The Saxon Outlaw's Revenge

‘And how do you propose to do that, Aelric, son of Brunwulf?’ Robert asked. His voice had taken on the cold, mocking tone that Constance had come to dread.

Aelric’s blue eyes bored into Robert, staring down the man twenty years his senior.

‘By killing you.’

Robert was silent. The crowd hushed in frozen expectation. Constance gripped Jeanne’s hand, waiting for Robert’s response. For him to strike the boy or run him through. Instead he did something unexpected, yet far crueller.

He laughed.

Aelric’s face reddened.

Robert waved a dismissive hand and turned away.

‘Hang him with his father.’

The soldiers seized hold of Aelric, who cried out and struggled as they dragged him towards his father. Constance’s stomach twisted as if someone had taken a stick and wound it through her guts, coiling it tight.

‘Please don’t!’

The words left her mouth before she could stop herself. She realised she had pushed herself to her feet.

‘What do you think you’re doing, girl?’ Robert rounded on Constance, his face knotted with fury far greater than he had shown to the condemned men or the boy. The blood in her veins turned to ice, but she could feel her face flushing. The eyes of everyone in the square were on her.

‘Set him free,’ Constance said.

‘Why should I do that?’ Robert demanded incredulously.

‘He’s so young,’ she said softly.

‘Should I wait until he’s older? I’m sure we can find a gaol for him until he’s managed to grow hair on his chest,’ Robert scoffed.

Aelric looked up and his eyes met Constance’s. The sick feeling returned.

‘He helped me once,’ Constance said, aware of the heat rising to her cheeks. ‘When my horse lost a shoe last winter.’

It had been a cold January day. Her horse slipped in the mud as she rode along the gritstone ridge. The half-familiar boy working in the fields under guard had left his position to take hold of the bridle. Speaking calm, unfamiliar words—to the animal or her she wasn’t sure—he’d held the animal still while she remounted. She’d thanked him, nervously trying out the Saxon tongue. He’d grinned at her attempt, but kindly, before returning to his companions. They had looked at her with the contempt she’d come to expect, but he glanced back and nodded before walking away.

She told her brother-in-law only part of that. Not that they had met again. Times met and deeds done that she must not think of for fear Robert would read the emotions on her face.

‘And because of that I should pardon his attempt to murder me today?’ Robert asked.

Vomit rose again in Constance’s throat. She had been nauseous for days with the anxiety of what today would bring. What attempt had it been really? Aelric could never have succeeded. Robert had been in no danger and he knew it.

‘Not my boy,’ Brunwulf begged.

‘Your boy was safe while you obeyed me,’ Robert mused. ‘Why should he live now?’

‘He took no part in the uprising. I saw to it he knew nothing of what we planned.’

Murmurs of agreement fluttered across the square. Brunwulf dropped to his knees in supplication.

‘If you spare him, I will swear loyalty to your King here and now. You can tell William you secured my allegiance before my death.’

Robert was going to refuse. Constance could tell from the set of his jaw. The thought of Aelric’s death was unbearable to her. Shaking Jeanne’s hand from her arm, she dropped to her knees, ignoring the stiffness in her ankle.

‘You’ve shown them you can be fierce. Now show them you can be merciful,’ she pleaded. ‘There has been so much death today.’

The murmurs grew louder and angrier. Robert’s face was scarlet with fury.

‘Very well,’ he snapped. ‘He lives.’

Aelric was hauled to the foot of the gallows. The bodies were cut down and Brunwulf was dragged forward. Though his chains weighed him down he climbed the ladder unaided and stared straight ahead as the noose was passed over his head. He gave his oath of loyalty as he had promised. He cast a look at his son that spoke of so much affection that tears welled in Constance’s eyes. Then he went, face serene, to his death.

Many watching wept, Constance among them. Aelric remained dry eyed.

‘And now to deal with you. I said you’d live. I made no other promises,’ Robert said to Aelric. He turned to the guards. ‘Secure him to the scaffold. Ten lashes.’

Aelric was bound, hands high, to the frame where his father’s body hung. Constance turned to Jeanne in horror, but her sister’s eyes were blank.

‘Be silent,’ Jeanne hissed, ‘unless you want Robert to suspect the boy means more than you claim.’

The tunic was cut away, leaving Aelric’s back exposed. As the first blow struck his scream of pain tore through the marketplace. He was ready for the second and made no sound, but by the sixth his cries with each blow came as weak, throaty sobs. Constance bunched her fists, digging her nails into her palms. Only later would she notice the half-moons of blood she had raised to the surface. When the tenth stroke was done Robert strolled to where his captive sagged.

‘I have no need to keep you here any longer. Tomorrow you’ll be sent to Chester where Earl Gerbod can find a use for you in the fields or salt works.’

Robert drew a dagger, grabbed hold of Aelric’s left ear, twisting his head back.

‘I’ll leave you something to remember me by.’

He drew the tip from Aelric’s collar to below the ear then turned the blade and smoothly sliced the lobe away. The boy gave a shriek and, as this last cruelty finally broke him, slumped against the scaffold frame in a faint.

* * *

‘You shamed me in public! For that alone I should beat you until you scream!’

Robert’s rage was incandescent. Constance looked to her sister but Jeanne sat, head bowed over her embroidery, and said nothing. She would get no support there.

‘The boy did not deserve death.’

‘Never mind that. What were you doing befriending Saxon filth?’ Robert turned to his wife. ‘Madam, is your sister a wanton?’

‘No, my lord,’ Jeanne answered meekly. ‘Her behaviour is as shocking to me as it is to you.’

Constance’s scalp prickled. If Robert knew the truth about what had passed between her and Aelric his wrath would be too great to withstand. Robert seized hold of Constance by the arm and dragged her roughly to her bed, flinging her on to the straw mattress.

‘You are almost seventeen. It’s time you were married. In the morning I’m sending you to a convent until I can find a husband who can tame you.’

He stormed out, leaving Constance holding her face and trembling with anger.