Читать книгу The Saxon Outlaw's Revenge - Elisabeth Hobbes - Страница 10

Chapter Two

Worcestershire—1075

Constance folded the parchment over and ran her finger across the two halves of the thick seal. She dug her thumbnail into the wax until the edges chipped.

‘Do you know what this letter says?’ she asked her guest.

Hugh D’Avranches, Palatine Earl of Chester, reached across to the low table and refilled their goblets. The jug nestled among the remains of the late meal they had shared. It had been pleasant before Hugh had produced the parchment.

‘I can hazard a guess,’ he replied, handing Constance her wine. ‘When your brother-in-law asked me to carry this message I asked if he would like me to bring your reply back to Cheshire. He said there would be none as he was certain you would obey his instructions and begin your travel preparations immediately.’

Constance suppressed a shudder.

‘He would have me travel in December! He expects me to return to live in Hamestan.’

She flung the hateful letter to the floor beside her and began pacing around the chamber, her stick striking loudly on the stone floor. When she had left Hamestan seven years ago she had intended never to go back.

‘Who is he to command me to do anything!’ she exclaimed. ‘And why now? You should have refused to bring this to me.’

Hugh folded his arms; a calm, thickset, tawny-haired man who was more jowly every time Constance saw him, despite not yet being thirty. He regarded Constance with an expression of mild reproach, then beckoned her to sit down. It was impossible to stay angry with him for long so she returned to the settle by the hearth and eased herself on to the cushions, stretching her leg on to a low stool.

‘Robert de Coudray is one of my tenants-in-chief. It would have been churlish for me to refuse to bear his letter as I was travelling past Bredon on my way to Gloucester. Besides—’ Hugh smiled and took Constance’s hand ‘—I would not pass up the opportunity to visit you. I have seen you so rarely this past three years. My new responsibilities keep me busy.’

Such familiarity was unbecoming, even if she was a widow. If anyone were to find them in such a position she was risking scandal, but Constance was beyond caring. One way or another she would be gone before long.

‘I’m glad to see you, Hugh. I have so few friends. I don’t want to quarrel with you when you’re here for such a short time.’

Hugh placed the letter on the table alongside the wine jug.

‘You could intervene and make Robert change his mind,’ Constance suggested hopefully.

Hugh pursed his lips. ‘Not without causing bad blood and I need the loyalty of all my vassals at this time. As much as you hate it, now you are a widow, your brother-in-law is your legal guardian. If Robert commands you to live within the protection of his household that is his right.’

The notion of Robert de Coudray offering any sort of protection would be laughable. Except it wasn’t funny. Not when she wondered who would offer protection from Robert himself. She rubbed her ear, feeling a faint scar beneath her fingertips left by Robert’s belt buckle.

‘I don’t want any man’s protection,’ she said. She stared into the fire, watching the flames rising from the logs and entwining sinuously, like lovers dancing.

‘You cannot stay in Bredon,’ Hugh said.

‘My late husband’s nephew has inherited the land and title. He has agreed that I may live here until twelve months have passed. After that I intend to return to take holy orders at the convent at Brockley.’

‘Constance, you’re far too young to shut yourself off from the world in such a way,’ Hugh exclaimed.

Constance took a long drink of wine. She didn’t feel young. Dark shadows under her eyes and a permanent worry crease on her forehead was evidence enough of that. The ever-present stiffness in her leg merely accentuated it.

‘I am twenty-three. Many women commit themselves to life in the cloisters from a much younger age and, as you say, I have to live somewhere.’

‘Why Brockley?’ Hugh asked. ‘Why not somewhere closer to here?’

Constance clasped her hands around her arms and shivered.

‘The sisters cared for me when I arrived there from Hamestan. I would have stayed then if I’d been permitted, but once Robert brokered my marriage I was brought here.’

‘You never speak of that time,’ Hugh mused.

Constance lifted her chin and fixed him with a fierce glare, her stomach lurching violently. None but the nuns knew what she had learned about herself when she had arrived there and she intended to keep it that way.

‘No,’ she said curtly. ‘I don’t.’

After an unusually tactful length of time Hugh broke the silence by throwing another log on to the fire.

‘Tell me...why did you question the timing of this letter?’ he asked.

‘Piteur—’ Constance winced slightly as she always did when mentioning her deceased husband ‘—has been dead for nine months. Lord de Coudray has made no attempt to communicate with me until now.’

‘Perhaps he has finally realised the necessity of deciding your future,’ Hugh pointed out. ‘If you had borne an heir matters would have been different.’

That was the problem. Five years of marriage had produced no child who had lived. Hugh, like all men, would think only of the lineage that must be carried on and her failure to provide the required child. The grief for her daughter, dead after only four days in the world, was still raw after three years. It seemed unlikely ever to diminish. The pain, helplessness and indignity that had accompanied her other failed pregnancies, before and afterwards, still clawed at her in nightmares.

She thought back to the first baby. The one she had not even suspected she was carrying and tears burned her eyes. Tears of sorrow, and hatred for the man who had unknowingly caused its death.

Hugh took her hand gently.

‘King William dislikes widows living alone. You know you will have to marry again,’ he said. ‘I know your husband granted you a legacy when he died.’

