A moment after surfacing, a Norman-accented shout brought her head around, and through water-clouded eyes she saw warriors swing their bows toward her.
She dove, expecting if anything struck it would be an arrow, but it was something else. Broad and dull-edged, it slammed into the side of her head.
If not for pain and wavering consciousness, she would have more greatly felt the burn of water flooding her nasal passages—and a second strike to her shoulder with what had to be an oar.
Deeper and to the other side, she commanded herself. Air there, then you shall do your worst in breaking up the causeway.
Amazed she yet held her dagger, she propelled herself downward, but as she gained the shadow of the causeway’s underside, someone grasped her from behind.
She feared it was a Norman, but sensing it was no such beast, she suppressed the instinct to struggle and allowed herself to be towed along.
To her surprise, they did not surface on the other side where more boats lurked, but beneath the causeway in a gap between logs—rather, two sections being separated by the efforts of those who had thus far escaped the enemy’s arrows. And when the wrist of her dagger-wielding hand was gripped and she was spun around, there was Hereward.
His gaze swept from the side of her face which she imagined was tinged red by blood running from the wound beneath her hair. “You promised to obey, V!”
There was no time for sentiment, but throwing her free arm around him, she hugged him and said, “I told I would try.”
“Stay near!” He pushed her away and moved toward a rebel who struggled the same as three others to saw his blade through a center hide.
Hereward should not be here, and she was to blame, and more she would be if he lost his life. After sending up a prayer they survive and turn back the conquerors, she asked, “What section is this?”
“The third nearest our shore,” said a half-toothless Saxon. “Have they not these pieces to pass over, they will go into the deep and only those able to shed their armor will gain the surface. Then easily they shall fall to our arrows.”
Blessedly, Hereward’s own strength was many times that of others, and when the hide was cut free, they set upon another.
Head throbbing amid bouts of dizziness, Vilda stayed near but did not further overstep.
Only when the gap between the sections suddenly widened as the hide to the far left broke free under the strain of holding all together, did the Normans discover those likely believed dead were very alive and busy. Now shouts that had been relatively subdued rang out across the water, and as a boat came into view in the opening jaws between the three sections and the greater bulk, arrows flew.
“Retreat!” Hereward commanded.
Though they had not severed the last hide to the far right, it was not necessary. It but served as a hinge now and would likely tear free before the Normans arrived. To those who filled their lungs full before diving under the causeway, great the hope they had done enough.
Greed or panic. Which one more greatly affected Sir Deda could not be known, but he had not been moved by the king’s command issued moments after he spurred forward—a command to increase their pace the sooner to reach the isle, which Guy countered when he saw the boats gathering at the end of the causeway had failed to protect it, the lowermost sections swinging wide.
He and his forces had halted just past the three-quarter mark, meaning the elite force and others were now on the causeway, but it was possible an orderly retreat would see all safely back to the shore—if they heeded him rather than more blows on the horn that repeated the order to proceed.
“We go back and with great caution!” Guy commanded warriors who could better see what those on the shore behind could not. But they hesitated to obey, either because they struggled with heeding their commander over the king, greed that tempted them to do the same as Deda, or panic. In the end, all could prove the doom of many when some on foot began pressing forward and others pushing opposite.
As the mounted warriors who could not easily come about were forced toward the isle, the causeway lurched.
“Be still!” Guy shouted. “Firm your footing!”
But were he heard above the rising din, few responded, those determined to proceed continuing to do so the same as those seeking to flee. Then sections began to collapse, others threatening to overturn.
It was like hearing thunder following the stab of lightning—a warning come after the fact. What was done was done, and all each man could do now was try to save his own life.
Of a sudden, the horse gone skittish beneath Guy like those of the rest of the cavalry, lunged forward to escape the danger behind, uncaring if greater danger lay ahead where Sir Deda neared the end of the shortened causeway.
The beast resisted attempts to bring it under control, and perhaps that saved Guy when sections behind dumped warriors into the marsh. However, when the one over which his mount sped tore free of the greater expanse, all stabilization was lost and, as it swung to the side, horse and rider went in the water.
Praising the Lord for casting him distant enough he did not suffer thrashing hooves, Guy struggled to keep water from entering his lungs as he began ridding himself of chain mail that would make it difficult to keep his head above water once he surfaced. In this the Lord also proved merciful.
As muffled cries and shouts sounded down through the water, he came free of his hauberk and his feet touched bottom. It was not mud dragging at his boots and seeking to hold him under but what felt rock.
He pushed off and quickly emerged to the painfully clear sounds of others
