That all this was here and much within sight of those on Ely meant Hereward and his men had failed to strike hard enough to thwart the conquerors. Vilda did not doubt they had raided and burned, but whatever was achieved had not been enough.
The forces under the command of De Warenne and Taillebois, whose greatest strength had been Sir Guy’s elite, were a nuisance compared to the coming of their king. Despite all the Normans had lost during that first siege, the greatest impact was on the families of those whose husbands and sons would never return, the lives of Le Bâtard’s followers easily replaced by other replaceable lives.
Dear Lord, she sent heavenward, he is right to be so confident.
She did not realize how stricken her expression until the one who paid for his kingdom in the currency of men said, “Oui, Lady Alvilda, only a pawn.”
She closed her mouth and, seeing no reason to blink away tears already seen, nodded.
As if content with that acknowledgement—certain soon she would be on her knees begging for her people—he let her be. When they rode into camp minutes later, they were received with the enthusiasm of men proud of their accomplishments and eager to be acknowledged.
The usurper reined in near a large tent and was the first out of the saddle, causing his squire to catch his foot in the stirrup in his own haste to dismount. Though the young man freed himself without tumbling, Vilda was certain it did not escape Le Bâtard.
As the chevalier at her back swung out of the saddle, she saw De Warenne and Taillebois emerge from the great tent. Others exited, but before she could look near on them, her attention was diverted by hands reaching inside the green mantle Guy had given her.
She knew she should thank the chevalier when he lifted her down, but after all she had seen, she could not, and she was glad when he retreated—until she realized it was to make a place for his king who said, “For all the concern Sir Guy shows you, might he be your champion, Lady?”
She swept her eyes to the usurper and followed his gaze to advancing warriors who numbered nine. Guy was among them, but if he had looked upon her with concern, no longer. He was fixed on his liege, as was Maxen Pendery who strode alongside.
Seeing Le Bâtard turn his face toward her, she gave him her regard. Though she longed to shrug her mouth, the corners trembled, and so she gave a grunt of disgust and said, “A Norman my champion?”
Amusement once more rumbling from him, she fought the temptation to punch the knot bobbing up and down his neck. “So said Lady Hawisa Wulfrith who, by wedding Guarin D’Argent, gave me control over the training of warriors at Wulfen Castle,” he mused. “So said Vitalis who, by wedding Nicola D’Argent after she sacrificed her reputation to preserve his life, gave me his services in training up warriors, including my son.”
That last jolted. Vilda knew the Norman lady Vitalis had taken from Ely had wed her enemy, but the circumstances had been unknown—and still were, though what he told filled some of the hole.
“And now so says this lady who…” This time he shrugged his shoulders. “I could order Sir Guy to wed you if I believed it would benefit me, but I do not think it would, and I value him enough not to force on him a union he would find less desirable than wedding Lady Nicola. Thus, we shall let him play the considerate chevalier and no more.”
His words offended and intrigued. Yielding to the latter, Vilda wondered if—and when—the chevalier had been offered the hand of the D’Argents’ beautiful sister. If so, what had he found undesirable about that lady who far more resembled Elan Pendery than the Saxon he had kissed?
“Well come, my king!” De Warenne said as he and the others halted. “As commanded, all nears completion.” He gestured at the tent behind. “After you are refreshed, I will show you the camp, then your Council of War shall convene to finalize plans.”
The usurper nodded at Vilda. “Secure accommodations are needed for the lady. Sir Guy—”
“I have made a place for her,” Taillebois interrupted.
Vilda shot her gaze to Guy and briefly gained his before he looked to Ivo.
“Is that so, Taillebois?” Le Bâtard said with mild rebuke.
The man inclined his head. “It will ensure she is well guarded. And, methinks, more imperative that will be when you learn what transpired this day.”
“Tell.”
Taillebois swept a hand to the side. “May we speak in private?”
Le Bâtard leaned toward Vilda. “Mayhap you are more than a pawn, eh?” He chuckled and strode to Taillebois. Moments later, he demanded, “How is it possible Sir Deda lives?”
Whatever his man’s response, it was spoken low as was the rest of their conversation, during which Vilda mulled the chevalier’s name and recalled it was at Brampton she heard it. It belonged to the Norman who had galloped across the causeway and into the river—and as now told, had not drowned as believed.
Wondering what Guy knew of the exchange between the two men and Taillebois’ accommodations for her, Vilda caught her breath when her nemesis called, “Lady, most amusing this! As a show of good faith, this morn your cousin released the only one of my men to make it onto the isle. In exchange for Sir Deda’s release, you are to be escorted to a convent of your choosing.”
He thought Hereward a fool, she mused. Doubtless, her cousin had seen more value in releasing Sir Deda than in holding him, even if only to appear the fool so more greatly he was underestimated. Though Hereward would have her safe behind the walls of a convent, he had known that would not
