Hoping those bringing up the rear, among them Maxen and the elite force, had time to return to the shore, he snarled, “Accursed William. You—”
“Sir Guy!”
Panting from anger rather than exertion like that of fellow warriors he was unable to save, Guy saw one of the boats neared. Whereas they could safely pull him from the water, even if they could get to the others in time, they would not dare lest a horde of desperate men capsize the vessel and all were lost.
Hauled over the side and beginning to feel the chill of soaked garments in the absence of sunlight, Guy set a hand on his sword hilt and looked to Ely’s shore that was just out of arrow range.
“The rebels—among them Hereward and that woman—cut away the last three sections of the causeway,” one of eight men said. “Lest Sir Deda did not see it, we called out a warning, but he did not slow—”
“The woman?” Guy interrupted. “You speak of Hereward’s cousin?”
The man hesitated, likely thinking Guy should be more concerned with the chevalier’s fate. “Oui, I recognized her as the one who saved that other woman thrown in the water. As I was working an oar when she came up near the causeway, I struck her twice and she went under. I thought I killed her, but…” He trailed off.
Aware he exuded anger he ought not after all the Norman losses to be counted up this eve, Guy breathed deep and said, “Continue.”
“When we saw the causeway was severed and brought our boat near, she was there with Hereward and others and all went under ere we could stop them.”
“Then she made it back to the isle?”
He shook his head. “Her cousin called to her and searched the water. He did not find her.”
Another rebel among the thousands lost to the conquering, Guy thought, and yet more tragic it seemed for that woman who twice named him a Norman pig as she would not do again.
“Hereward did not return to the isle empty-handed,” the man continued. “Weighted by chain mail, Sir Deda was unable to escape the outlaw and we could not reach him in time.”
“Hereward slew him?”
“Non, he knocked him unconscious and towed him back to shore.”
No great reward for you, Sir Deda, Guy thought. Though you are the only one to make it onto the isle, it was not without aid and you did no injury to the enemy. Rather, you aided them by causing Normans who might have turned back to press onward.
“And so once more the unpredictable Hereward and his rebels prevail,” Guy muttered and could hardly begrudge them, especially as William in commanding the forces to advance and Deda in leading the way handed them victory on a platter of Norman lives that should not have been served at this banquet—nor Saxon lives—had William heeded Maxen and Guy and waited.
“I think this battle is done, Sir Guy,” said the boat’s commander who had been content to let his man tell the tale. “Permission to return to the blockade and await the king’s instructions.”
It was said with beseeching, neither he nor his men wishing to pilot their craft among what could prove hundreds of drowned men and the rage and chaos that followed great tragedy, which could turn against those who had failed to keep the causeway intact. But it was also a reasonable request, at this time the greatest aid they could offer being that of strengthening the blockade lest the empowered rebels struck back this eve and claimed more enemy lives. Too, the other boats which had flanked the causeway were withdrawing.
“Granted,” Guy said, and accepting a blanket from one of the archers, draped it around his shoulders and moved to a forward bench. Before he could lower, a shout sounded from a boat ahead, then the vessel slowed and altered its course.
“They have found something,” the captain said and ordered his men to follow.
Not something, but someone, Guy realized when one of those on the other boat cried, “I think it is her!”
He was surprised by how welcome those words—until it struck him Hereward’s cousin might be dead in the water, and that was worse than not finding her at all. But when the captain of his boat eased past the other one, the rising moon showed she struggled to tread water as if having expended nearly all her strength.
A pale face plastered with wet hair turned toward those in the first boat, eyes wide like those of a beaten dog backed into a corner. Besides a lack of defiance, there was something else about her that did not fit Guy’s first two encounters. She appeared confused as if she could not determine if it was friend or foe surrounding her. Had she not suffered considerable injury, she could be succumbing to the cold and wet.
“We will retrieve her,” Guy called, and when the other boat’s captain began to protest, added, “Be assured, credit will be given you.”
With grudging, the man inclined his head.
“Careful,” Guy warned as his boat maneuvered near the woman who made no attempt to flee—indeed, began to sink, arms no longer visible, chin slipping beneath the surface, then her mouth.
“Keep your oars clear,” Guy commanded, then called, “Hold, Alvilda. We are here.”
Moments later, he cast off his blanket and, leaning over the side, plunged both hands in the water and caught her beneath the arms. It was no struggle to get her aboard, though neither was it easy for her inability to offer assistance. Too, she was not slight like Elan.
Though of good figure as he knew the same as those here who were present when Theta duped her into going into the water wearing only a chemise, her bones were solid and muscles developed as
