A Conspiracy of Wolves

‘When your son frightened her with his dogs.’

‘Paul? What had he to do with this?’

‘You didn’t know she’d almost drowned a few days earlier?’ Owen told him of the cruel joke.

‘Paul?’ Braithwaite was far away for a moment, then shook his head. ‘I cannot recall his behavior at the time, except that he was angry with Crispin. So angry.’ He stopped, as if something had occurred. ‘I did wonder whether an argument among the friends had sent him off, fuming. You know how passionate youth can be about nothing. Or perhaps – I thought it might have been Crispin who had blinded Paul’s hound, though my son never named him.’ Braithwaite drained his cup. ‘But why are you asking about this?’

‘Because one of the men who attacked Euphemia Poole was Warin’s son, Roger. He’s now dead.’

A jerk, as if John felt the news as a physical strike. ‘Warin’s son? Warin had a family?’

‘Why would you presume otherwise? A man desperate to feed his family – that is the usual cause for breaking the law of the forest among the common folk.’ Owen made an effort to speak without rancor, though the man had raised his bile.

‘I never wished to sit on the jury.’

‘But you did. Why?’

‘I did it because Edmund Poole–’ Braithwaite frowned at something on the ceiling. ‘Now I think of it, he threatened to reveal some mischief our sons had got into. Or so Euphemia told my wife.’ He returned his attention to Owen, leaning toward him. ‘These attacks– Is Paul in more danger?’

‘I cannot say. You might have mentioned the dogs that had gone missing earlier, the burnt bones left at your son’s gate.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Paul said nothing to you of the dogs gone missing before all this began? A few days later their burnt bones were left at the gatehouse?’

Braithwaite was breathing too hard. ‘It began with Paul?’

‘John, are you–’

Pressing his hand to his heart, Braithwaite struggled to rise, but collapsed back on the chair, breathing shallowly. Owen knelt to him, asking how he could help.

‘Brandywine. Table by the window.’

As soon as Owen saw that John Braithwaite was able to lift the cup to his mouth and sip, he went in search of Janet Braithwaite, who was ministering to her son.

‘Your husband is ill. His heart, I think. Should I send for his physician?’

‘Because your wife and the Riverwoman dare not leave Euphemia’s side?’

‘No, because they are in the process of settling Alisoun Ffulford in my home,’ Owen answered in a quiet voice. ‘I thought your physician might come more quickly.’

Janet looked chastised. ‘Forgive me. I don’t know where to turn first. I will send a servant for Master Saurian. Do the job I hired you for, Captain. Find the monsters who would tear us down.’

‘I will explain later, but I warn you to be careful of any servants who have not been in your household, or your daughter’s, a long while. Watch them, say nothing of importance in their presence.’ He nodded to her and withdrew.

‘It’s Galbot, that’s who he speaks of,’ he heard Elaine say. ‘If that scoundrel returns, lock him in the cellar.’

It was with a sense of escape that Owen stepped out of the Braithwaite home into the gathering twilight. He paused at the spot where Tempest had bled to death. What might motivate a man to slit the throat of an animal entrusted to his care? The unjust execution of his father might carry him to such an act. It was possible Galbot was Warin’s son. If so, the brothers had sustained a long simmering anger, waiting almost twenty years for Crispin’s return, and then planned a slowly unfolding series of attacks to sate their hunger for vengeance. That required great discipline.

His conversations had opened up new questions for Owen, and what he wanted most now, besides the comfort of his home, was quiet in which to gather his thoughts.

‘Captain!’

Stephen and Alfred came striding toward him.

‘A servant went running past,’ said Stephen. ‘Has there been another attack?’

‘Summoning a physician. John Braithwaite’s heart gave way to the news that his son might still be in danger.’

‘Not dead?’

‘No, God be thanked. The long day took its toll. I told him far too much at once. He could not cope.’

‘What did you tell him?’ Stephen asked.

‘The captain needs a rest,’ said Alfred, poking Stephen in the ribs. ‘A better question is what would you have us do now?’

‘Find Hempe, tell him to have a few men watch this house.’

‘You think they’re next?’ asked Stephen.

‘I believe they were the first.’ He told them about the mastiffs, the bones.

‘Burnt the hounds?’ Alfred whistled. ‘Why?’

‘A clever choice if they wanted to use the dogs in these attacks. The bones might be those of any animals. Who will look so closely? It was enough to make Paul call off the search. My guess is Galbot slipped them away to his brother.’

‘Galbot’s in this? He’s Roger’s brother?’

‘I believe so. Or some relation. He pretended to search, then set up the bones to end it.’

‘Clever,’ said Stephen.

‘And Tempest? He slit his throat as well?’ asked Alfred.