Elisabeth Hobbes - The Saxon Outlaw's Revenge

‘Do we get a song tonight?’ Ulf asked him.

Caddoc shook his head, tempting though it was to unwrap his crwth and lose himself in the song. ‘My fingers are still too cold to play tonight.’

‘I heard in Acton this morning that Fat Hugh of Chester has sired another bastard on one of his mistresses,’ Ulf said.

‘Another mouth to steal the bread from ours!’ Gerrod spat a rabbit bone into the fire. He waited for the murmured agreement to die away. ‘That’s no news. I have better. The Pig of Hamestan is awaiting the arrival of something important...and valuable.’

Caddoc’s jaw tensed at the name. He kept his eyes closed, but listened closely.

‘De Coudray? That isn’t news,’ Ulf said. ‘Rollo, his reeve, has been bragging for weeks in every alehouse he enters that he’s being sent to bring something.’

‘What do you think it might be, Father?’ Wulf asked greedily, coming to sit by Gerrod. ‘Gold?’

‘Doubt it. Isn’t he rich enough already?’ Gerrod growled.

‘He has to spend it on something, though,’ Ulf pointed out.

‘I heard he plans to buy a new bride,’ Osgood said.

‘I heard in the market it’s a bride he’s having brought,’ cackled Wulf.

‘That can’t be right,’ Ulf scoffed. ‘His wife has only been in the ground three weeks.’

‘It’s what I heard,’ Wulf said belligerently. ‘It’s what I’d do if I had money.’

There was a roar of laughter, led by Gerrod. At fourteen Wulf’s every concern was of filling his belly or wetting his staff. Caddoc didn’t laugh. At that age iced fire had filled his veins, flooring him in the presence of any girl. One in particular had turned his insides into something resembling a squashed beetle with a single smile.

‘Perhaps his wife’s death wasn’t as natural as they say,’ Osgood suggested. ‘Perhaps he helped her on her way.’

‘Why would he do that?’ Ulf asked.

‘Why wouldn’t he?’ Caddoc muttered under his breath. The whey-faced woman who had sat beside de Coudray on the dais had seemed half a corpse even seven years ago. He stared into the fire, not seeing flames but bodies twisting in nooses. He’d played no part in the discussion so far and a hush descended on the room.

‘You sound like you know of him?’ Gerrod asked.

He pointed to the missing lobe of his left ear and the scar leading beneath his collar. ‘De Coudray did this.’

‘You said you were from over the border,’ Osgood said accusingly.

Caddoc grimaced, annoyed at his slip. He’d journeyed far in the years since his exile, but his feet had always brought him back to Cheshire, before the anger and pain led him off again once more. Like most of the wild men he had been intentionally vague about his origins, but the mention of the hated name had caused his blood to run hot through his veins.

‘I ran to Wales when I was exiled,’ he said.

He looked around, wondering who they had all been. Carls? Serfs? He knew Osgood could write a few of his letters and Gerrod’s fingers had been taken for poaching when he was younger than Caddoc was now. Ulf had served Brunwulf; he was the only man who had known the boy Aelric before he became the man Caddoc, but loyalty to his former thegn kept him silent.

It no longer mattered when they all had reason to hate their persecutors.

‘Of all the Normans I’ve encountered he’s the cruellest.’ Caddoc spat. He felt again the lash against his back. ‘He executed my family and he’d have hanged me, too.’

‘Why didn’t he?’ Gerrod asked.

Caddoc broke off and stared into the flames, seeing a pale face, angular in a manner that made him think of a vixen. He drew his eyes back from the past.

‘He didn’t need to. He’d already destroyed me when he took everyone and everything I loved. I’d kill him if I could, but he’s beyond my reach.’

And he had sworn not to. He remembered the vow he had made years before. That had been easy to keep, at least, with no opportunity to get close to de Coudray.

‘Gerrod, are you sure what you’ve said is true?’

‘Yes. I heard from one of the monks at Malpas he’s having something important sent from down south in a week or two. He needs lodging for the escort for a night.’

‘If your rumours are right it’s important and valuable,’ Caddoc said, ‘I want it.’

He felt all eyes turn on him. The blood pounded in his veins. For years the dream of vengeance had consumed him and it was too much to hope the means were finally within his grasp. De Coudray could be having anything brought to him. Caddoc sat forward abruptly and gestured around the bare room.

‘For seven years I’ve lived like this and I’ve had enough. We live in this hovel while the men who stole our homes get richer by the year.’

‘Rich, were you? Before you ran?’ Osgood asked, crossing his arms. ‘Some of us have always lived like this.’

Another slip. Careful, he warned himself.

‘Whatever we were, this is no way I want to live. The Normans took our lands and our lives. We steal a pitiful amount from their tenants and woods, but it’s time we took more. Who cares what the Pig has got himself? I don’t want him to have it.’

‘And if it is a bride?’ Wulf asked, determined not to let go of his idea.

Caddoc grinned. He fingered the dagger at his waist.

‘Then we’ll steal her, too.’

Chapter Three

Constance hated travelling. The weather made matters worse. Despite having no eagerness to be in Robert’s company she would wish away the journey to Hamestan in exchange for a soft mattress and no more early rising to be on the road in fog that dampened every layer of clothing. The long hours in the saddle made her leg ache and the company that had been inflicted on her made each day seem twice as long. She would have preferred to ride faster but Rollo, the escort Robert de Coudray had sent, had insisted on travelling at a stately pace since they had entered the Cheshire forest.

She let her mind wander; counting the shafts of sunlight that peeked through the trees, casting shadows across the narrow road. Her companions were equally silent. After almost two weeks in each other’s company they had reached the stage where light conversation was neither necessary nor welcome. Constance wondered which of them would be reporting her conduct back to Robert. Rollo, probably, though it could equally be the guards in black who rode with Constance’s strongbox and possessions strapped to their panniers, or the grey-cowled monk who never strayed far from her side.

‘Can we rest for a while?’ she asked.

‘Not until we’re through the forest. This country is crawling with rogues who would slit your throat as soon as fart,’ Rollo grunted. His eyes roved up and down Constance’s body, lingering on her knee-length tunic that revealed hose-clad calves. ‘Or more if they see through your disguise.’

Constance scowled, not prepared to have the same argument again. Her choice of clothing had already raised eyebrows, but she insisted nevertheless. Skirts were too cumbersome for long rides and her thick winter cloak and hood would attract much less attention from any thieves waiting in the woods than the finery of a well-dressed lady. With her hair tightly coiled at her neck and concealed under a woollen cowl she looked more like an unassuming page than a woman.

‘If you’re right we should move faster, especially if we want to reach the inn before sunset,’ she said. Rollo hacked up spittle and slapped his horse’s rear, increasing from a walk to a trot. Constance resisted the urge to break into a gallop and leave him behind, knowing it would lead to even more disapproval.

‘Are there really men living wild here?’ she asked the monk.