She eased back from the table. “Much thought having been given it, my queen is where she needs to be.”
He surveyed the board again, lingering over some pieces and quickly dismissing others. “Your strategy resembles that of the resistance, gathering your greatest pieces center as if that were the Isle of Ely.”
She mewled thoughtfully, nodded. “It does resemble the stand taken in the Fens.”
William tapped her king who remained at the border, his greatest protection provided by pawns. “This looks the usurper who stole the crown I reclaimed at Hastings.” He tapped her queen. “This Hereward who thinks to return to the throne one who cannot be returned and for that conceit shall suffer the full weight of my wrath.” He circled his finger to indicate the other pieces in the area equated with the isle. “As will all those who follow him.”
She rocked her head side to side as if consideration could become agreement, then tapped his king. “This is you, oui?”
“You know it.”
She drew back. “Your defenses are great, which will lead to more sacrifices my side, but I believe if I stay the course and patiently plot my moves, my queen and her followers will break through your ranks.”
“It is possible, and that I will lose some pieces, but in the end—which will be very soon do you not rethink that move—I shall capture your queen, clear what remains of her forces, and put your corpse of a king back in the ground.”
As Alvilda’s face was barely in profile where Guy stood behind and to the side, her expression was denied him, but he saw her spine stiffen. Strain in her voice, she said, “Indulge me in this, and my word I give that if this Saxon victory is smote by a Norman fist, I will be graceful in defeat.”
William’s mouth curved. “I will bargain with you, but it will cost you more than grace in defeat to prolong this game.” He raised his eyebrows. “When I checkmate your king, you will title me as once you titled him. Agreed?”
Her hesitation was so slight, it should have made William examine the board again. He did not, and a quarter hour later, more of his pieces were taken and his king in check. Two moves after that, it was checkmate.
What followed could have boded ill for her were she not as graceful in victory as she had said she would be in defeat. “That is checkmate,” she said without superiority or mockery.
William was angered, but as if more with himself than her, he did not rage. “Even the impotent happen upon good fortune from time to time,” he said.
“That is so.” She scooted her chair back and might have been allowed to return abovestairs had she not added, “Blessedly, when it is God’s timing, it is possible for the impotent to be raised up out of impotence.”
“I did not grant you leave,” William snapped, then slowly moved his gaze over the board as if reliving every move. Finally, he looked up. “If your victory was not good fortune, it was more than one game you played with me.”
“You believe I misled you about my knowledge of chess?”
“Did you not?”
She gave a small laugh. “It is true I did not boast of my skill, but neither did I tell it was lacking. And though I knew better it might benefit me to allow my captor to win, it occurred if your wife did the same, thinner yet I would wear what you perceive attempts to liken myself to her. Thus, I remained true to one good thing come of these miserable years. Having no husband to cleave unto nor household to manage, and limited in aiding the resistance and refugees fleeing Norman vengeance, I became proficient at the game my grandsire taught me.”
“And now think yourself exceedingly proficient, eh?” He snorted. “I suppose I am to fault for that. Wishing only a distraction and certain this would be that, I succumbed to De Warenne’s sloth, but that I shall rectify.” He waved a hand. “Place your pieces.”
She gasped. “You wish another game?”
“As is my right.”
Her sway was so slight only one closely watching would have seen it, and that Guy did. Though he had been certain she wished to retreat abovestairs after revealing her tale of Sir Roul, she had persevered and now further she must.
Guy having twice noted the entrance and hasty exit of servants this past half hour, he strode to the table. Though his presence was obvious, the lady kept her head down and began reassembling her pieces. “My liege,” he said, “with the nooning hour approaching, the servants would like to prepare the hall for the meal.”
Intent on his own pieces, neither did William look up. “I am without appetite,” he muttered.
And so the meal was delayed—not an hour, and nearly two.
Ache knocked against the inside of Vilda’s skull, causing her to feign greater interest in the game as an excuse for keeping her chin down. Winces and grimaces were also hidden behind the cup raised to her lips as she took sips of wine to maintain her cover.
The first game had been nearly effortless compared to this one that several times tempted her to imitate De Warenne so she could sooner escape Le Bâtard, but she could not do that—even if pride and anger made her bleed.
Though never did she look to Guy who had retreated a single step when his liege’s hunger for victory caused the hunger for food to remain unsatisfied, the chevalier’s presence comforted. Except for him and the usurper’s personal guard, all others had withdrawn to the table upon the dais where drink was poured down their gullets absent viands to soak up the excess.
But soon the wait for sustenance would be over—if her opponent overlooked this trap as he had not the others, her target the bishop whose removal from the board would open the way
