A Conspiracy of Wolves Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  Previous titles by Candace Robb

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Maps

  Dramatis Personae

  Epigraph

  Chapter One: The Dogs in the Night

  Chapter Two: A Clearing in the Wood

  Chapter Three: Salves, Barbers, Secrets

  Chapter Four: A Rumor of Wolves

  Chapter Five: Between the Wolf and the Dog

  Chapter Six: A Matter of Conscience

  Chapter Seven: Ripples in Time

  Chapter Eight: Old Soldiers and Intrepid Maids

  Chapter Nine: A Dog in the Night

  Chapter Ten: Lying Dead in the Garden

  Chapter Eleven: An Old Enemy

  Chapter Twelve: Gerta

  Chapter Thirteen: Bitter Words

  Chapter Fourteen: Into the Flames

  Chapter Fifteen: A Conspiracy of Wolves

  Chapter Sixteen: Diplomacy

  Chapter Seventeen: A New Beginning

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  Footnotes

  Previous titles by Candace Robb

  The Owen Archer Mysteries

  THE APOTHECARY ROSE

  THE LADY CHAPEL

  THE NUN’S TALE

  THE KING’S BISHOP

  THE RIDDLE OF ST LEONARD’S

  A GIFT OF SANCTUARY

  A SPY FOR THE REDEEMER

  THE CROSS-LEGGED KNIGHT

  THE GUILT OF INNOCENTS

  A VIGIL OF SPIES

  A CONSPIRACY OF WOLVES *

  The Margaret Kerr Series

  A TRUST BETRAYED

  THE FIRE IN THE FLINT

  A CRUEL COURTSHIP

  The Kate Clifford Series

  THE SERVICE OF THE DEAD

  A TWISTED VENGEANCE

  A MURDERED PEACE

  * available from Severn House

  A CONSPIRACY OF WOLVES

  Candace Robb

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  First published in Great Britain and the USA 2019 by

  Crème de la Crime an imprint of

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

  Eardley House, 4 Uxbridge Street, London W8 7SY.

  This eBook edition first published in 2019 by Severn House Digital

  an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited

  Trade paperback edition first published

  in Great Britain and the USA 2019 by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD.

  Copyright © 2019 by Candace Robb.

  The right of Candace Robb to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-78029-115-4 (cased)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-78029-607-4 (trade paper)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4483-0224-6 (e-book)

  Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

  This ebook produced by

  Palimpsest Book Production Limited,

  Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland

  For my readers.

  Dramatis Personae

  Owen Archer’s and Lucie Wilton’s household

  Owen Archer (Captain Archer) – former captain of guard and spy for the Archbishop of York

  Lucie Wilton – master apothecary; Owen’s spouse

  Gwenllian, Hugh, and Emma – Owen and Lucie’s natural children

  Jasper de Melton – Owen and Lucie’s adopted son and Lucie’s apprentice

  Dame Philippa – Lucie’s aunt, recently deceased

  Kate – Lucie’s housemaid

  Lena – the children’s nurse

  Alfred and Stephen – former members of archbishop’s guard, Owen’s lieutenants

  Tildy – Kate’s sister, formerly Lucie’s housemaid, now wed to the steward of Freythorpe Hadden

  The Riverwoman’s household

  Magda Digby (aka the Riverwoman) – midwife and healer

  Alisoun Ffulford – apprentice to Magda Digby

  Rose and Rob – temporary caretakers; Kate’s twin siblings

  The Swann household

  Bartolf – patriarch, coroner of Galtres

  Hoban – merchant, Bartolf’s son

  Muriel – Hoban’s spouse

  Olyf – Bartolf’s daughter, Adam Tirwhit’s spouse

  Joss – servant

  Cilla – servant

  The Braithwaite household

  John and Janet Braithwaite

  Paul – son, married to Elaine

  Muriel – daughter, Hoban Swann’s spouse

  Galbot – Paul Braithwaite’s dog trainer

  Alan – servant

  Ned – bailiff’s man, temporary servant

  The Tirwhit household

  Adam Tirwhit – merchant, brother-in-law of Hoban, son-in-law of Bartolf

  Olyf – spouse, daughter of Bartolf Swann

  Wren – housemaid

  The Poole household

  Crispin – merchant, former soldier

  Euphemia – widow, Crispin’s mother

  Eva – servant

  Dun – servant

  Residents of Galtres

  Gerta – daughter of charcoal-burners

  Warin – poacher, and his children

  Churchmen

  Jehannes – Archdeacon of York; Owen’s good friend

  Brother Michaelo – former personal secretary to Thoresby

  *John Thoresby – former Archbishop of York (deceased)

  *Alexander Neville – newly appointed Archbishop of York

  Dom Leufrid – secretary to Archbishop Neville

  *Abbot William – abbot, St Mary’s Abbey

  Brother Oswald – hospitaller, St Mary’s Abbey

  York residents

  Bess & Tom Merchet – owners of the York Tavern

  Old Bede – regular at the York Tavern

  Winifrith – Bede’s daughter

  George Hempe – city bailiff and merchant, wife Lotta

  *Gerard Burnby – coroner for York

  Honoria de Staines – owner of a brothel near the Bedern

  *John Gisburne – merchant, MP

  Royal household

  *Geoffrey Chaucer – in York on a mission for Prince Edward; Owen’s friend

  Antony of Egypt – member of Prince Edward’s household

  *real historical figures

  ‘Humans are inclined to see our own species as embattled; we are locked in an eternal struggle in which we defend our own “culture” against the elemental, animal forces of “nature.” And for millennia, our fellow apex predator, the wolf, has been forced to serve as a symbolic stand-in for all of nature, red in tooth and claw.’

