A Conspiracy of Wolves

Two cloaked figures stood behind him.

‘I am coming.’

Lucie sat up now, her hair tumbled about her bare shoulders.

Owen kissed her. ‘One of Hempe’s young men.’

‘I heard.’

Dressing as he headed to the door, Owen was opening it when something hit him in the shoulder. His eye patch.

Lucie smiled. ‘You don’t want to frighten them.’

‘He deserves it.’ Hurrying down in his bare feet, Owen nodded to Magda, who stood at the bottom of the steps. ‘Trouble in the Bedern.’

‘Trust thyself, Bird-eye.’

The cloaked figures preceded Corm through the door, the taller one throwing back her hood.

‘Honoria.’ Even at such an hour, she had a grace to her.

‘I have someone you will want to talk to. I warn you, in the night she painted herself. But though she looks it, she is not the king’s fool, I assure you. Might we sit down? I have a tale to tell.’

Painted herself? Owen took them into the kitchen so as not to disturb Alisoun and Magda in the hall. Kate was already stoking the fire. As they settled round a table, the smaller figure pulled back her hood. He thought she looked more like a cat than a fool, the skin round her eyes darkened with face paint that arched upward toward her temples. Her nose was painted a pale brown. It was one way to disguise blackened eyes and a swollen nose.

‘And you are?’ Owen asked.

‘Wren, sir.’

‘Adam Tirwhit’s maidservant,’ said Honoria. ‘But she was born in the brothel, before I owned it. Cilla is her mother, father unknown until last night, when Wren pronounced him to be Joss, who had found her and beaten her for betraying her uncles.’

‘Let me guess. Roger and Galbot?’

‘Yes. He blamed her for Roger’s death, and that because of her Euphemia Poole had escaped serious injury and her home is now too well guarded for them to remedy that. So today they intend to deal with Gerta’s murderer, then return for Euphemia after Crispin Poole lets down his guard.’

Owen took a moment to digest this. So many pieces of the puzzle, yet the most important– ‘Gerta’s murderer. Did she say who that was?’

Honoria’s raised brows expressed her surprise. ‘You know this Gerta? I was at a loss.’

‘A young woman murdered twenty years ago. An innocent man was hanged for it. Bartolf Swann gathered and presided over the coroner’s jury who condemned him.’

‘Bartolf,’ said Honoria. ‘I see. No wonder Cilla left when they appeared.’

‘When was that?’

‘More than a year ago. Galbot and Roger – they are kin to the condemned man? Or to Gerta?’

‘A tale for another time.’ Owen had been watching the young woman, how she looked round the kitchen, smiled at Corm, who grinned back like an idiot, but did not help Honoria with her narrative. ‘What I need to know is where your father and your uncle are headed, Wren,’ he said, leaning toward her. ‘Would you tell me?’

She looked up at him, blinking the cat eyes, shrinking into herself. He had that effect on some people.

Honoria turned to Corm. ‘He says it’s Paul Braithwaite who is in danger.’

‘Why do you think that?’ Owen asked Corm.

‘Wren mentioned the killing of a guard dog – Tempest? – being just a warning. When I asked her what she meant she went quiet, said she’d already talked too much.’

‘When did the two of you talk?’ Honoria demanded.

‘She came out for some ale when I’d come down from – you know,’ said Corm. ‘I told her who I was. We talked a while.’

So that is how they became so cozy. Owen hoped it was just talk.

Kate set a jug of ale and five cups on the table. ‘To fortify you.’

All four helped themselves, thanking her for her thoughtfulness. Owen wondered about the fifth cup, but understood when Lucie stepped through the door.

She carried his bow and a quiver of arrows. ‘Magda said you might need this. Was she right?’

‘She was. Bless you.’

Lucie kissed him and then laid the bow and quiver on the table as she welcomed Honoria to their home. As Owen introduced Wren and Corm, Lucie nodded. ‘Magda would like Wren to come into the hall, speak with Alisoun.’

‘She is awake?’

‘Yes. And she wishes to speak to you,’ Lucie said, holding Wren’s gaze. ‘I’ve sent for Brother Michaelo. I believe we might like a written account of all we learn from this young woman.’

Puzzled, Owen took Lucie aside. ‘How do you know so much?’

‘Magda. Do not ask me how she knows these things. I cannot explain.’

Wren rose, asked to be taken to Alisoun. ‘I want to ask her forgiveness.’

Kate offered to escort her. As they left the room, Lucie turned back to Owen. ‘She is in danger?’

‘Wren is injured. The paint covers it.’ He told her what he knew so far.

The young woman was soon back in the room. Her posture had changed, straightened, her gaze direct.

‘Brother Michaelo is here,’ Kate announced, stepping back to allow him in.

‘How did you come so quickly?’ Lucie asked.

Michaelo bowed to her, shifting a pack he wore slung over one shoulder. ‘I was at prayer. Jehannes believed it wise to interrupt me. It is urgent, I trust?’ He glanced round the room, stopping at Wren. ‘This is not some jape?’