A moment before De Warenne growled, “Methinks that Hereward at the fore,” Guy acknowledged it. Not only was that one of the same stocky build as the rebel leader, but tattoos coursing bared arms were visible.
“Too long I have waited to give form to that devil,” the king said. “Now I would give face to him. Nearer!”
Taillebois grumbled something, and the warrior working the oars nearest Guy ground his teeth loudly, but William was obeyed. All those aboard the boats could do was pray the river bed had not shifted significantly and those working the oars remembered which areas to avoid.
“God’s rood!” the king exclaimed a short while later. “Is that Morcar?”
Guy was fairly certain of it, though not from any confrontation with that earl dispossessed of his lands—rather, from when Morcar was all but a prisoner at William’s court. The two had never spoken, but Guy had known him by sight. Though now relatively distant where he sat alongside Hereward, his proud carriage, build, and color of hair and beard evidenced he was the same.
This past spring, he and his brother, Eadwine, had escaped the court when words were whispered in their ears that William intended to imprison them. Whereas Morcar had gathered a good number of his men and other prominent English rebels to join Hereward on Ely, Eadwine had decided to seek sanctuary in Scotland. If rumor delivered to Ely was true, Morcar’s brother had been slain by servants during the northward journey.
“So fine a horse as that, likely Morcar,” De Warenne agreed. “And just as I am certain that is Hereward, I am certain we must cease advancing lest what they hope for comes to pass.”
“We are still out of arrow range?” William asked.
“Barely,” said Taillebois. “Of greater concern is the river. Though it is possible to negotiate a bit farther providing we slow to allow time to avoid the unseen or extricate ourselves should the mud take hold, it is best we turn back.”
“As I would have that outlaw know I have come, we slow,” the king said.
None furthered the argument, and the rowers were commanded to reduce their speed to one half. The timing could have been only slightly better, one of those on the other boats leaning over the side to watch for danger shouting, “Go right!”
That vessel lurched before it could correct its own course but came free of the obstruction avoided by the other two.
“Slower!” William ordered, he and the others once more bracing themselves.
Guy exchanged a knowing look with Maxen. The king understood the necessity of a more cautious advance but not of retreat. He would go nearer yet.
“My liege, do you not think we should turn back?” De Warenne said.
“Not until I am certain there can be no doubt it is the rightful King of England who comes to survey what belongs to him.”
Thus, they continued south, weaving left and right when lookouts gave warning.
When they were near enough the dock the rebels’ features were fairly fathomable, De Warenne said, “We are within arrow range.”
“Halt!” the king shouted.
Oars were reversed, and when the boats stilled, all those aboard retrieved shields should the rebels on the shore or any lurking in the sparse wood beyond think to make targets of those on the water.
For some minutes, enemy regarded enemy as if across an unsullied battlefield ahead of a charge that would desecrate the landscape with the blood of the slain. Then Hereward looked around and motioned to someone.
A big man urged forward a horse shared with a woman whose head hung as if in shame, dark hair concealing her face. He halted past Hereward, swung out of the saddle, and lifted the woman down. She swayed, and when her knees buckled, he put her over a shoulder.
“What is this?” William demanded as the rebel struck out across the dock. “Some heathen ritual?”
“Likely punishment,” Ivo said. “Months past, my eyes and ears upon Ely reported that following Hereward’s failed foray in which he lost five men, some of those who escaped with him encouraged him to yield to you. It so enraged the outlaw, he bound them and cast them out of the boat, leaving them to drown.”
“Savage,” William snarled, and again Guy and Maxen exchanged looks, the former certain the latter was also thinking of those who lost eyes, hands, and feet for words spoken against the king. As most bled out, their deaths were more excruciatingly slow than death by drowning.
When the man halted at the end of the dock and drew the woman off his shoulder, De Warenne said, “Mayhap she is accused of being a witch and this a test—sink and she is innocent, float and she is guilty.”
“She is not bound,” the king pointed out that part of the trial by ordeal was not observed.
Guy shifted his jaw. He despised superstition and the cruelties suffered by those who fell under it, but naught could be done to help the poor creature.
Movement returned his regard to Hereward, and he saw one of those mounted behind draw alongside the rebel leader—another woman, this one of golden brown hair. It was not possible to look near upon her, but he guessed she was young and could see she was not as well-endowed of breasts and hips as the one beginning to struggle at dock’s end. As she was the only other woman present, might she be the harpy who cursed him months past, the same who patrolled Ely’s shore at night?
Of a sudden, Ivo snarled, “I think that my spy.”
Guy narrowed his eyes on the woman Taillebois called his pretty eel whose screeches sounded across the water as she attempted to free herself of arms holding her to a broad chest.
“Then she has been found out,” the king mused. “Soon the eyes and ears of which you boast will be closed unless she knows how to swim well and stay clear of the mud
