I know the place. Shall I drop a line in the water, see what bites?’

Already taking Owen’s request to heart? Owen told him about Wren’s apparent connection to Roger and his fellow attacker, how she had been seen talking to them. ‘It has me wondering about all the servants. Galbot – I will ask about him. See if you can learn when Joss and Cilla joined Bartolf’s household. And when the Tirwhits hired Wren.’

With a bow, Michaelo glided into the yard of the Swann home.

Skirting the hall, where John and Paul Braithwaite were loudly trading insults, Owen followed the servant to the garden, where Elaine Braithwaite sat beneath the graceful limbs of a young oak, straight-backed and bristling as she watched the house.

‘Captain?’ She began to rise, attempting to shake out the wrinkles in her costly gown, a futile effort that almost toppled her. She might just be drunk enough to speak freely.

‘Might I join you for a moment?’ Owen slipped onto the bench beside her and stretched out his legs with a sigh. ‘May we soon see an end to this troubling day,’ he muttered.

‘Has the widow Poole proved ungrateful for your interest?’ A slight slurring of words proved Owen correct about Elaine having availed herself of the fine wine at the feast. ‘Watch yourself with that one,’ she said. ‘People pity her, a widow, blind, her son returning a cripple, but she is sly, cruel.’

‘You consider Crispin Poole a cripple?’

‘Do I offend you? Surely you do not see yourself in him. The loss of one eye is a small thing – and that scar and patch only enhance your appearance.’ She reached toward him, as if to touch his cheek, then remembered herself. ‘But a hand, a useful arm.’ She touched Owen’s forearm. ‘Such strength. Your wife is most fortunate – I see how you regard her, the warmth in your eyes, how the two of you lean toward each other, sharing your thoughts, laughing at each other’s wit. Paul thinks only of his precious hounds. Heavenly Mother, what is it with some men and their hounds? I love my children, Captain, never doubt it, but Paul is the bane of my life.’

‘He is caught up in grief over the killing of Tempest?’

Elaine squeezed his arm. ‘You would think it had been his child the way he moans and tears up at the mere mention of the monster. But it’s only the latest.’

Only the latest. This is what he’d come to hear about. ‘Tempest was not the first to die?’

‘Oh, no. A fortnight past a pair of his prized mastiffs went missing. You would think–’ A shrug. ‘As I said, he regards them as his children.’

‘A pair went missing? Did he search for them?’

‘I am surprised he did not think to hire you – but you were – oh, forgive me, you have a recent loss. Dame Philippa. She was a kind, God-fearing woman.’

‘We do grieve her passing,’ said Owen. He let the silence fall. Patience. Then, ‘Has Galbot returned?’

‘Galbot.’ A snort. ‘He is almost as mad regarding the hounds as Paul, though it is his job. No. He is still on the loose.’

‘How long has he worked for your husband?’

‘A year? No longer than that. Ungrateful wretch. Paul hired him as a favor to Bartolf. He came with the dogs, you might say. You know that Paul recently bought a few dogs from the old man? Wolfhound bitches, Aphrodite and Circe. Such names!’