‘It was you who had chosen the marsh path.’
‘My men are not from here.’
‘Where were your men today when your mother was attacked?’ Owen asked.
Crispin had been watching Owen, no doubt guessed he was aware of his reluctance to be forthcoming. Now he made a face as if conceding. ‘I’ve had them watching Bartolf’s house in the woods for several days.’
‘Why?’
‘It all began there, or near there.’
‘You mean Hoban’s death and all that’s happened since?’
‘Yes.’
‘And have your men observed anything?’
‘Nothing. No one has come to the house, nor have the dogs or the horse returned.’
‘Did it not occur to you that folk should be warned of the man and his wolf? If not that night, then at least after Hoban was attacked in the same place, with a beast involved?’
‘I told you, none of this will make sense without all that went before.’ Crispin averted his eyes.
‘A lone man and his dog could not do all this,’ said Owen. ‘Today two men attacked.’
‘I have no idea who the other might be.’
‘So that night, you were bleeding, and near the home of the Riverwoman.’
‘She was away. Mistress Alisoun tended me. And I am grateful.’
‘She prepared this pouch of salve for you?’ Owen dangled it by the cord.
‘Yes.’
So Alisoun had lied to him.
‘It seems there is a limit to your gratitude, and your trust. I recall you asking whether she’d spoken of you. And you said you felt responsible for her injury. Did you swear her to secrecy?’
‘I did.’
‘Why?’
Crispin winced. ‘Neville. I did not know when I accepted the mission that I would find I was so reviled by my old friends. I expected resentment – I escaped, they were still here. But there was much I did not know. So much.’
‘And now you do?’ Owen asked.
A nod. ‘I should not have come.’
‘The old friends you speak of?’
‘Hoban, Paul, Olyf, Adam.’
Muriel’s trio plus one. ‘Alisoun saw to your arm and you swore her to secrecy so that Alexander Neville would not hear of this trouble and have no more to do with you.’
Clenched jaw. Good. He might forget himself.
‘You deride me,’ Crispin said.
‘Not without cause. Go on. What did you do next?’
‘I came home.’
‘After curfew? You have a friend at Bootham Bar you counted on to let you through past curfew?’
‘I told a tale of my widowed mother, blind, worried for me. Folk believe I returned to care for her. I make use of that.’ Crispin took off his velvet hat, wiped his brow. His hand trembled. ‘Why did Bartolf not accuse me of Hoban’s death? I waited, expecting it.’
‘Because he threatened you with his dogs?’
‘He was not so different from my mother, ever one to use his position as coroner to deflect blame from his family and his powerful friends.’ Crispin’s full lips curled in disgust.
‘And you? You knew of the danger and warned no one. Not even Alisoun.’
‘That’s not the same.’
‘No?’ Owen glanced at Magda, who shook her head. Let it be, Bird-eye. ‘So this man who attacked you, was his complaint against Bartolf?’
‘To an extent, but that particular sin I lay at the feet of the woman who bore me.’ Crispin looked over at Alisoun. ‘I was wrong to put myself ahead of that young woman. I have grievously wronged her.’
‘And others.’
‘Might I have a moment with her?’
Owen did not feel the man deserved it. But he agreed, rising to stretch his legs.
Lucie joined him. ‘Come with me. There is something you must hear.’
Crispin Poole bowed his head over Alisoun. He meant to pray, but he was too aware of the Riverwoman’s keen regard, feeling her eyes, blue, sharp, seeing through to the rot at the core of him. Raising his head, he met her gaze.
‘I have sinned against this young woman.’
‘And thyself. Lives might have been saved with timely warnings. Is that not so, Crispin Poole?’
‘Yes.’
‘Tell all to the captain. From the beginning.’
‘Will she live?’
‘Live? Alisoun will rise from this. But the damage – it is too soon to tell.’
‘Damage,’ he repeated to himself. ‘I have been a coward.’
‘Go. Speak to Archer.’
Rising, Crispin found that Owen had left the hall. Moving down the corridor he heard voices in his mother’s bedchamber. They were there, Owen and his wife the apothecary, speaking with his mother. Euphemia sat up against a pile of pillows telling Archer and his wife that Crispin was her only child. She’d merely meant to protect him. He was the archbishop’s emissary now – surely she had been right, his life was worth more than a poacher’s.
Loathsome hag. ‘What is this? Has she been–’ Crispin checked himself, sensing the Riverwoman in his mind, warning him to put all else aside and tell Owen all he knew so that he could judge what might yet be salvaged. ‘Come, Archer. I have a tale to tell. You will find it quite at odds with what you’ve heard here.’
‘Your mother–’
‘Lies. She twists the tale to her purpose. Come, both of you. Let me tell you what happened, as far as I know it.’
To Crispin’s astonishment, Owen thanked Euphemia for her willingness to talk to him, saying that she had been a great help.
Lucie welcomed Crispin’s invitation to join the conversation about to resume. When he and Owen had first talked, she’d intended to listen, but Eva had summoned her. Her mistress was awake and wished to speak with Lucie.
Magda had motioned for her to go on.
Dame Euphemia had sat propped up in her bed, her hair now tidied in a long braid. She’d gestured for Lucie to come close.
‘I would touch your arm as I speak. To know you are here, listening.’
Lucie had obliged her, moving a stool close to the bed where Euphemia might comfortably reach her arm. Imagining she was about to hear a complaint about Magda’s presence, Lucie was surprised when Euphemia asked, ‘Is it true that the Riverwoman’s apprentice saved me from the madwoman? And that she’s badly injured?’
‘Alisoun Ffulford shot the man coming at you with a knife.’
‘I know nothing of a man. What of the madwoman?’
‘Do you mean the hound that pinned you to the wall?’
‘Hound?’ Euphemia shook her head. ‘She had a smell about her, but she was quite human, I assure you.’
Lucie thought of Magda’s words, the ones that had puzzled Owen. What do folk see when they see a wolf, Bird-eye? The animal? Think again. As soon as the hall went quiet, Lucie had asked permission for Owen to join her at Euphemia’s bedside. The woman had agreed to speak with him. Once Lucie fetched Owen, she’d asked Euphemia to repeat all she’d told her. She’d done that, and more.
As they followed Crispin back out into the hall, Lucie and Owen spoke softly, sharing their impressions of Euphemia, a mix of understanding and horror at the coldness with which she had condemned a man whom she did not know for certain to be guilty of the crime for which he stood accused.
Lucie accepted with appreciation the offer of the high-backed chair. Her day had begun in the apothecary, preparing the autumn salves and potions, which she’d abandoned to join the funeral procession, standing through the mass, sitting for a while at the funeral feast, then rushing to collect what she might need to come here and assist Magda. Her back complained. Accepting a cup of wine, she set it aside, not wanting to miss any part of Crispin’s tale.
Now she watched Owen sit forward, hands on thighs, head turned slightly to the left, training his good eye on Crispin, who sat with his shoulders curled subtly inward, as if protecting his heart. She did not yet have a clear sense of Crispin Poole. Emissary to Neville – that did not speak well of him. Yet Owen liked him – or he had. She watched Crispin squirm under Owen’s keen regard. That was good. The more intimidating he found her husband, the more likely he would speak the truth, and answer all questions.