Ivo laughed. “That Theta does, my liege.”
The name given his spy that he had never before spoken caused Guy to look sharply at his friend. Could it be the same servant who had so plagued Maxen’s wife he had sent the woman to serve at Blackspur Castle which would have been given to Guy had William not made it part of the bargain to bring Edwin Harwolfson to his side? Was that Theta still there, now plaguing Elan, or had she come to Ely?
“Just as Theta was cast out of Etcheverry,” Maxen said knowingly, “she was cast out of Blackspur.”
Isle of Ely
“Lest I am wrong about her—and I may be—you will not allow her to drown, will you, Cousin?”
A muscle in Hereward’s jaw ticked, and Vilda knew her question moved his thoughts to the foray that cost him the lives of five men at the Normans’ camp and one on the riverbank. That night, shortly after making it past the blockade, several of those in the boat had proclaimed their cause lost and urged their leader to surrender to the conqueror.
Fury being Hereward’s response, he had set on the dissenters with fists, knocking them in the water and refusing to allow them aboard until they vowed not to speak treason again. Only one had refused, and he had drowned—but not died. Hereward had gone in after him, and after pounding water from his lungs and refilling them with his own breath, brought the rebel back to his side.
The day after, it had taken all of Vilda’s restraint not to slap Theta whom she heard speculating about what had happened.
Perched on the lap of a thane who had gone into exile following the great battle and returned to England to join Hereward, the woman had said she believed it more likely some of those told to have been slain by Normans were drowned by Hereward.
Pure spite spoken against the rebel leader who spurned her advances, Vilda had been certain. But just as one of Hereward’s men had drowned, so might this disagreeable woman. And she might not be revived.
“When Theta is not testing my resolve to remain faithful to my Turfida, she is rousing such jealousy in men who are as brothers that often they bleed each other,” Hereward finally answered. “Though I am tempted to let what happens happen, I will not let her drown, V.”
As relief eased her shoulders, he touched her tender nose and swollen ear. “For a sennight, you shall bear her marks.”
“As she shall bear mine!”
He shifted his regard to Martin. “Be done with it, man!”
His servant dragged the woman’s arms from around his neck. Before Theta could hook onto him again, he heaved her forward as if she were a stone for the skipping.
The harlot soared, and when she landed with a great splash and went under, Vilda rasped, “Be a liar in this as well, Theta. Swim.”
As she and the others waited for a dark head to emerge, she heard Hereward grunt and saw his attention was on the boats whose occupants dared as they ought not in this section of the river.
“What think you of our audience?” he asked.
Returning her gaze to the murky water, relief leapt through Vilda when the woman came up spluttering and splashing.
“V?”
She dragged her gaze from Theta who would surely prove capable of travel by water and looked to the center boat. Though struck by the impressive height of nearly all who watched them, she knew it was the one at the bow to whom he referred. “It is he, is it not?”
“Certes, ’tis what that one wishes me to believe. And I do.” He laughed and, as with most of his expressions of amusement, ended on a high pitch. “I began to think never would Le Bâtard believe the threat of us great enough to bring him to Ely.”
And Vilda had prayed it would not.
“I cannot swim! Pray, help me!” Theta cried and went under again.
Though Hereward had said he would not let her drown, if she became entangled in her skirts and reeds or some hillock of mud took hold of her, he might not be able to save her.
Vilda gripped his arm. “This is not the way. Send someone in after her.”
“I will when I am more certain than not she is incapable of saving herself,” he said. “Instinct tells me that woman could swim to those Normans if she wished to.” He jutted his chin. “As quite possibly she has been doing as you witnessed last eve.”
Staring at the water, willing Theta to surface again, Vilda said, “Mayhap she was only bathing as told. I—”
The woman came up again, spat out water, gasped in air, and stretched out a beseeching hand. “Hereward! I vow I do not lie. I—” She slipped under, and Vilda held her breath as Theta whose suffering she had caused was surely doing, water seeking to force its way up her nose and down her throat.
“She is good for another minute,” her cousin said.
Vilda looked around at the others. Though their faces revealed not all were bereft of empathy, they seemed content to allow the woman to prove her innocence.
Vilda could not like her, but she hurt for Theta as seconds bundled into tens then twenties and all that emerged were bubbles of air exiting lungs lacking a means of replenishing what was lost.
“She drowns, Hereward!”
“Not yet.”
Feeling a scream in her chest, she struggled to trust her cousin would let no great ill befall the woman, but she could not. Determined to never again be responsible for another’s death, uncaring of the spectacle she made of herself, she swung a leg over the saddle. As the material of her skirts unbunched from riding astride, she dropped to the ground.
“Halt, Vilda!”
Knowing she disobeyed her cousin as done that night when she had agreed she would try not to do so again, she ran onto the dock. When Martin came around and began advancing on
