“Why did she wish them cursed?”
“Rhiannyn because Maxen Pendery chose her and sent Theta away. As for Elan whom next Theta served, that lady turned her out to ensure her husband, Harwolfson, did not succumb to seduction.”
Recalling the more agreeable Theta after her feigned drowning, wondering what made such a woman, Vilda asked, “How did she come to be as she is?”
“If she has any excuse, it is that all knew my brother was gone too long from home—selling his wares across England—to sire Theta before he departed. As a child, she seemed oblivious to the whispers, but once she began growing into her beauty, she became aware what was discussed behind hands was not only about her mother when her jealous peers began speaking sly asides.” She sighed. “Tell someone often enough they are bad and their mind and body begin swaying to that tune.” A heavier sigh. “Would I could say I was innocent of what she became, but I could not bear to be around her mother, and since where the daughter was, usually the mother as well, I evaded both. Thus, Theta learned the greatest ease in life—and best revenge—was using her body to gain coin from the husbands and sons of those who wagged their tongues about her.”
Vilda did not want to sympathize with Theta, but she hurt for the girl she had been who saw no way forward but the way she had gone.
Silence fell until the flap was tossed back and two squires entered, one carrying a platter, the other a pallet.
Both looked dismissively at Vilda and warily at Herba.
Of a sudden, the older woman cackled, the sound so distant from the tone with which she conversed that Vilda caught her breath. “Ah, Norman boys,” Herba pitched her voice high. “Do the wee ones bring their elder an offering in the hope of keeping evil from them?”
They exchanged glances, then the one with the pallet tossed it at Vilda’s feet and said, “Viands and drink only, witch.” He motioned the younger one forward and that one set the platter on the ground and both quickly departed.
Once more in a pleasing tone, Herba said, “I know. But for the moment I am safe, and though I am glad of your company, I am bored, and in circumstances such as these, there is no better remedy than making the hairs of the enemy stand on end and little hearts beat fast.” She gestured at the platter. “Bring that here and together we shall ease thirst and hunger.”
With a loathsome sounding of chain, Vilda did as instructed. Though thirsty, she hungered little, which was not so for Herba who ate her portion and most of the rest, then pushed the platter away and wiped her fingers on her skirts.
“What will you do when you are called to curse your people?” Vilda asked.
“What I must to survive, just as done by those on the isle.”
“Then you will curse them.”
“When the Normans display me atop a tower, I will call down torment as it is believed I have the power to do.” In response to anger heating Vilda’s face, she said, “After all I have told, you judge me ill?”
Vilda leaned toward her. “I do not believe your curses possess unholy power, but they could strike crippling fear in the breasts of our people.”
“For that, my words shall be carefully chosen. Though to the Normans it will sound I am cursing the rebels on the isle, all I speak shall be for those at my back.”
“Still—”
“The Lord knows what is in my heart,” Herba spoke over her. “I can only pray Hereward and his followers know it as well.” When Vilda opened her mouth, she raised a staying hand. “I have neither the strength nor resolve to be a martyr. Have you, Alvilda?”
Did she? She wished it for the benefit of her people though she doubted any great sacrifice made by her would be of aid.
Herba patted her shoulder. “Night is not nearly nigh, but I am wearier for what is to come after, so I shall sleep, just as you ought to.”
Vilda tensed. “When will the Normans launch their next attack?”
“Taillebois’ aim is for the morrow, but I do not know how good that aim. Now gain your rest.”
Vilda retrieved the platter, crossed to the flap and eased it back. As she set the platter on the ground outside, she saw three guards at the front and sides, just as they saw her. And she did not doubt there was one at the back. Herba and she were going nowhere.
Chapter Eighteen
Pagan, that was what William had named this when Ivo proposed it, and yet the king had agreed—just as he concurred not even three days was needed before the next attack. One additional day only, and as some of it was wasted on this, once more Guy’s control threatened to mutiny.
The only lightness to be had was the so-called witch looked no witch at all, nor did she appear eager to perform for those who watched openly and those who observed amid shadows, William among the latter as if to ensure he could claim he had not sanctioned this should he be called to account later.
“Accursed Taillebois,” Maxen had muttered before excusing himself by telling that the warriors who had replaced the dead were in need of more supervised practice. Had not Vilda accompanied the caster of curses and spells, Guy would have given a similar excuse and departed. And had he not hoped his presence would offer her some reassurance, he might have accepted William’s invitation to watch from the copse.
“Your king awaits, Herba!” Ivo called when the woman standing before the springs remained absorbed in whatever she sought to demonstrate. Though expected to jump to a Norman’s
