The Saxon Outlaw's Revenge. Elisabeth Hobbes
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they had been hanged like the old thegn of Hamestan. She realised she couldn’t remember his name. She would never forget that of his son, however. How could she after what they had done together? He was probably long dead, believing she had chosen to stay behind. It made her unaccountably sad.
Blue eyes and a wide grin flitted through her dreams that night, for the first time in years. Blood and screaming followed. She woke before dawn drenched with sweat and trembling and sat wrapped in blankets, hugging her knees until light.
* * *
When the morning came her decision was made. She joined Hugh in the snowy courtyard as his horse was saddled and he prepared to depart.
‘I’ll do what you ask, but it isn’t enough that you will stop Robert deciding my marriage. I want you to swear that if I find the proof you need to convict him you will help me reach the convent.’
Hugh put his hand over his heart. ‘You have my word. I’d found an order myself if it would keep you happy.’
Constance nodded in satisfaction. ‘When you return to Cheshire tell Lord de Coudray I will come when my year here is up. I will stay with him for a year. No longer.’
Hugh’s forehead creased. ‘That will be early March. That’s no time for travelling.’
Constance shrugged. ‘I doubt he’d wait longer and this country is miserable whatever the time of year.’
‘Then let me send an escort to you,’ Hugh said. ‘The countryside is swarming with wild men.’
‘If my brother-in-law wishes me to return, he can stretch to the expense of an escort himself,’ Constance said. ‘Besides, I can travel inconspicuously.’
Hugh smiled. ‘I look forward to hearing of any information you discover. Remember, I want him to be dealt with openly as a warning. I need proof.’
He swung his large frame into the saddle and galloped away. Constance watched him go, wondering what secrets Robert was keeping. She owed him no loyalty and if she could uncover anything that could do him ill she would not weep over that!
Cheshire
The man who called himself Caddoc crouched in the undergrowth. His thighs and back ached from holding the stance so long, but when his target came within his sight it would be worth the discomfort. Sleet dripped down his neck and he pulled his leather hood closer to his cloak.
A flash of brown between the trees caught his attention. She was closer now. Another few paces and he would have clear aim. He drew a silent breath and pulled back his bowstring. There was a crack behind him as a foot stepped on a twig and the bushes moved. The doe stiffened, and then was gone.
Caddoc swore and turned to see a redheaded man, twenty years or so his senior. He eased his bowstring back.
‘Thank you, Ulf. I didn’t want to eat tonight.’
Ulf grinned, showing a collection of broken teeth. ‘Lucky it was me and not one of the Earl’s men or you’d have lost your eyes as well as your ear.’
Caddoc scowled. He scratched his thick tangle of beard.
‘It’s unlikely they’d come so deep into the forest this late in the day. Let’s hope someone else had better luck.’
He stood, twisting life back into his aching limbs. He stowed his bow and arrows and checked for the dagger he always wore at his waist, then the two men made their way through the dense forest to the camp they shared with a handful of other men.
Anyone watching would think their path was haphazard unless they happened to notice the small notches and marks cut into certain trees. A single slab of moss-covered rock concealed a narrow gap through which they could pass single file. A boy of fourteen stood guard at the furthest end, brandishing a scythe.
‘It’s us, Wulf.’
The boy lowered his weapon as Caddoc and Ulf pushed back their hoods and raised their hands in greeting as they passed. They scrambled over rocks upwards until they reached a flat ridge overlooking the edge of the forest. Beyond that the ground fell away giving a view over the plain and the hills beyond.
Home was the remains of a derelict watchtower built then abandoned by some bygone people Caddoc neither knew nor cared the name of. Wood had been added to an upper level and it had been covered with skins and bracken, creating a structure that was sufficiently weatherproof and well concealed. A scattering of small shelters huddled alongside. This camp would do for another month or two, until spring came, but after that they would have to move on. To stay anywhere too long risked someone revealing the location, accidentally or otherwise.
Caddoc went inside, called a general greeting, removed his wet cloak and settled himself cross-legged on a pallet by the fire. Old Gerrod sitting to his left passed him a wineskin and he tossed the ale down his throat.
‘No luck hunting. I almost had a doe, but Ulf surprised her.’
‘Osgood and Wulf brought back a couple of bucks. They’re almost ready for the pot,’ Gerrod said. He jerked his thumb to the corner where his wife, a thin woman named Elga, was hacking a rabbit into pieces.
As they ate the men talked. Caddoc closed his eyes as he lay back on his straw-filled mattress and let the voices wash over him. The pottage was good and his feet were nearly dry. He was almost approaching contentment.
‘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