A Conspiracy of Wolves

The rain began just as they left the road. A cooling drizzle at first, increasing to a soft rain. The horses perked up away from the dust and noise of the road and by early afternoon the manor was in sight. From the crest of a hill Alan pointed out the main house and buildings. A substantial house, the base stone, the upper story timber, it looked much like Freythorpe Hadden just miles beyond. The stable and barn were large and well kept, the gatehouse just visible down a long, winding lane. ‘Over the next hill you will see the kennels. The mistress wanted them well away from the house and chickens,’ said Alan.

‘It’s too quiet,’ said Hempe.

Owen agreed. It was so still that the breath of men and horses, leaves catching the breeze, and the patter of rain were the loudest sounds. ‘Even in rain one would expect to see folk moving about between the buildings, right, Alan?’

‘Something is very wrong, Captain. It is never so quiet.’ Alan moved as if to mount his horse.

‘You will move when I give the order.’

Alan glanced round at the others. ‘I am worried about my wife.’

‘We’re here to protect them,’ said Alfred.

Owen nodded his approval to Alfred. ‘Besides the gatehouse entrance, there must be others, for farm wagons, the kennels?’ he asked Alan.

‘The farm wagons go through the gatehouse entrance,’ said Alan. ‘There’s a narrow track coming up from the south, unguarded, but fit only for a man on foot or mounted. No carts.’

‘And the kennels?’

‘Over the next rise, you’ll see the lane that leads to the kennels. Almost as wide as the main way, and smooth, to impress the wealthy coming to purchase hounds for their hunting packs.’

They remounted and moved on with care, riding down into the yard before the house. A small dog came rushing from the stables, barking a warning.

‘The mistress’s pup,’ said Alan.

Horses whinnied in the stables, some chickens clucked. So quiet. But no. Was it a trick of the wind? Or were those voices in the distance? Raised voices?

Owen motioned Alfred and one of Hempe’s men to find the source of the sound. He dismounted and entered the house with Stephen, Hempe and the others standing guard without. A substantial hall, old as that at Freythorpe Hadden, deserted but for an aged cat curled up near the fire circle. As he and Stephen crossed the room it reared up and hissed at them.

A voice called out from the passage leading from the hall to the service rooms, ‘Is someone there? I’m in the pantry, collecting pots for water.’

Following the voice, Owen startled a girl about Gwenllian’s age, causing her to drop two large wooden bowls on the rush floor. He held up his hands, showing her he had no weapon.

‘Might I pick those up for you?’ he asked.

The fierce look in her eyes reminded him of Elaine Braithwaite.

‘I am Owen Archer, captain of bailiffs in York.’ Not that he’d decided, but he thought it might reassure her. ‘And this is one of my men. We are here to help. Are your parents here?’

‘Why do you ask?’

‘They left York early this morning with a man from the kennels. Galbot.’

‘The kennels.’ The girl sobbed. He noticed now that the scarf that held back her fair hair was damp as if she’d been out in the rain.

He approached with care, crouching down to pick up the bowls, setting them on a shelf beside her. Then he took her hands, looked up into her eyes. ‘What has happened here, child?’

‘Men took the hounds this morning and set fire to the kennels. We’re trying to put it out before it spreads to a hay barn nearby. My brother took some men to search for the hounds. We can hear them. The fire has frightened them.’ Her voice broke.

‘But the hounds are clear of the fire?’

‘Must be.’

‘Are the strangers still here?’

‘Don’t know. Will they hurt us?’

‘Not now that we’re here. Where were you going with this – what is your name?’

‘Alice. Everyone on the manor formed a chain from the fishpond to get water to the fire.’

‘How far is it, Alice?’

‘Just over the next hill.’

‘Were the strangers on horseback?’

‘Yes.’

‘Courage, Alice. My men will go to the kennels.’

‘God watch over you!’

Stephen was already hurrying back out through the hall, calling out to Hempe what he’d heard.

Alfred was out there, telling a similar story, but he’d heard that three men – and a beast that walked upright – were still at the kennels, watching the approach. He’d sent his companion to alert the water line that they were coming, not to interfere.

The seven set off at a gallop.

From the next rise the burning kennels were visible, smoke filling the valley, and now Owen could hear the dogs, barking, though not frantic. He ordered Alan to take one of Hempe’s men and follow the sound, find the dogs.

‘Do not confront anyone,’ Owen ordered. ‘Report to me at the kennels.’

Alan chose Pete, and the two rode down into the dale.

‘Why are we hesitating?’ Stephen asked.

‘The wagon,’ Alfred noted, pointing to a point far from the kennels. ‘Two men running toward the fire.’

‘Three men on horseback await them,’ said Hempe.

Otto, Rat, and who? Someone from the manor? Cilla?