A Conspiracy of Wolves

‘So they were not the pair that went missing?’

‘No. Not Bartolf’s beloveds. May his soul rest in God’s love.’ She crossed herself. ‘Bartolf had no need for a servant dedicated to the two dogs he had left. Galbot needed work. Paul hired him.’

‘How had Bartolf come to hire Galbot?’

‘The servant Cilla coaxed him to hire the man. I only know because Paul made such a fuss about him, how his previous master’s loss was Paul’s gain, the man was so good with hounds, how he wished to thank Cilla.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I know no more of him. I have nothing to do with the kennel.’

‘The two who went missing – did Paul hold Galbot responsible?’

‘I did. But the man knew how to please his master, wailing almost as loudly, rushing about searching for them. He beat his chest, he was responsible, having trained them.’

‘So he thought they’d run off?’

Elaine frowned, swaying a little. ‘Perhaps that is what he meant. I didn’t care. Two less, good riddance.’

‘Did he find them?’

‘Bones. Burnt bones left at the gate a few days after they went missing.’ She stopped, forced a smile, and rose.

Owen turned to see who approached.

‘My dear.’ Elaine’s voice was suddenly sickeningly sweet. ‘I have just been asking the captain about Dame Euphemia.’

Paul Braithwaite walked toward them with the exaggerated care of one who fears falling flat on his face. But where Elaine simply seemed wobbly, he seemed on the verge of a faint. ‘And how is the old bitch?’ he slurred, blinking at Owen.

‘Husband! You shame me with such speech.’ Elaine excused herself and swept off to the house.

‘Bitch. She despises everything that puts all that silk and velvet on her fat shoulders.’

‘She tells me that Tempest was the third of your hounds to die of late.’

‘Did she? Bitch.’ Paul slumped down beside Owen. ‘Though it is true.’

‘Burned, she said.’

‘And the bones left at the gate. Handsome mastiffs. How I will replace them I know not. Already paid for. I’d just completed their training.’ Paul groaned. ‘And now Tempest. Someone threatens my kennels. I leave in the morning. I’m worried about the others.’

‘And you did not think to tell Hempe or me?’

‘Hempe. Pah. He’s already chosen Crispin as the mind behind all this. He might be elevated to the council with this one.’

‘Tell me about Gerta.’

A choked silence. Paul turned on the bench to stare at Owen. ‘That pathetic– Crispin told you. Of course he did. Saint Crispin, rescuing her from the flood. He blamed me, but he was part of the plan. We meant only to teach her a lesson.’

‘How do you know he blamed you? He says he did not see you again until he returned this summer.’

‘His bitch of a mother told me, didn’t she? She threatened to tell the tale if Father did not agree to be on the coroner’s jury when the filthy little whore was found strangled and tossed into the Ouse. All Euphemia cared about was that the blame didn’t fall on her precious Crispin. You can’t blame me for Gerta.’

‘What I think is of no concern to you. It’s Warin’s son Roger and his accomplices.’

‘Warin?’

‘His son attacked Dame Euphemia.’

A stunned silence. Paul had gone gray. ‘God help us.’

‘The other escaped. I don’t know who he was.’

Paul tried to rise, but he was shaking too hard. ‘I must see to my hounds.’ A sudden retch, and he doubled over, spilling out his spleen.

Elaine Braithwaite burst from the house, running to him. ‘Help me carry him into the house, Captain.’

As Elaine and her maidservant fussed over Paul, Owen took John Braithwaite aside.

‘I wondered. What is your memory of the coroner’s jury in the death of Gerta, the daughter of the charcoal-burner in Galtres?’

Braithwaite had been sitting at ease with a cup of brandywine. ‘Who?’

‘Shortly after Crispin Poole went away.’

‘Oh, that vixen. Why bring up that old story?’

‘What do you remember?’

‘She’d been leman not only to the poacher but to the sergeant of Galtres. Tasting the high and the low, that girl. But her death, that was not right.’

No slurring. That was a relief. Dealing with two drunks was more than enough for one day.

‘Did you believe the evidence against Warin?’ Owen asked.

‘Believe? He pretended to foster her, Archer, and then took her. Goldbarn learned of it from her. She was so frightened. But he did not act swiftly enough.’

So that was how they’d framed it. ‘Goldbarn claimed she told him this and he’d meant to protect her?’

‘Do I detect disbelief, Captain? On what grounds?’

‘Did he have evidence?’

‘You know how coroner’s juries work. Warin was judged a danger to the community.’

‘So said Goldbarn, who might have otherwise been suspect. Or was there someone else?’

‘Goldbarn? Well, the man was a rogue, it’s true, but …’

‘Anyone else?’

‘I suppose Crispin Poole. It was his father who presented the charge.’

‘As for that, would it not have been easy enough to prove Crispin had already departed when this happened?’

‘Tricky. She was murdered just a few days after he is said to have left the city. But he might have lingered in the forest.’

‘To what end? He’d risked his life saving her the first time.’

A frown. ‘The first time?’