The Saxon Outlaw's Revenge

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 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.’