‘It’s too quiet,’ said Hempe.
Owen agreed. It was so still that the breath of men and horses, leaves catching the breeze, and the patter of rain were the loudest sounds. ‘Even in rain one would expect to see folk moving about between the buildings, right, Alan?’
‘Something is very wrong, Captain. It is never so quiet.’ Alan moved as if to mount his horse.
‘You will move when I give the order.’
Alan glanced round at the others. ‘I am worried about my wife.’
‘We’re here to protect them,’ said Alfred.
Owen nodded his approval to Alfred. ‘Besides the gatehouse entrance, there must be others, for farm wagons, the kennels?’ he asked Alan.
‘The farm wagons go through the gatehouse entrance,’ said Alan. ‘There’s a narrow track coming up from the south, unguarded, but fit only for a man on foot or mounted. No carts.’
‘And the kennels?’
‘Over the next rise, you’ll see the lane that leads to the kennels. Almost as wide as the main way, and smooth, to impress the wealthy coming to purchase hounds for their hunting packs.’
They remounted and moved on with care, riding down into the yard before the house. A small dog came rushing from the stables, barking a warning.
‘The mistress’s pup,’ said Alan.
Horses whinnied in the stables, some chickens clucked. So quiet. But no. Was it a trick of the wind? Or were those voices in the distance? Raised voices?
Owen motioned Alfred and one of Hempe’s men to find the source of the sound. He dismounted and entered the house with Stephen, Hempe and the others standing guard without. A substantial hall, old as that at Freythorpe Hadden, deserted but for an aged cat curled up near the fire circle. As he and Stephen crossed the room it reared up and hissed at them.
A voice called out from the passage leading from the hall to the service rooms, ‘Is someone there? I’m in the pantry, collecting pots for water.’
Following the voice, Owen startled a girl about Gwenllian’s age, causing her to drop two large wooden bowls on the rush floor. He held up his hands, showing her he had no weapon.
‘Might I pick those up for you?’ he asked.
The fierce look in her eyes reminded him of Elaine Braithwaite.
‘I am Owen Archer, captain of bailiffs in York.’ Not that he’d decided, but he thought it might reassure her. ‘And this is one of my men. We are here to help. Are your parents here?’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘They left York early this morning with a man from the kennels. Galbot.’
‘The kennels.’ The girl sobbed. He noticed now that the scarf that held back her fair hair was damp as if she’d been out in the rain.
He approached with care, crouching down to pick up the bowls, setting them on a shelf beside her. Then he took her hands, looked up into her eyes. ‘What has happened here, child?’
‘Men took the hounds this morning and set fire to the kennels. We’re trying to put it out before it spreads to a hay barn nearby. My brother took some men to search for the hounds. We can hear them. The fire has frightened them.’ Her voice broke.
‘But the hounds are clear of the fire?’
‘Must be.’
‘Are the strangers still here?’
‘Don’t know. Will they hurt us?’
‘Not now that we’re here. Where were you going with this – what is your name?’
‘Alice. Everyone on the manor formed a chain from the fishpond to get water to the fire.’
‘How far is it, Alice?’
‘Just over the next hill.’
‘Were the strangers on horseback?’
‘Yes.’
‘Courage, Alice. My men will go to the kennels.’
‘God watch over you!’
Stephen was already hurrying back out through the hall, calling out to Hempe what he’d heard.
Alfred was out there, telling a similar story, but he’d heard that three men – and a beast that walked upright – were still at the kennels, watching the approach. He’d sent his companion to alert the water line that they were coming, not to interfere.
The seven set off at a gallop.
From the next rise the burning kennels were visible, smoke filling the valley, and now Owen could hear the dogs, barking, though not frantic. He ordered Alan to take one of Hempe’s men and follow the sound, find the dogs.
‘Do not confront anyone,’ Owen ordered. ‘Report to me at the kennels.’
Alan chose Pete, and the two rode down into the dale.
‘Why are we hesitating?’ Stephen asked.
‘The wagon,’ Alfred noted, pointing to a point far from the kennels. ‘Two men running toward the fire.’
‘Three men on horseback await them,’ said Hempe.
Otto, Rat, and who? Someone from the manor? Cilla?
‘What is that?’ One of Hempe’s men pointed to a figure joining the three men. Hairy, yet walking upright.
‘I believe that is our beast – the wolf all have seen in the city,’ said Owen. ‘More likely a human wearing skins.’
‘The world’s gone mad,’ Hempe said.
Owen noticed that Alan and Pete had changed their course, heading somewhere back beyond the burning kennels.
‘Right. Arms ready,’ Owen called. ‘Alan and Pete will see the dogs are safe. Our goal is to disarm everyone and keep them down on the ground, alive.’ He’d already strung his bow, though his aim would be challenged by the smoke as they descended into the dale that cradled the kennels. The curse of a single eye, a blink and he was blind. If only the rain would come down harder and douse the fire. He reminded the others to be aware that their mounts might react to the blaze. ‘If they appear to shy, dismount.’
As they rode down into the dale, Owen was able to distinguish the runners – Paul Braithwaite out ahead, Galbot right behind him. Did Paul not realize the dogs had been moved? Reining in his horse, Owen dismounted, aimed, and hit Galbot in the shoulder. As the man slowed, Owen drew out another arrow, aimed, hit him in the leg. Galbot was down.
But Paul was almost to the group awaiting him.
And then something in the kennels collapsed, billowing smoke masking the drama.
Alfred, on foot, paused by Owen. ‘Bad luck.’
Owen cursed.
‘I’m for the riders,’ said Alfred. ‘No, look, one’s dismounting.’ He broke into a run, barreling into the man.
The other mounted man began to charge Alfred, who was rising after punching his target into stillness.
The smoke cleared just enough for Owen to recognize Joss on the horse. He aimed, hit his shoulder. Joss crumpled over the saddle, then slipped to the ground, where Alfred caught him, dragging him over to his companion.
Owen strode toward the burning kennels, hoping to find Paul Braithwaite. He dodged abandoned horses that milled about, panicked. Two of Hempe’s men tried to guide them away from danger. Seeing a man raising a blade toward Stephen’s horse, Owen took aim, caught him in the arm. The man dropped his weapon and Hempe rode him down, then rode after the horses and one rider heading south. One of his men caught an abandoned horse and followed.
As the rain and wind picked up, Owen was able to pick out Paul Braithwaite, still heading for the kennels, though stumbling, as if he’d been injured or overcome by the smoke. Hoping to halt him, Owen took aim. Just as he let fly the arrow, the one wearing skins jumped onto Paul’s back and took the arrow in the back of the right leg. Paul shrugged off his attacker and, stepping round the fallen beam, walked into the kennels.