Piteur’s legacy had been earned many times over in ways Constance did not wish to contemplate ever again. She would crush every jewel and melt every ring if she could.

‘I’m sure I could find a dozen husbands who would look past my deformity—’ she indicated her crooked foot ‘—and spend it for me, but I have had enough of marriage,’ Constance said bitterly. ‘I’m done with men using me for their own ends.’

‘If I had been in England when your brother-in-law was searching for a husband, I would have put myself forward.’

Constance’s eyes widened in surprise. She was fond of Hugh, but it had never crossed her mind his feelings ran that deep.

‘I’m flattered,’ Constance said sincerely, ‘but you are married now so that is not a possibility.’

Hugh stretched out his stocky legs towards the fire. ‘That is true, but I would gladly become your patron and protector if you would become my mistress.’

She should be shocked. She should dismiss him immediately from the room, but she didn’t.

‘You don’t mean that,’ she said gravely.

‘Sometimes I do,’ he answered. ‘Especially when the night is cold and the wine is sweet and I think how soft your lips are.’

Hugh’s eyes slid to the corner of the room where Constance’s bed stood and a suggestive smile played around his lips.

‘It’s late and my horse is tired. It would be cruel to make him travel further tonight,’ he said roguishly. He reached for Constance’s hand again and began to run his fingers up and down her arm. ‘Come to bed with me. If you’re determined to cloister yourself away you should have some memories to look back on fondly. Perhaps you will change your mind.’

She was almost tempted, just to see what it would be like. Hugh was kind and reputed to treat his mistresses well. Not all men could be as brutal and demeaning as Piteur and his companions had been. She’d loved a boy once before, in her youth, and that had been sweet and exciting. It was the memory of Aelric that tipped the scales against Hugh.

‘I don’t think that would be wise,’ Constance said, withdrawing her hand. ‘I’m done with men and men are done with me. You are welcome to my hospitality in every other respect though. Speak to my steward and he will find you a bed. Come and say farewell before you leave in the morning,’ she instructed.

Hugh accepted her refusal with a good-natured bow. Constance stood and held out her arm and together they walked to the door.

Hugh stopped in the doorframe.

‘I know you don’t like to speak of your time in Hamestan, or the circumstances under which you left, but I am asking you to consider returning to Cheshire. It might be to both our advantages.’

Constance looked at him suspiciously.

‘I haven’t been entirely honest. The timing of Lord de Coudray’s letter troubles me, too,’ Hugh admitted. ‘Rumours are beginning to emerge that in certain parts of the country there is talk of dissent.’

‘From the Saxons?’

Images Constance had buried for years flashed through her mind. Bodies swinging from the gallows on a foggy day. A pair of blue eyes still defiant despite unendurable pain. Her heart throbbed unexpectedly, surprising her. She had believed it had petrified beyond beating with such intensity.

Hugh’s lips tightened. ‘Not only them. None have dared to rebel since William’s harrying. The earls in Mercia are becoming restless and William fears Cheshire may follow.’

‘Why should this involve me?’ Constance asked.

‘Your brother-in-law’s name has been mentioned indirectly and it would be helpful for me to have a connection close to his household. So much of my time is taken up dealing with the Welsh borderlands.’

‘I don’t want to return there,’ Constance said quietly. ‘I can’t forget what he did, or forgive him. What advantage is there for me?’

‘Do this for me and I will make sure you are safe,’ Hugh said. ‘If you will not become my mistress I cannot prevent you being required to marry, but if Robert were disgraced, or condemned for treason, he would have no influence in the matter.’

‘What will happen to Robert if I find any indication he is involved in conspiracy?’ Constance asked.

Hugh’s eyes were steely.

‘If he is involved in any treachery, he will be brought to justice.’

Constance turned her head so Hugh could not see the emotions assailing her. He was her friend, but first and foremost he would protect his lands and King. His protection might be the only hope she had. Moreover, aiding him would be a fitting revenge on Robert.

For the first year since leaving Hamestan her hatred for Robert had seared her from within. When she was given to Piteur, her husband replaced him as the object of her loathing, as a black shadow obliterates the grey rock. Now the emotions that had diminished came back in a rush.

‘I’ll think on it,’ she promised.

Hugh’s face broke into a smile. He kissed her briefly on the cheek and left. Constance summoned her serving girl and sat before the fire as the maid combed and plaited her chestnut hair until it shone. She re-read the letter until she could recite it word for word. It was curt to the point of rudeness, but she expected nothing less from Robert. There was no word either of or from her sister, but as Jeanne was not a skilled writer this was to be expected as well.

Constance climbed into bed and drew the furs up high. In the fading firelight she stared around the small chamber that had been her sanctuary since her wedding. Piteur had seldom entered it. He had kept his quarters in the adjoining room, summoning Constance when he required her presence. She shivered with instinctive revulsion. When he died she had burned his mattress and coverlet, ignoring the protestations and gossip of his servants and tenants who excused her behaviour as the actions of a grieving young widow.

This house was not hers and despite her words to Hugh, she had no real inclination to stay here. She fell asleep, wondering about the previous owners before Piteur had been rewarded the land. Perhaps 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 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.’