Given more time and oversight, what William sought to achieve stood a good chance of delivering the isle into his hands with the least amount of death and destruction, but he wanted Hereward’s submission, and he wanted it now.
Not only did he weary of English resistance he had been certain of vanquishing in less than a year rather than five, but great the need to turn his efforts to other matters, among them threats to Normandy from neighbors who sought to take advantage of a ruler often absent from his lands. But such was the price paid by those in power whose appetites to attain more were not content with brimming bellies. Were William not more attentive, his family’s long-held duchy could be the price of his kingship.
“There is more,” Maxen returned him to the present, “and I do not like it any better than you shall. I know Taillebois and you have little care for each other, but I believe your opposition to his defense of the undertaking led him to a suggestion I find unacceptable.”
Openly, Guy had challenged the man who, less often inebriated since their liege’s arrival, was sighted three nights past stumbling about the shore with two wineskins, one empty, the other fast emptying. He who reported this to Guy was the squire seeking redemption for the prideful error made the night he did not heed his lord in breaking off his pursuit of Hereward. Though Ivo’s behavior was not definite proof Theta had come to him, the following day, plans to besiege Ely were accelerated with tidings of the harvest that would distract the islanders who could be further distracted in seeking to protect their crops.
Inwardly bracing for a day that portended worse, Guy said, “I listen.”
“He says since you know the isle better than most, having several times stolen onto it for mapping, you should lead my men across the causeway.”
The accursed causeway, both sides of which were likely to tip many an armored warrior into water and mud resistant to loosing its spoils.
“When I protested,” Maxen continued, “William heeded me only insofar as he agreed to speak with you on the matter.”
A matter that could easily become a suicide mission, leaving the loved ones of its victims wanting—in Maxen’s case, making Rhiannyn a widow, their children fatherless, and Christophe brotherless. Whereas Guy…
“He awaits you.” Maxen nodded toward the tent.
“Be assured,” Guy said, “I shall do my best to make him see sense.”
My sense, he silently clarified when a squire tossed back the flap for him to enter. My sense of honor, my friend, not yours.
Isle of Ely
What Taillebois and De Warenne had failed to do, Le Bâtard had not.
Within a fortnight of his army’s arrival in the Fens, the relative freedom of traveling to and from the isle with little recourse was greatly checked and terrible the fate of many rebels who continued to steal past the reinforced blockade, especially those of forays not led by Hereward. And worse was to come if the conqueror breached Ely’s defenses as he aspired to do and as evidenced by great activity across the surrounding fens, its locals forced to build engines of war the usurper would loose upon the resistance.
Though most frightened of all were Ely’s life-long inhabitants and holy men of the abbey who had wished the resistance’s protection in the hope of maintaining their way of life unlike other English settlements fallen to the conquerors, they were not alone.
Despite assurances the defenders of Ely would prevail, increasing numbers of those who fled other areas of England to take refuge here were voicing fears more greatly felt with each passing day when anticipation of an attack that did not come poured itself into another day, and this included some trained into warriors who had vowed to fight unto death.
The mostly patient Hereward calmed and rallied them, but it was obvious the constant need to offer reassurance burdened him. And though he did not voice his own concern over the conqueror’s plans that could only be pieced together with the glue of scarce and mostly unreliable information, she knew it scraped him raw.
A man of much action, he needed his raids and triumphs. He needed his enemies to suffer frustration and fear. He needed Ely to remain an unassailable fortress. He needed more men strong of conviction and learned in the ways of the warrior to aid in shouldering his burden—men like the leader of the Rebels of the Pale who had come to Ely to train Hereward’s men and was too soon gone.
Remembering Vitalis, she closed her eyes. When he left in the night, he had taken the Norman lady, Nicola D’Argent, whom the Danes held captive here. Had Vilda sounded the hue and cry when she saw what was planned, she could have thwarted the rescue, but having formed a liking for the lady, she had feared what Hereward’s false allies would do to her. Too, Vilda believed only those truly committed to the cause were of use—and were they of none, best they leave so they not endanger others here. Thus, it was good Vitalis was gone, especially were it true that in wedding that lady he had yielded to Le Bâtard.
How Vilda wished someone worthy had appeared to replace him so the training of defenders did not number among Hereward’s many duties. Earl Morcar tried to offer relief, but his intentions were greater than his ability to train those of the common into warriors—likely the same as his command of men which had surely contributed to the loss of his extensive lands to the conqueror.
“Lord,” Vilda breathed, then returned to her belt the dagger with which she had cut an apple into bite-sized pieces. As she slid it in its sheath, she recalled throwing its predecessor at
