Time stood still as the mother-to-be bent to her murdered husband, touching, kissing, whispering endearments. Bartolf stood with head bowed, his body shaking with sobs. Owen was about to turn away when Muriel made a sound like a long sigh and began to slump to the stone floor. He lunged forward and caught her, lifting her in his arms. Though she carried a child in her womb she had little substance. Alisoun led him out through the hall and up outside steps to a bedchamber in the solar. Dame Janet followed on their heels, moving round to the foot of an elegantly draped bed. Alisoun turned back the bedclothes so that Owen could settle his charge on the silken sheets. Muriel stirred, but did not open her eyes as Alisoun drew the covers over her.
‘I told her she should not look on his face, for the baby’s sake,’ Dame Janet sobbed. ‘I pray he will not bear the mark of the devil.’
Alisoun put an arm round the woman, leading her back to the cushioned chair by the foot of the bed, near a lit brazier, and told the servant seated near the door to pour Dame Janet a cup of wine.
Asking Alisoun to step out onto the landing for a moment, Owen showed her the medicine pouch, explaining where Brother Michaelo had found it. ‘Do you know the place?’
For a moment Alisoun stared and seemed to stop breathing, but then said simply, ‘I know the track along the river.’
Owen opened the pouch, holding out the salve wrapped in parchment. ‘I hoped this might be your preparation, or Magda’s. I am keen to know for whom this was prepared.’ He offered it to her, expecting her to examine it.
But she tucked her hands behind her back. ‘I am sorry, but I cannot help you. I pray you forgive my haste, but I must attend Dame Muriel. Her mother is of little help.’
‘Surely you cannot know whether or not it is your preparation until you smell it. I can tell you that it contains betony and boneset.’
‘A common mixture,’ she said.
‘Might you at least tell me what the third ingredient is?’ He held it up to her nose.
She recoiled. ‘You waste my time, Captain, for I do not wrap salves this way.’
He believed that she did. But he must step lightly with Alisoun or risk losing any chance of coaxing her to help him.
‘What has this to do with Hoban’s murder?’ Her tone was of one offended.
‘Permit me to explain. Hoban might have dropped this – or it might have been dropped by his attacker.’
‘Oh.’ The sound was little more than a whisper. ‘I prepare so many salves, Captain.’
‘This would be for a wound or a broken bone. As you know, of course.’
‘I cannot tell what it contains.’ She gave her head a little shake as she stepped away from him. With her abundant hair wrapped in a white kerchief, her head seemed too large for her long, slender neck, giving her the look of a plucked chick. A frightened one.
‘It may come to you. If it does, I pray you send word.’
‘Of course, Captain. Magda – Mistress Wilton came to tell me that Magda stayed behind to attend a birth at Freythorpe?’
‘Tildy, our former maidservant,’ said Owen. Of course Lucie would have the presence of mind to alert Alisoun to the delay.
‘Do you know how long she will be away?’
‘Until Tildy is safely delivered. Pray God that she is, and soon.’
Alisoun crossed herself. ‘May God watch over dear Tildy.’
Clearly an afterthought, which troubled Owen. A healer’s first concern should be for the patient.
‘I leave Dame Muriel in your competent hands,’ Owen said. Pray God her indifference was a passing mood.
He noted how Alisoun hesitated, as if gathering her wits about her before returning to the bedchamber. Understandable in the circumstances, yet her demeanor troubled Owen. Alisoun being prickly was normal. And she did carry much responsibility here in this house of mourning, holding the lives of mother and child in her hands. But he sensed a reluctance to engage with him. He was almost certain she had recognized the pouch and the salve, yet refused to admit it. Why?
Down in the hall, Owen thanked Michaelo for his assistance.
The monk gathered his things and rose with a grimace he attempted to hide with a bow. Sore from the long ride and the discomfort of writing in far from ideal circumstances, Owen guessed. ‘I will have a report for you on the morrow, Captain.’
‘Rest first. Send word when I might collect it.’
Michaelo bobbed his head and departed with less than his usual grace.
In the kitchen, Owen discovered Bartolf dulling his grief with ale. From the looks of him, he was making good progress. A pity to pull him back.
‘I have some questions for you.’
Bartolf squinted at Owen. ‘Of course you do, Captain. ’S why I came for you, to set about finding my Hoban’s murderer. How might I assist you?’ His words slurred as his head wobbled over the tankard and his eyelids fluttered.
‘Is Joss the only one working for you at the house in Galtres?’
Bartolf slowly shook his head. ‘Nay, Cilla keeps my house. Not so young na more, but we’re none of us so young anymore.’ He let his head drop as if it were too heavy to support, rolled his eyes upward to peer at Owen through the bush of white hair. ‘Is it true Joss has bolted?’
‘He’s not at the house, but whether he chose to run off is more than I can say at present.’ Owen lifted the man’s chin. ‘Why did you suddenly worry about the dogs?’
‘Zephyrus and Apollo? Because–’ Bartolf blinked as if he’d just lost the thought. ‘Rumor, that was it. A rumor of a wolf roaming near the house, and that lout Joss would run before he’d protect the hounds.’ He closed his eyes. ‘And someone’d seen Zephyrus and Apollo running loose.’ A sloppy nod. ‘Running loose!’ He banged his fist on the table.
A wolf. Was this what Magda had foreseen? ‘Who had seen them? Who had seen the wolf?’
Bartolf’s head wobbled. ‘Stopped me in street as I came from tavern.’ His eyelids were closing. ‘Didn’t know him, but he knew me.’
‘Someone came up to you and told you he’d seen a wolf in the forest? And your dogs running loose?’
‘Zactly.’
Had one person really given him both pieces? Or had Owen just put the idea in his head?
‘Did you tell anyone about this when you came home?’
‘Hoban.’
Bartolf attempted to pour himself more ale. Owen took the jug and poured a small amount into the bowl, then set the jug out of Bartolf’s reach.
‘Were you and Hoban alone when you told him?’
‘Why d’you ask?’
‘I am hoping that you described the man who stopped you on the street, might even have said his name, and someone here in the house overheard.’
‘What man?’
Owen closed his eye and prayed for patience. Changing the subject, he asked, ‘Where does Cilla live?’
‘Oh, Cilla. She works for many, not just me.’ Bartolf reached up to scratch his head, found he was still wearing his hat. ‘Bloody – I kept this on to remind myself to go back out there, search for Zeph and Pol.’
‘My men will search for them at first light, Bartolf. Tell me, are they lawed?’
‘Course they’re lawed. Three claws cut off on each paw, poor fellows, but that’s the rule of the forest. See? That’s why I worry. Joss – he doesn’t remember they can’t defend themselves against wolves or dogs who haven’t lost claws. Shouldn’t be in the wood, not like that, but I’ve heard howling and I fear– Then this man, he said a wolf is about. Hoban went to bring them home.’ Bartolf sucked in breath. ‘My son.’