A Conspiracy of Wolves

Bess had joined the group of friends at Owen’s table, but kept an eye on old Bede as he stumbled back in from the yard. ‘A round on the house for my good friends,’ she told a passing servant, gesturing round the table. ‘We could all use it after that scurvy pizzle spouted off,’ she growled.

Geoffrey choked on his ale.

Bess patted him on the back. ‘A pity to waste Tom’s ale up your nose, Master Geoffrey.’

Beside them, Owen watched Bede and Crispin Poole crossing paths. Bede bobbed his head to Poole, who ignored him and walked out.

‘I don’t blame Poole. That old fool Bede cannot bear seeing folk enjoying themselves,’ Hempe muttered.

‘Scurvy pizzle, spouting off, oh, my dear Mistress Merchet, you are a poet,’ said Geoffrey, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. ‘But the old man means no harm, does he?’

‘He is not good for business,’ said Bess. ‘You saw Crispin Poole take his leave. And Bartolf Swann. And now his companions.’ She nodded to the stonemasons as they passed. ‘Folk come here to forget, not be minded of the day’s miseries.’

‘To be fair, it’s common knowledge that dogs played a part in Hoban’s death,’ said Owen. ‘For once the old gossip is merely repeating what he’s heard.’

‘To what purpose? That’s my point,’ said Hempe.

‘He wants attention,’ said Bess, ‘and with neither wit nor charm all he has is his knack for annoying.’ She slipped a hand over Owen’s. ‘Am I to have a bailiff living next door?’

‘I will not be hurried in this decision, Bess. Not by you, nor George, nor the aldermen.’

‘Or Lucie?’

‘Even my beloved wife.’

Bess patted his hand, and as she rose called out to her husband, ‘Tom! You have left your bailiffs high and dry.’ She pretended to misunderstand Owen’s protest. ‘These are on the house, my friends. It is a good night and I am feeling bountiful.’

By the time Lucie rose to see Alisoun to the door Kate had lit the wall sconces against the night. ‘I don’t want you walking through the city without escort. Jasper will accompany you to the Swann house.’ He was good with dogs.

‘Me?’ Jasper did not bother to hide his irritation.

Not much more than a month past Lucie had worried that Jasper, who was only eighteen, might be too eager to ask for Alisoun’s hand, long before he reached the level of journeyman. Even then his earnings would be modest. Perhaps she need no longer worry.

‘I hadn’t meant to still be out after dark,’ Alisoun was saying.

Lucie assured her it was no problem. ‘On your way back, peek into the York, Jasper, see whether your father is still enjoying his evening with George and Geoffrey or whether he looks as if he’d welcome an excuse to escape. If so, tell him he is needed at home. He will come.’

Nodding glumly, Jasper closed the books and kicked back the bench.

‘I would offer you a more congenial escort if I could,’ Lucie said to Alisoun, ignoring Jasper’s glare. While he was gone she would return Nicholas’s garden journals to the chest in her bedchamber where they would stay until he apologized for his behavior.

Hempe lifted his tankard to hide his laughter as Bess glanced back at Owen with a wink.

‘You’d best make your decision soon, else she’ll do it for you,’ Geoffrey noted, lifting his tankard to salute her as she weaved among the tables.

‘You would be right about that.’ Owen knew only too well the power of Bess’s will.

‘How many husbands has the fair Bess survived?’ Geoffrey asked.

‘Tom is her third,’ said Owen. ‘And no, you have not a chance with her, even were either of you free to marry.’

Hempe laughed low in his throat. ‘No southerner could ever tame that fine woman.’

‘Tame?’ Geoffrey feigned shock. ‘I should hope not.’

Owen welcomed their banter, turning his mind from the horrific ruin of Hoban’s body.

This angry silence. Alisoun wished Dame Lucie had not insisted Jasper escort her. But in truth she was grateful for the company, and for the light he carried. Her footsteps pounded on the gravel path as she matched Jasper’s quick pace through the garden, past the back of the apothecary, and out the gate that opened into the yard of the York Tavern. Two tipsy men stumbled past them, saluting Jasper and clumsily trying to bow to her. Something about them made her glance back. They’d not smelled of wine or ale, but something else, something …

‘Are you coming?’ Jasper waited for her behind the tavern, at the gate into the next yard.

‘Did you smell–?’ She stopped. The smell was stronger here. And the back of her neck tingled.

‘Drunks reek. Yes, I know. Come on, then.’ Jasper began to open the gate.

She touched his arm. ‘Were you not to stop in the tavern?’

‘I’ll do it on the way back.’ Jasper swung wide the gate.

Alisoun hesitated.

‘What?’

‘I don’t know.’ She fought the urge to rush back toward the well-lit, warm, raucous tavern. The night was so dark. She gathered her courage and brushed past him, into the Fenton garden. But the feeling intensified. She wanted to turn and run back to the tavern yard. It was torment to wait for Jasper to close the gate and join her.