Wolves Among Us(4)

“Why?” Dame Alice said. “You know women can’t be trusted. We’re prone to imaginations; you have often said it yourself. Surely there could be no real danger there.”

“There has been a wolf among us,” Stefan answered. “It might not be safe to wander alone.”

“Is it really the wolf you are afraid of?” Dame Alice said. “Or are you afraid Catarina was telling the truth?”

Stefan smoothed his robe and adjusted the belt. He would bring this up at her next confession. Her tone was not fitting for her sex or his station. “I see I must do this if you are to give me any peace.”

He stepped into the quiet lane. For the sake of his flock, he would determine himself whether there were dangers. The houses huddled close together, each built as high as the builder could manage, to keep the upper bedchambers warm. Roofs leaned across the lane as if to gossip with other roofs, blocking the sunlight as he came around a curve. The builders of old, while coveting height for the warmth it created, had given little care to keeping the lane straight. Houses looked as if they had been dropped from the sky along the lane. Each house had a different width and was made of different materials; together they signaled a lack of foresight among the town elders. Stefan clucked his tongue, creating the only sound to be heard above the scratching rustle of leaves and straw blown against walls by the winds. The lane appeared empty; not even a cat stirred to chase its breakfast. He cleared his throat and walked further down around the next house as an unseen animal wailed in warning. Probably only a howl made by the wind, he thought.

Cronwall’s horse ate greens out of a window box, his heavy mouth tearing entire plots free and sprinkling shreds of his breakfast all over the lane. Stefan craned his neck and looked past the old fellow. He had eaten his way all along the lane, leaving a sad trail of broken greens. The horse looked up, then went back to his breakfast. Steam billowed out of his wide black nostrils as he exhaled.

Stefan ran a hand across his forehead. The horse was alone and definitely the one who belonged to Catarina’s husband, Master Cronwall. The crest on the horse’s blanket made that clear. Catarina had at least been right about that. But Cronwall abandoning it did not alone signal a serious crime, although Bjorn would have to be the final judge of that.

“Cronwall?” Stefan called his name without much force. Cronwall was not in danger, but the horse was. When the wives spied their destroyed window boxes, this horse would feel the wrath of a hundred brooms.

Stefan took the horse’s reins and gave a good yank. The horse refused to leave his breakfast. Stefan yanked again, and the horse swayed his head back in protest. Stefan understood. No one—not even a horse—wanted to abandon a perfectly good sin. Many believed the time to repent came only after nothing remained to be enjoyed.

Stefan swatted him hard on the flank, and the horse finally walked back to the square. He held the reins with a strong fist. The horse whinnied in his grief but followed nonetheless.

At the mouth of the lane, a crowd waited and whispered.

“There is no wolf here,” Stefan announced. “Cronwall’s horse is loose. That is all. He was eating the window gardens.”

A woman scowled, brandishing her walking stick at the horse. Stefan stepped between her and the horse, an act of certain mercy. He searched the crowd for Catarina. She was not to be seen. Perhaps she had run home. He hoped she would have something cooking when Cronwall returned. He was nicer when he was full.

After a quarter of an hour, Bjorn met Stefan at the head of the lane. The townsfolk parted and then filled in behind him, daring to edge closer to hear the men talk. Bjorn was a big man, well suited for his profession. People feared big men. He often had only to stand up or push out his chest to quiet down a drunk or calm an enraged husband. But he had a gentle face, with soft blue eyes and a slow smile.

Bjorn shrugged when he saw the horse. “Where is Cronwall?” Bjorn asked, reaching out and patting the horse on the flank. Several townspeople leaned their heads in closer, to catch every word.

Stefan frowned at them and motioned for Bjorn to step away to afford them more privacy. Bjorn refused. “No need, Father. Gossip dies faster when they hear the facts.”

“No one has seen him.”

“Did you want me to arrest the horse?” Bjorn’s mouth twitched as if he might smile. The townspeople snickered.

Stefan gritted his teeth before replying. “I assume Cronwall deposited himself in a cellar and slept through the storm. But Catarina was hysterical. She stirred everyone up, coming to outrageous conclusions. That is why I called you.”

Bjorn rubbed his eyes with his fingertips. It took him a long while to speak again, but when he did, his voice was clear and loud. “Catarina, yes. She is prone to imaginations. She is becoming a problem.”

“I want you to return the horse to her,” Stefan said.

“Since there is no crime, I’ll going back to bed, Stefan. You can return the horse.”

Stefan leaned in. “But there’s more. Her neck looked raw. Cronwall hasn’t shown restraint in his discipline.”

“What am I to do? He’s committed no crime.”

“It’s not him I want you to talk with. Speak to Catarina. You’re a husband. Tell her how it is. She should have been glad to be free of him for one night. Instead, she causes a public spectacle, probably cost the merchants a tidy profit. Scold her so this doesn’t happen again.” Stefan thought a moment. “Come. We’ll run the errand together.”