As the king gripped Ivo’s arm and commanded him to silence and still as if for fear his man would go in after her, Hereward shouted, “Come, Vilda!”
Holding her regard to Taillebois, she said, “Alas, this is not the day you drag me off by my hair and do evil in the sight of God.”
“That day will come,” Ivo defied his king, “and sooner than you know, for this is William the Great, and he will reclaim Ely even if it must be made no longer habitable for the soak of filthy Saxon blood.”
When William let stand that threat, either because he approved or was loath to lose his temper in front of the enemy, once more Hereward commanded his cousin to return.
Though she began her backward crawl to the dock, she had more to say. “If ’tis truly you, Le Bâtard, for the sake of thousands more Normans yet to die for your greed, go back to your little dukedom. England will never be yours in truth!”
As Guy pondered how aware she was of William’s seething that was felt by those with whom he shared the boat, she called again, “Hark! Is that you, Torquay of the elite?”
She flashed teeth. Though her mocking smile gave her face a pretty cast, it was no balm to its recipient who stiffened in preparation for the revelation he had chosen his squire over meeting Hereward at swords. It would earn Guy no favor with William—indeed, could prove the end of his service, forcing him to resort to a mercenary’s life.
“Certes, you look as I imagined the…” She drew more breath, and Guy knew the strain of getting Theta back to the dock wore on her. “…commander of the force who lets no rebel slip past…no matter the cost in Norman lives.”
As Guy was given to weighing the good against the bad, he determined the good of this was she did not reveal him, the bad that she made sport of him for refusing to sacrifice his squire and other men. Though she must count it as weakness, he would not be ashamed.
“I am thinking the two of you have met,” Maxen murmured.
“I am thinking you are right,” Guy said, sure Alvilda was not done with him.
“But another Norman pig!” she named him the same as done two months past.
As she increased her efforts to tow Theta to the dock, Guy mused, Now she is done with me. And yet he sensed in the days and weeks ahead, better he would come to know Alvilda of Ely.
Chapter Five
The harlot’s response unnerved.
Vilda having passed her to Martin who hauled her onto the dock, hardly had Hereward set his cousin on her own feet than Theta crawled forward and flung her arms around the legs of the one she named the sturdy virgin widow.
In that moment, Vilda wished she were more sturdy, the thrust of the woman’s weight threatening to drop her to her rear in sight of Normans. If Hereward had not steadied her, she might have given those who had yet to retreat something over which to laugh.
Pressing the side of her face against Vilda’s knees, Theta cried, “Though your fellow Saxon wronged you and has only the excuse of suffering at the hands of the enemy, you did not forsake her. For me, you placed yourself within arrow range of the ungodly Le Bâtard. Much gratitude, Lady!”
Were she any other, Vilda might have spoken reassuring words, but this was Theta. She sounded remorseful and fearful, and near death could alter a person, but often it was only in the moment. Ever it was easier and more comfortable to revert to the known beneath one’s skin than drag it out to make room for permanent change.
“Have you forgotten I am the reason you were tossed in?” Vilda asked.
The woman tipped back her head. Her lovely face a picture of pleading, she said, “I did, but I know it was not with malice you voiced fear of me. You did it for the good of our people who must be protected, even if in proving I do not betray my own, it cost me my life.”
Vilda’s discomfort surged, not only for the audience of what might be a performance but serious consideration the woman’s contrition was genuine. After all, whatever had been done Theta by the Normans could have changed her, reasoned what remained of the soft of Vilda. She herself was much altered by the invasion and the terror that followed months later when she and others sought to salvage their battered lives. Perhaps Theta had been so ill-used by the enemy she believed her only power and means of survival was to turn the spoils of her body to her advantage.
Of a sudden, her face crumpled. “I forgive you, Lady!” She dropped her chin and began sobbing.
Vilda reached. The moment she set a hand atop Theta’s head, a bark of laughter shot across the water, and she swept her gaze to those she had scorned whose drawn bows were lowered. Did one now scorn her for being foolish? The possibility made her snatch her hand from Theta’s head, and she was grateful when Martin pulled the woman off her.
As he urged Theta past, Hereward turned Vilda toward him. “Don this.”
Her gown. A glance down causing heat to suffuse her face over what was revealed beneath threadbare material that clung more like the threads of a spider than those of a sheep, she snatched the gown and yielded to his aid in getting it over her head.
Leaving its laces loose
