Silence descended, and both men turned their attention to the camp. It was then Guy felt Elan slipping tent to tent—nearer and nearer—as if to steal upon them.
Thus, it came as no surprise when Maxen said, “I do not expect you to ask after my sister. Is it still too raw to speak of her?”
Though tempted to laugh, Guy knew the best that might be said of such mirth was it did not sound as bitter as once it had. Time might not heal, but it was a salve worthy of the mortar and pestle of Christophe. “I thought we must speak of her and was thinking how best to do so.”
Once more, Maxen moved his regard to his friend. “I will tell only what you wish to know.”
Guy breathed deep. “Is she well?”
“She is.”
“Does Harwolfson treat her fair without the need to threaten him with bodily harm?”
Maxen grunted. “He is more fair than possibly she deserves.”
“Then she is not miserable?”
This time Maxen’s answer was hesitation.
Guy smiled tautly. “Though she chose her son over me, my love was real even though I know it waded in the shallows. Be assured, I do not wish Elan ill.”
“This I know. She is not miserable, Guy.”
That seemed the place to end the conversation, but Guy pressed, “She knows some happiness?”
“She does.”
“That happiness?”
“Husband and wife are comfortable with each other, striving to make a good marriage of one forced on themselves.”
Guy was relieved. “Then there will be more children.”
More hesitation.
“She has borne him another child,” Guy said.
“Oui, a second son who shall soon attain one year of age.”
“I am glad. I wish her to be happy, even if it is another man who makes her so.” He shifted his jaw. “How well does her Saxon husband endure the continued unrest?”
“He struggles to remain planted at Blackspur Castle, and his hatred for William has not abated—indeed, greater that since the harrying of the North. If not for love of his children and his people working his lands, perhaps even love for Elan, he might have been on that dock this day.”
“And have far less to show for it,” Guy said and silently added, Whereas I would have more—Elan, her child I would have made my own, and the children we would have had together. And Blackspur Castle.
Surely sensing enough had been said of the past that could not be undone, Maxen said, “Now that is behind us, enlighten me about the woman I am fairly certain you met before this day who calls to mind the Saxon warrior, Lady Hawisa Wulfrith.”
“We have met before,” Guy said, “but though it seems she has cast off most of the lady, I do not believe she presents the threat of Lady Hawisa.” He thought of the dagger thrown at him which he did not believe would have landed significantly better had she firm ground beneath her and daylight to better sight her target, next of her rescue of a woman who needed no rescuing, lastly of what had roused Taillebois to laughter and for which William rebuked him once they were distant—Theta’s performance that Hereward’s cousin appeared to accept as reality.
“I would like to hear of your first meeting and what she named you then,” Maxen said.
“The same she named me this day—a Norman pig, though she added I was unworthy of Saxon slop.”
“Until our people redeem themselves—else prove otherwise—many of us are pigs,” said the Bloodlust Warrior who would never again serve William as he had at Hastings, then he tossed back the flap of the tent that would be his home until Ely was taken. “Come, my friend. I would have you acquaint me with what you know of these Fens and all that has gone here so sooner we can be done with this business with the least amount of bloodshed.”
Chapter Six
The Fenlands
Autumn, 1071
Success!” William had pridefully declared a quarter hour earlier, having yet to accept that with all things Hereward, one should be slow in proclaiming victory, and for the moment this one was of no great size. Even if the handful of men whose signal told they had made it onto the isle were successful, the diversion with which they were tasked would prove of little value if the great endeavor failed to breach the isle’s defenses.
Those first months here, such half-birthed pride conceived by arrogance had led to the deaths of numerous Normans. As Guy had learned and De Warenne and Taillebois resisted accepting, if a conflict could go wrong by way of little-anticipated events, more often than not it did.
The same as Vitalis, the leader of the Rebels of the Pale who finally accepted continued resistance would only lead to more Saxon deaths, Hereward was rarely predictable. However, the latter had a powerful ally which Vitalis had lacked, and that was unpredictable marshland. For the Norman forces, time and again that partnership proved a deadly one, the terrain dangerously unstable for armor-weighted foot soldiers and more so cavalry. Thus, unless God determined to aid the conquerors this day as many believed He had done at the Battle of Hastings, the resistance would lose fewer men than the enemy.
Shortly, the immense warrior who had ducked low to emerge from the king’s tent halted before Guy. “Neither would he heed me,” Maxen said. “As De Warenne and Taillebois are in agreement with William’s own counsel, he will proceed.”
Though Guy had hoped his friend could dissuade their liege from acting this day, it did not surprise he had also failed, and it angered for the Norman lives that might be lost. “He moves too soon,” he growled.
“This I told him and earned more scorn than you for what he expects of the warrior I will no longer be for him even if it costs my life.”
And the lives of his men, Guy thought, those under Maxen’s command—and now worthier for his leadership—having been chosen to lead an
