The night a muddied harpy with skirts knotted up around her thighs scolded him across the water, early warning of Hereward’s attack on the camp resulted in injuries on the Norman side, whereas the rebels suffered five deaths. If not for the greed of warriors who answered to one other than Guy, all those come to harass the enemy might have been taken. However, when the tattooed arms of Hereward were glimpsed among encroaching rebels, rather than adhere to Guy’s plan, many had sought the glory of taking the rebel leader, providing the outlaw and his men time to flee. Though those who broke ranks were severely punished, it was of little comfort to others who had long suffered these savage Fens.
“Did you not hear me, Torquay?” prompted Taillebois whom Guy was fairly certain had been visited this night by the traitor he called his pretty eel since afterward he drank heaviest as if to blot out his desire for one of a race he detested.
“Of what should I be cautious, Sheriff?” Guy asked.
Sitting in moonlight, the man uncorked his wineskin, shook the last drops onto his tongue, and cast the skin aside. “The witch who would curse the rebels of Ely for a purse of silver converses with the air the same as you, Sir Guy.”
She who dwelt in a hovel two leagues west of Ely and with whom the pretty eel had acquainted Ivo.
Taillebois chuckled. “Doubtless, the Church would go to terrible lengths to cure her of speaking with the unseen, and possibly even a Norman for indulging in such.”
Though tempted to do something pleasingly painful with the hand on his sword hilt, Guy who should enjoy as much royal favor as Ivo was denied that for failing to prevent the marriage of King Malcolm of Scotland to the Saxon princess, Margaret. Thus, rather than ascend to the position of captain of the king’s guard last summer, he was given command of the smallest force sent to Ely. Though practice and discipline had transformed his men into the most formidable contingent here, earning them the status of elite, it still stung to have lost his captaincy.
Blessedly, his recent loss was not as desired as the first which Edwin Harwolfson now possessed. Outside of kicks to the pride at being ordered about by those who were not his betters, what he regretted most was the twelve months lost to chasing Hereward and his growing band of Saxons who were not only of the common but of the fighting nobles dispossessed of lands and exiled by the hated Norman king, most notably Earl Morcar of Northumbria who had delivered a small army to Ely.
Unlike the Normans, most of those on the isle were acquainted with this easily flooded, marsh- and bog-ridden land as if it were but rooms in a house they built. Though the men sent here, first commanded by Taillebois and now William de Warenne, had sought to put an end to the rebellion by blockading Ely, it was to little effect. Not only was the isle of good size but exceedingly fertile and abundantly stocked with animals who provided meat and milk to its inhabitants. Still, Hereward and his men came and went, slipping past blockades, whether to bring over more disaffected Saxons, gain supplies of weapons and other items, or harass the enemy.
“Methinks you ignore me, Torquay,” Ivo said.
Having returned his regard to Ely, Guy cast over his shoulder, “Am I wrong in believing it is better I heed De Warenne’s order for me and my men to keep watch for another of Hereward’s forays than attend to talk of an unholy woman with whom you—not I—spend time?”
Ire billowed across the silence, then Ivo laughed scornfully. “As these Fenlanders are a superstitious lot, the crone may prove useful.”
“You think our king would resort to such?”
“I would make use of her, and William and I are much alike, doing whatever is necessary to keep what is ours.”
“Then when he arrives, you will propose he set aside plans for reforming England’s Church? That he enlist one who curses and casts spells to rid him of his enemies by evil means rather than God’s favor and might, both of which he claims gave him victory at Hastings?”
Guy’s words silenced Ivo, whether they required too much thought for one whose mind was blurred or the man recognized the danger of proposing William resort to the unholy. Regardless, Guy was relieved when once more the sheriff fell to snoring.
Settling into his heels, he narrowed his eyes on the distant shore. Someone carried a torch between fortifications fashioned of peat and wood, from behind which were launched arrows, javelins, and stones when Normans ventured too near in flat-bottomed boats De Warenne and Taillebois had either confiscated from outlying Fenlanders or forced them to build.
Often when Guy and his men were given this watch between the hours of two ere middling night and two after, he saw that figure who paused at each fortification and guessed this was the cousin of Hereward who Taillebois’ informant warned kept the night vigil that side of the isle, ensuring no rebels succumbed to sleep. Admirable, but the efforts of one said to have accompanied Hereward the night he lost five men here—she of muddied face, pale thighs and legs—would be to no avail in the end.
The morrow, Guy mulled what was coming and for which Taillebois would have to sober. All changes when Le Bâtard arrives to do what we have not. God help you, Hereward’s followers. You may thwart him a while longer, but those fortifications will be breached and Ely will be William’s even if ever the mud runs red. Flee now or your only flight will be toward what comes after this life.
Isle of Ely
“Awaken!”
When those who knelt, heads resting on arms folded atop the block of dried peat muttered across unearned sleep, Vilda wanted to scream, these but two of ten men
