Heart of Vengeance

Chapter One

Chapter One

1068, Cheshire

They hanged the rebels in the market square. Rain hung in the air. Heavy drizzle that characterised this part of England: thicker than mist and turning the world grey and damp.

A cheerless day for a brutal act.

Constance D'Arnaud wished she could leave this cold, unwelcoming country and return to Normandy where the sun was visible some days even in October. She wiggled her feet to rid herself of the dull ache that ran down her leg and pulled her fur-trimmed cloak tighter. She tipped the hood forward. The folds of heavy wool would not block out the sounds but she would not have to watch the men die.

The old thegn stood between two guards, his fine tunic torn and filthy with blood and grime. He wore fetters but was bowed down by more than the weight of the chains that held him.

"Brunwulf, formerly Thegn of Hamestan, for conspiring to incite revolt your remaining land and title is forfeit. As Tenant-in-chief for it is my duty and right to pass this sentence on you."

From the dais Baron Roger de Coudray's voice rang clear across the square. A muttering of anger rippled around the crowd, dying away quickly as the soldiers raised their weapons.

Constance wondered how many of the serfs and villeins that huddled behind makeshift railings understood what her stepfather said. She had lived in England for eighteen months but a year after moving from Winchester to Cheshire the accent still seemed thick and impenetrable to her ears.

"Your life and the lives of those who raised swords against your king are also forfeit," Roger continued.

Brunwulf raised his head at this and stared at Roger. His eyes were bruised and almost forced shut with the swelling but the hatred in them was clear. He spat a reply, the name and sentiment familiar to Constance.

"The Bastard of Normandy is no king of mine."

Another murmur, this time of approval sped round the gathered people and a few cries of agreement rose up. Constance shifted nervously. People must have come from half of Cheshire to witness today's executions, and though these were farmers and craftsmen, serfs and women, there were a lot more of them than there were soldiers in Baron Roger's retinue.

Roger's face reddened as he bellowed his reply. "The crown has been William's for two years. We rule England now. If you had submitted you could have retained control of your lands as our vassals but you refused to see sense. Now you will pay the penalty."

A cruel light shone in the baron's eyes. "You will be the last to die. You will watch the deaths of your countrymen and sons first though, so you understand how utterly you have failed. Let this be a warning to any who think to oppose us."

Roger jerked a thumb and a dozen men bound men were brought forward from the heavily guarded cart and pushed to their knees alongside the thegn. They bore the same signs of rough treatment as Brunwulf, and like him wore clothes that once spoke of quality. These were not serfs or slaves but thegns and housecarls themselves.

Three at a time the condemned men were dragged up the steps to the scaffold in the centre of the square and nooses tightened around their necks. As the first three executions were carried out wails of sorrow broke out among the crowd. The voices of wives and mothers, sisters or lovers. The soldiers standing in front of the huddled, grieving women crossed their pikes to hold them back as though expecting the women to rush forward in attack. Constance could not help the sigh that escaped her.

Sitting between Constance and the baron, Roger's wife turned pale.

"Don't pity them," Jeanne de Coudray whispered harshly to her daughter. "What compassion would they have spared me? Would they have cared if we had starved?"