Quickly, before the man began to sob, Owen asked him who he used as a scribe.
‘Elwin. He clerks at the minster. I’d send for him when I had need.’ Bartolf touched his hat and began to scramble to his feet. ‘My dogs.’
‘I told you, my men will search for them at first light. You stay here tonight. Get some rest. Stay safe. Muriel needs you.’
‘Oh, aye, the poor bairn. Aye.’ As Owen was rising Bartolf grabbed his arm. ‘First light? You swear?’
‘They will spend the night at the Riverwoman’s house and go forth at dawn. I swear.’
‘Bless you, Captain. Bless you.’
Owen patted him on the shoulder and took his leave, promising again to search for the dogs. Bartolf, slumped, did not look up.
Alisoun handed Dame Janet a cup of wine and then moved to the window of the bedchamber, opening the shutters for some air. Her heart jumped as Captain Archer strode out from the kitchen, taking off his hat as he paused in the back garden and raked back his hair. The dark curls were threaded with silver that caught the late-afternoon sun. So handsome. Lucie Wilton was a most fortunate woman. Alisoun fought the urge to hurry down to catch him, tell him she’d been frightened, but she’d thought better of it and wanted him to know that she had prepared that salve for Crispin Poole after he was attacked by a large dog. The captain would do all he could to protect her, and Poole as well, if he was innocent, she knew that. All she need do was run down.
But she just stood there, watching him don his hat and stride off.
3
Salves, Barbers, Secrets
Home at last, God be thanked. Owen paused at his garden gate, watching his two eldest race round the tall linden in raucous play. He took advantage of their distraction to slip into the workshop behind the apothecary, hoping that Jasper might have a moment to examine the salve. It was even possible that he’d prepared it.
He heard voices, but the shop appeared empty until he looked beyond the counter and saw his son placing small packages into a basket held by a young woman. They spoke quietly, but the tone was playful, teasing. When the basket was full, Jasper took it from her arm and carried it as he escorted the young woman to the door, bowing as he handed it to her. She blushed up at him, then hurried out into the street with a soft Benedicite.
When had Jasper grown so tall, and so courtly? With his fair hair ever tumbling in his eyes, he still seemed a lad to Owen, but he was a man now. Eighteen.
Owen strode forward into the shop.
‘Da!’ Jasper looked satisfyingly happy to see him. ‘Is it true Hoban Swann was felled by his own dogs?’
The rumors had begun. ‘I am not certain what happened, but I doubt his dogs were the attackers. Unless Zephyrus and Apollo have mastered the use of a dagger. I would appreciate your not spreading that round.’
‘That the dogs are gods, running loose with daggers?’ Jasper laughed. ‘Who would believe such a tale? Have you found them?’
‘No. I’ve found precious little for my pains.’ It was Owen’s turn to grin. ‘She is pretty.’
A vivid blush, the curse of such fair skin and hair. ‘She is betrothed to a blacksmith. Fortunate man. He’ll never deserve her.’
‘And you would?’
‘My heart belongs to a brown-haired, brown-eyed healer.’
Pity, Owen thought. ‘Speaking of whom, Alisoun said this was not her preparation. Perhaps yours?’ He drew out the pouch, opened it, placed the parchment on the counter.
Jasper bent down to sniff, glanced up. ‘Safe to handle?’
‘I am unharmed. I smell boneset and betony. What do you think?’
Jasper opened the packet. Taking a little on a fingertip, he tasted it. ‘Not much else. Some calendula to soften a scar, I think. Not mine. Wrapping’s wrong. A barber’s stock? They set children’s and laborers’ limbs after falls, accidents with carts. Often the broken bone is only one of the injuries. This would serve wounds as well. And dog bite.’
‘Has anyone come in for something for the bite of a dog?’
‘While you were away? No. Though there’s been talk about wolves in the forest while you were away.’ He sniffed again. ‘Calendula.’ He nodded. ‘Ma told me about Tildy. What do you think?’
‘Pray for her, son. Magda is a healer, not a miracle-worker.’ Owen picked up the packet, and was returning it to the pouch when Jasper made a sound as if about to speak. Owen glanced up, curious.
Jasper fingered the pouch. ‘Any markings?’
Owen turned it over. The pouch had been fashioned from a mere scrap of leather of poor quality, worthless but for keeping out the weather. Someone had sewn it together and added a narrow strip of leather to tie it closed. A common item. ‘Nothing but a long score.’ He held that to the light. ‘Do you recognize it?’
Jasper hesitated, then shook his head.
Lucie paced the hall with baby Emma in her arms while the nursemaid helped Kate prepare food for the older children. As Kate was Tildy’s sister, Lucie had invited her to sit for a moment on her return and have a bowl of ale as they exchanged their news. The young woman had listened to Lucie’s account of her sister’s condition with outward calm, but her hands had shaken as she poured more ale. Soon came tears, and a flood of questions Lucie could not answer. That Magda Digby attended her sister was a great comfort, but Lucie judged it wise to ask the children’s nurse, Lena, to assist in the kitchen while Kate caught her breath.
Emma had just fallen asleep in Lucie’s arms when Owen returned. She put a finger to her lips as he began to speak.
He slumped down onto a chair, groaning as he stretched out his legs.
‘A long day, I know,’ she said softly. They’d departed Freythorpe shortly after dawn. ‘Sit down, have some ale. Bess brought it when she saw we’d returned.’
‘Sit with me?’
She was about to protest that Emma might wake if she stopped walking, but seeing in the shadows beneath his eyes the toll the day had taken, she relented. Lena could take over now. ‘I’ll be but a moment. Some bread and cheese?’
‘And ale?’
She smiled, humming under her breath as Emma stirred.
When she returned without the baby, Owen took no time in launching into an account of all that he’d witnessed since parting from her on the road. A long day indeed. She was surprised that a man had murdered Hoban, not wild dogs. She’d heard the rumors. Whether or not she also felt relief, she could not decide.
‘I can tell you what Bess has heard about the Swanns,’ she said. ‘Talk in the city is that Bartolf has become forgetful. He’s been missing appointments. Muriel and Hoban feared he was drinking too much. Or too alone out there. They invited him to bide with them in the city for a fortnight.’
Owen took a good long drink. ‘And he agreed?’
‘Bess did not say whether he argued about it.’
‘Did Bartolf mention it to you?’
‘He said little on the journey back. I will ask Alisoun to keep her ears pricked for gossip in the household.’
‘That would be helpful.’ Owen finished the bread and cheese, washing it down with ale, then sat back, looking less drained by the day. ‘The old man’s mind is so muddled with grief and drink I doubt I’ll learn much more from him.’
‘Poor man. And Muriel – may God watch over her.’
‘May He do a better job than He has so far.’ Owen took another long drink. ‘What do you know of Bartolf’s servants Cilla and Joss?’
‘Nothing at all about him. You might ask Bess about Cilla. Everyone’s worked at the York at one time or another. I’ve heard that she considers herself a healer, though she’s said to do more harm than good. Magda would be able to tell you more. Pray God she returns soon, with happy news.’ She shivered, remembering Daimon holding his wife’s swollen hand, whispering prayers.