The Saxon Outlaw's Revenge

‘There is no place for compassion in the world you people have created,’ Gerrod snarled.

Constance winced.

Caddoc pressed his fingertips to his temples. He looked to where Wulf lay, his face serene in death. He was younger than Caddoc had been the year of the conquest. He would never reach the age when Caddoc had been whipped and mutilated by this woman’s brother-in-law. He brushed his finger over his lobeless ear. How could he deny Gerrod the revenge he sought when every day the same yearning for vengeance had consumed him for years?

‘Then you?’ Constance said. Her face was white and her eyes wide with terror. Caddoc’s heart thundered with an intensity that was painful. Perhaps she read it on his face because her expression changed, courage flowing into her face.

‘Will you intervene for me? Caddoc.’

A spear of lightning coursed through Caddoc at the inflection with which she spoke his name. Was she threatening him? It sent an unexpected thrill through him. He came closer, masking the admiration he felt. He put a hand on Gerrod’s shoulder.

‘Let me speak to her,’ he asked. ‘I want to know what she thinks she has to bargain with.’

Gerrod moved back to Wulf’s body like a sleepwalker and began cradling it once more. Caddoc crossed his arms, planted his legs apart and faced Constance a pace away from her. She looked away first and his lips twitched into a triumphant smile.

‘These are the men I live with. I owe them my loyalty. Why should I save you?’ he asked.

‘Because I saved your life,’ she reminded him quietly. She raised her head and met his gaze. ‘I won’t insult you by asking for compassion. I can see you don’t possess that, but you owe me a debt. A life for a life. Yours for mine.’

No compassion? It wounded him deeper than he expected, but what room did he have in a life such as his for a thing such as that?

Caddoc ground his teeth. She clearly did not intend to invoke the closeness they had once shared, though she could not have forgotten it. Perhaps it meant so little to her she did not think it worth recalling. He pictured Constance’s body swinging on the scaffold in Hamestan marketplace. Saw the look of anguish on de Coudray’s face as he beheld the corpse of his sister-in-law. The Pig’s cries rang like song in Caddoc’s imagination. Bile filled his throat. He swallowed it down, shutting his eyes in denial of what he had wanted to do. He opened his eyes to find Constance still staring at him.

‘Very well. If they will accept my intervention, my debt is repaid, but that is all I can do for you. Your courage is admirable, but if you insist in provoking trouble I will not protect you further.’

He turned his back on her so he did not have to read the expression on her face.

‘There’s no point in acting rashly. If she is a friend of de Coudray, she may be more use to us alive than dead,’ he said. ‘It’s getting dark and I want to be gone. If things change we can reconsider how we use her, but no one else is dying now.’

Gerrod raised his head. He peered through red-rimmed eyes at Caddoc, then past him at Constance.

‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ she whispered.

Caddoc tensed, waiting for Gerrod to explode. Was the woman determined to die after all? He had always believed her intervention in his execution had been motivated by her feelings for him, but now he wondered if she was simply incapable of keeping quiet when she should know better.

Gerrod sagged like a sack losing its contents.

‘Take her alive if you will,’ he said to Caddoc, and sighed. ‘But anything that happens will be on your head. Let’s be gone from here.’

The men sorted matters quickly. The remaining guard was stripped of his boots, cloak and mail and left blindfold with his hands bound behind him to the bridge.

‘Tell whoever finds you that Caddoc the Fierce sends his regards,’ Caddoc growled.

The cart blocking the bridge was righted and Wulf’s body, wrapped in his father’s cloak, was gently placed in the back alongside the strongbox and panniers. The two other corpses were left beside the path. The monk pleaded and was allowed to speak his prayer over them. Gerrod did not protest when he glanced towards Wulf and allowed the monk to repeat his prayer before securing him alongside the guard.

Through it all Constance had said nothing, but when Caddoc loosened the rope binding her he noticed the tracks in the dirt on her cheeks. They could have been from the water Ulf had thrown on her, but she saw him looking and violently wiped a sleeve across her face.

‘You’ll travel in the cart at first, but soon we’ll be walking,’ he told her.