  – Laura D. Gelfand

  ‘What do folk see when they see a wolf, Bird-eye? The animal? Think again.’

  – Magda Digby

  ONE

  The Dogs in the Night

  York, Autumn 1374

  The
river mist curled round Magda Digby’s rock in the Ouse, dimming the reds and golds of sunset, distorting sound, creating shifting shapes that danced at the edge of Alisoun Ffulford’s vision, chilling her fingers until they were too stiff for the close work. She gathered up the feathers, arrow shafts, and knife with which she had been fletching and returned them to her work basket, then paused, her hand on the door latch, listening to dogs baying. Upriver, she thought, in the Forest of Galtres. ‘May they be safe,’ she whispered. Like St Francis of Assisi, she felt a bond with animals, so much so that Magda handed over to her all animals brought to the house on the rock for healing. Alisoun preferred these patients to the human ones. Their needs were clear, they did not try to mask their illnesses, and, once healed, gladly departed without complaint or blame. She strained to hear the sounds beneath the dogs’ baying. A man’s angry shout. Another. The same voice? She could not be certain. The dogs continued as before, which she took to mean they were unharmed. Good.

  She lifted her gaze to the blank eyes of the upside-down sea serpent on the bow of the ship that served as the roof of Magda Digby’s house. A cunning choice of building material, the part of the ship with the figurehead. The sea serpent was widely believed to have magical powers. Not that Magda ever confirmed or denied it, but as folk had the same suspicion about her, their unease about the sea serpent and the Riverwoman gave them pause about crossing either one. Nodding to the enigmatic carving, Alisoun whispered, ‘Whoever disturbs the night upriver will not dare trespass here.’ A subtle draft and a warmth on the back of her neck, as if the figurehead responded in a gesture of reassurance, felt rather than seen. There had been a time when such feelings had frightened her, but that had passed as she learned to trust to the mystery of Magda Digby’s healing gifts. Now, she took it as a blessing.

  Stepping inside, she traded the damp chill and rich, earthy scent of the tidal Ouse for an aromatic warmth, the brightly burning fire teasing out the scents of the dried plants and roots hanging in the rafters to dry. Earlier, she had escaped from its warmth to the cool, fresh air without; now, chilled by the mist, she was grateful for the heat, and the homely familiarity. But she was not at ease – the dogs baying in that eerie mist …

  She steadied herself by calling to mind the remedies for dog bite and checking her supplies. Although Magda said folk knew to give guard dogs a wide berth, there was always a first time. Betony for the bite of a mad dog, pound in the mortar and lay on the wound. Or plantain. Vervain and yarrow to be mixed with wheat. Burdock and black horehound need salt. Calendula powder in warm water to drink. She had plenty of betony and calendula powder. Though unlikely to need it, she arranged them on the work table, preferring to be prepared.

  Now to her evening meal. The fragrance of the stew pleased her. She had learned to use herbs to season her cooking, making almost anything palatable, even a coney that some would have rejected as too old and gristly for the stew pot. With Magda away, Alisoun felt obliged to stay close to the small rock island in the tidal river, so that she might not miss those who came to the Riverwoman’s house for healing. She dared not range too far afield in hunting for food, making do with fish and small prey like the aged coney that had appeared on the riverbank nearby.

  She paused with her spoon halfway to her mouth as a lone dog began to bark, an angry sound, and then a man’s startled shout, followed by a loud curse, a few more cries, more pain than anger. Then silence. Alisoun lowered her spoon, bowed her head, and pressed her shaking hands together in prayer. She stayed there until she felt the tremors quiet.

  Though Magda scoffed at prayer, she encouraged Alisoun to use her apprenticeship to develop her own skills as healer, not become a second Magda. All that goes before shapes thee. Even thy habit of prayer. Magda honors that. Alisoun had little faith that her prayers were heard – God and the Blessed Mother had stood aside while she lost all her family to the pestilence. But something in the words, the ritual, comforted her.

  According to Magda, to pay attention to how Alisoun felt about her choices was to heed her inner wisdom, whence came her gift for healing. Her gift. Long had Alisoun yearned for even a morsel of encouragement from Magda. The faith implicit in this instruction had been hard won. In the beginning, Magda merely offered Alisoun shelter, let her observe as she might, and then sent her away to serve as a nurse for Captain Archer and Lucie Wilton’s children, and as a companion to successive invalids. Praying that they were tests, Alisoun had done as she was told – though not without frequent complaint. And though Magda had warned her time and again Thou hast fire in thy eyes, and it is blinding thee, she continued to invite Alisoun to observe her, and, in time, to attend her. The turning point had come at the deathbed of Archbishop Thoresby, where Alisoun had served as the Riverwoman’s assistant. From that time forward, Magda referred to Alisoun as her apprentice – and sometimes simply as a healer.

