Jasper crouched beside her, shining the lantern on the battered body. ‘Are you certain it’s him?’
‘Yes.’
‘We need to fetch the captain and the bailiff from the York. Come.’ He rose and held out his hand.
‘I don’t like to leave him,’ said Alisoun.
‘He’s dead. There’s nothing you can do. And how do we know his attacker is gone?’
‘I don’t sense anyone here. I’ll be safe.’
‘If you’re wrong, I’ll be blamed. You’re coming with me.’ Jasper took her hand and tugged.
She did not resist, but as soon as she was standing she tried to free her arm. ‘I need to pray for his soul’s passing, as Archdeacon Jehannes taught me to do in the birthing room.’
Jasper held tight as he hurried her away from the body, not stopping when she faltered. She had never known him to be so rough.
And then they were in the tavern yard. She blinked in the sudden light as they approached the open doorway. Jasper handed her the lantern and ordered her to wait while he went in to fetch Captain Archer.
Owen was on his feet the moment his son appeared. Even from across the room he noticed the blood on Jasper’s linen sleeve, saw with what agitation he shook his head at Bess’s flood of questions. And was that Alisoun he’d glimpsed holding a lantern? She’d disappeared before he was halfway across the room.
‘Is it Muriel Swann?’ Bess was asking when Owen reached them. ‘Is the babe come betimes? Bartolf has already left. Did you not cross paths?’
Jasper shook his head as he turned to address Owen. Ghostly pale, he was.
‘It’s Bartolf Swann, Da. Stabbed in the heart, his head bashed in. By the gate into his yard from the Fenton garden.’
‘Dead?’ Owen asked, though he knew the answer by how Jasper’s voice broke as he described the injuries. The lad nodded, then crossed himself.
‘God help us,’ said Hempe.
Geoffrey was right behind him.
Tom already waited at the doorway with the lantern.
‘Where’s Alisoun?’ Jasper impatiently pushed the hair from his forehead. ‘I told her to stay.’
Owen put his hand on Jasper’s shoulder. ‘How did you find him?’
‘Alisoun was visiting and I was walking her back to the Swann house.’ His voice shook. ‘If she’s returned to him, I’ll–’
‘Did you hear anything?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Fetch a priest, son.’ St Helen’s was near. ‘Prayers must be said over the body before the soul departs.’
Jasper nodded and headed back through the yard.
Alisoun stood by the gate leading to the Swann yard, her lantern illuminating a woman on the other side.
‘For the love of God, Mistress Alisoun, he is my father.’ Olyf Tirwhit’s voice rang out. Hoban’s sister, she had married Adam Tirwhit, her brother’s good friend.
But Alisoun stood firm. ‘You must not move him until Captain Archer and the bailiff see how he fell.’
‘Dame Muriel is desperate to come to him,’ said Olyf. ‘You know how weak she is, you of all people. We must carry him into the house now.’ Two men stood behind Olyf, only partially visible in the light. ‘You do not want to draw her out into the night in her condition.’
‘That’s all we need is a Tirwhit meddling,’ said Hempe. ‘They go to law almost as often as the Braithwaites.’
‘It is her father on the ground,’ Owen noted. He stepped into the light. ‘Alisoun is right, Dame Olyf. It is important for us to see how your father fell. As soon as we have examined the area we’ll bring him to the house, I promise you.’
‘Thank you, Captain Archer.’
‘My son is fetching a priest.’
‘I’ve already sent for one.’ The woman bowed her head. ‘I did not mean to meddle,’ she said softly as she turned and departed with the two men.
Jasper returned, breathlessly announcing that the priest was on his way. And then he and Alisoun began to argue.
‘I’ll see to the lad,’ Geoffrey told Owen, slipping over, resting a hand on Jasper’s shoulder and having a quiet word.
Alisoun joined Owen. ‘I did not want to leave him here alone, with no one to pray over him.’
‘Pay Jasper no heed. We all express our grief in different ways.’
‘This puts me in mind of Hoban, such brutality,’ Hempe noted. ‘We need to find their common enemy.’
‘Enemies. This looks to me the work of more than one.’ Owen crouched down to feel Bartolf’s neck. ‘He’s still warm.’ He asked Tom to shine the lantern on the ground around Bartolf’s body. But it was too disturbed to pick out prints.
‘The ground’s well churned as if he fought them,’ said Hempe.
‘If only he had lived long enough to speak their names.’ Owen eased himself up and paced slowly toward the gate. There. Two partial prints, much larger than Alisoun’s, facing away. So at least one of them had departed through the Swann yard, bold cur. And something more, paw prints. By the look of them he’d had a dog with him, a large dog. ‘We might not have seen this had Dame Olyf and the servants come through, Alisoun.’ She wrapped her arms round herself, and he saw she was shivering. ‘Why don’t you go on to the house and see to Dame Muriel? Jasper can walk you.’
‘I can go alone. Look. There are torches in the yard.’
Geoffrey stepped forward. ‘Permit me to escort you, Mistress Alisoun. I’ll be of more use there, gauging the temper of the household, than standing out here trying to keep out of everyone’s way.’
They went through the gate arm in arm as the priest from St Helen’s arrived, dropping to his knees as he signed the cross over Bartolf’s shattered head.
Hempe unclasped Bartolf’s scrip from his belt and rose with a grunt. ‘I get too old for this. So says my wife, and tonight I would agree.’ As he handed it to Owen, coins rattled inside. ‘So it was not a robbery.’
‘Or Jasper and Alisoun frightened them away before they could search him,’ said Owen. ‘But such violence for the little he might carry.’
‘Would you talk to the family, take a look at Bartolf when we have him in a lighted room?’ asked Hempe. ‘You’ve more experience with something on this order. And you saw his son’s injuries. You might see similarities. I’ll bring in Bartolf’s body, talk to his friends.’
Now was the time to thank Hempe for the compliment but remind him he was the bailiff in York. Yet Owen felt himself nodding. Hoban, now Bartolf … This was an organized attack on a law-abiding family of York. He would not rest easy until the murderers were caught.
In the Swann yard the torchlight danced in a sudden breeze. Menservants stood on either side of the door of the two-story house, their daggers visible. As Owen had expected, they told him they had taken up the watch after Olyf Tirwhit had sounded the alarm.
Owen stepped into the hall. Muriel’s mother, Janet Braithwaite, stood with Olyf near the fire in the center of the room, the latter giving instructions to a small group of servants. Jasper and Geoffrey hung back toward the door.
‘Go warm yourselves,’ Owen suggested.
Nodding, the two moved toward the fire circle. Geoffrey was talking, and, head bowed, Jasper listened, nodded. God bless the man. He might be irritating at times, but he understood that the lad needed to be drawn out of himself, away from the memory of Bartolf’s shattered skull.
Olyf noticed them passing, then looked back toward the door. She nodded to Owen, the jewels in her crispinette twinkling in the firelight. Though tall and large-boned, she was a graceful woman with a way about her that caught a man’s eye. She gave some last orders to the servants, whispered to Janet, then came over to Owen.
‘They obey your orders,’ he noted.
‘They welcome someone telling them what to do at such a time.’