‘I’ll need my stick,’ she answered, pointing to the staff she had thrown in his path. He retrieved it quickly, noting that while he left her she stood motionless and did not try to run. Good. She was able to take advice when she chose which might be enough to keep her alive.

Ulf led Constance to the cart and lifted her into the back. He bound her wrists together, securing the end of the rope to the rail at the side of the cart, then pulled her cloak around her to hide her bonds from anyone who might pass by.

‘Blindfold her,’ Caddoc instructed.

Constance moaned softly.

‘We can’t let her see where we’re taking her,’ he explained, more for her benefit than Ulf’s. ‘I don’t want any chance of her leading de Coudray to us.’

‘How would she do that?’ Osgood asked. He ripped his dagger through the dead guard’s cloak, tearing off a long, wide strip that he wound tightly around Constance’s eyes. He pulled her hood down across her face and spoke close to her ear.

‘Once she’s there she won’t be leaving.’

Caddoc clenched his fists. He could not contradict Osgood’s words and had no idea what would transpire, but for good or ill the decision was made.

* * *

Constance jolted around in the darkness, feeling sicker with every lurch of the cart. She had lost her sense of direction almost as soon as the cart started moving and now it no longer felt like they were on the road, but she could not be sure. She had tried tallying each time the wheel creaked a full turn, but had lost count, and with it all track of time. It was getting darker, though. The colder air that caressed the lower half of her face told her that the sun must have set.

Bound together her hands could not fully grip hold of the wooden rail and she shifted with each movement.

She wished her hands were free and she could brace herself against the side of the cart.

She wished she had crept away to safety before she had been noticed rather than drawing attention to herself trying to help.

She wished she could not clearly picture the expression on Aelric’s face when she had appealed to him to save her from death.

He had considered letting the big man kill her. She had seen the temptation in his eyes before he had saved her. Aelric, the gentle boy who once had never wielded a sword. If she had not seen the scar Robert had given him she would never have believed the angry-eyed, bearded wild man could be the same person.

The cart stopped abruptly. Someone fumbled with the rope, untying it from the rail, but leaving Constance’s hands bound. He took tight hold of her by her upper arms and hauled her to her feet. She wondered whose hands they were. Not Aelric—or Caddoc, as she supposed she must now think of him—she suspected he would have been gentler. Perhaps not, though. Her first hope on recognising him was that he would prove an ally. Now she was far from sure he was a friend to her at all, but his good grace was all that had kept her alive.

She was lifted from the cart, placed on her feet and turned around. A bottle was put to into her hands. Her unseen captor helped her raise it to her lips and she drank thirstily, not caring what the contents were. It turned out to be beer. The weak, sour-tasting brew she remembered from when she had lived in Cheshire before. She pulled a face.

‘I supposed a fine Norman lady like you would prefer wine.’ The voice she recognised as belonging to Osgood spoke scathingly from somewhere off to her left.

So it had not been him who had dragged her from the cart. She breathed a sigh of relief. Despite his harsh words he had stared at her with open hunger he did not bother to conceal and it made her flesh crawl. She was glad he had not been the one to touch her.

She did not dignify his jibe with an answer, but the idea of a warm cup of wine had never been more appealing. She took another deep swig of beer out of pride before holding the bottle out for someone to take it.

‘Let’s keep going,’ Aelric said. ‘We’re leaving the cart with Osgood and going the rest of the way on foot.’

A hand took hold of her elbow and began to lead her. Constance stiffened instinctively at the unfamiliar touch of a man. Memories of Piteur leading her to his chamber reared up unpleasantly, causing her to gag. She stuck her feet out nervously, not knowing what was in front of her, and took a few shuffling steps. Her foot squelched into a puddle and she pulled it out with a cry of disgust, causing her to lose her balance. The grip on her elbow tightened and a hand rested on her lower back, guiding her onward firmly. She succeeded in taking a few more steps until her foot snagged on something in the undergrowth and she stopped again.

‘You’ll have to walk faster than this,’ Aelric muttered in her ear. ‘The others are already far ahead.’

So it was his hand at her waist. The knowledge sent disconcerting shivers down Constance’s spine.

‘I can’t. I need my stick,’ she said irritably.