  Looking back, Alisoun wondered at Magda’s patience, and did her best to deserve her gift. She was keenly aware of the trust Magda placed in her, staying behind to see to all who came to the Riverwoman’s rock while she was away. So far Alisoun had done well, challenged only by her usual doubts about her ability, her calling to be a healer. Not when at work – when tending the ill or injured she thought of nothing but how she might best serve. Her doubts arose in the quiet moments. Pray God that was the worst of it. If she disappointed Magda, she did not know what would become of her. Magda steadied her, coaxed her into believing in herself. Without her …

  Too much thinking. She finished her modest meal and tidied up, then settled on a stool by the fire and tried to empty her mind, listening to the fire snap, the house creak as it settled for the night, the drying herbs rustle above in the draft from the unglazed windows. With the tide out, the sounds of the river receded to a soft gurgle. Until this evening she had welcomed this part of her day. But the solitude wore thin. She missed Magda and looked forward to her return.

  The Riverwoman had accompanied Lucie Wilton and her family to her late father’s manor to the south, Freythorpe Hadden. It was a somber traveling party, escorting the body of Philippa, Dame Lucie’s aunt, for burial. The elderly woman had died in her sleep after a long decline, cared for all the while by Dame Lucie. Most fortunate woman. When Alisoun served as nursemaid in that household she had at first chafed under the old woman’s watchful eye, but in time she had grown fond of her. Dame Philippa loved to tell tales, and would hold Alisoun’s hand in both of hers as she reached the conclusion, leaning close and looking straight into her eyes. The tales had taught her so much about the important families in York that the city felt less foreign to her – having grown up on a farm upriver, it was a gift.

  So many gifts, so undeserving.

  Alisoun was roused from her reverie by the clatter and squelch of someone stumbling on the slippery rocks that led from the riverbank on the north to Magda’s rock at low tide. The earlier unease returned, and she fought the impulse to string her bow and ready an arrow as she rose to fetch a lantern. But recalling Magda’s training steadied her. Those seeking a healer should be greeted with open arms, not an arrow aimed at their heart.

  In response to a firm rap on the door Alisoun swung it open, lifting the lantern high as she intoned, ‘All who seek healing are welcome here.’ Magda need not bother with such greetings. Her mere presence reassured the supplicant. But Alisoun did not yet have that gift.

  A man stood on the porch, blocking the fading light. ‘I seek the Riverwoman.’ Pain constricted his voice. He stood slumped, one arm cradled in the other.

  ‘I see you are injured. Dame Magda is away, but she has entrusted me with the care of those who come seeking her,’ said Alisoun.

  Adjusting the lantern so that she might look at the arm he favored, she recognized him when he glanced up and bobbed his head at the figurehead, a ritual of respect he performed whenever he called on Magda. Crispin Poole. A merchant recently returned to York, he had consulted Magda about the pain he suffered in his stump of an arm, the inju
ry long healed, but still troubling him. Tonight he cradled it as it bled through the sleeve of his jacket.

  Saturated, she found when she touched it. She felt him trembling, smelled his sweat. ‘A knife wound?’ she asked.

  ‘Bitten.’

  She remembered the baying. ‘I heard several dogs, then one.’

  ‘Several? No, only the one.’ He said it as if he would brook no argument regarding the number. ‘A hell hound.’

  ‘No doubt it seemed so when it sank its teeth into you.’

  ‘A wolf, I think, though I am told the sergeant of the forest rid Galtres of them.’

  Not quite. In winter a small pack came down from the moors, seeking food. But they did not harm folk unless threatened. And it was not yet winter. Alisoun might reassure him of this, but Magda’s instruction was to say only what thou must. Thou art here to listen.

  ‘Whether dog or wolf – or hell hound, the remedies are the same,’ said Alisoun. ‘I’ve readied all that I need.’

  ‘When will the Riverwoman return?’

  ‘I am not sure. But I do know your wound will not wait.’

  ‘Mistress Alisoun, forgive me, but are you not still an apprentice?’

  She might say much to that, but she chose her words. ‘I have seen to a variety of wounds, and as Magda is not here, you would be wise to let me see to yours.’ She stepped aside to allow him into the house if he so chose.

  He hesitated, then ducked beneath the lintel, and entered.

  As she was closing the door Alisoun looked out into the gathering darkness, puzzled by the absence of a horse on the bank. Most chose to ride, not walk through the forest, if they had the means, and Crispin Poole was wealthy. Or so they said. So he had been on foot when attacked. Doing what? She imagined Magda standing before her, a bony finger to her lips, shaking her head. Thou art a healer, not a spy.

  Crispin had settled on his usual bench near the fire. That would not do.

  ‘Forgive me, I should have said – for this you must sit at the worktable.’ She led him across the room, conscious of how he must hunch over to avoid the rafters and the hanging herbs. Tall like Captain Archer, yet otherwise so unlike him.