Aching over Herba’s hesitation to begin her performance, knowing soon she would have no choice, Vilda looked heavenward. “Lord, please—”
A choking sound brought her so quickly around she stumbled back against the side rampart from which she had watched the joining of the last sections of causeway that now curved back toward this shore, men on covered boats keeping them out of reach of those on Ely until ordered to release them ahead of the cavalry.
Seeing Herba on her knees retching, Vilda hastened forward and flung up a hand. “Hold!” she entreated the archer on the nearby tower who was to put through the witch if she did not earn her coin.
Knowing his nocked arrow could be her own end, Vilda dropped down between him and the older woman. “You have prepared for this, have only to speak the words. Come!”
Wiping a hand across her mouth, Herba looked up. “Do you think God weeps for us, Alvilda?”
“Us and all,” she said, then surprised herself by adding, “including our enemy for being our enemy.”
“’Tis not supposed to be like this!”
Vilda squeezed her shoulder. “It is not. Praise the Lord it will be different when we go from here to our great reward.”
The horn sounded again. Feeling its impatience and a burn center of her back where an arrow was sighted, she entreated, “You can do this, Herba.”
The woman rose, pulled free pins that held her braid to her crown, and raked fingers through the tresses. Then stepping before the gap between the ramparts, she said, “Distance yourself, Lady.”
“But—”
“Do it!”
Vilda stepped to the side, but when commanded to put more distance between them, shook her head.
Herba closed her eyes momentarily, then breathed deep and shouted across the eerie silence, “Hear all! This the day of days! This the day of endings! This the day of beginnings! This the day of judgment against barbarians!” She thrust her arms high. “Hear all!”
Vilda shuddered over what the woman made of herself. With the breeze causing her crimped hair to dance around her head, she looked a witch, and surely more so at a distance.
“Curse you, warriors unworthy of the glory of England! Curse you, warriors of unrest that steals bread from the mouths of babes!”
She is too believable, Vilda silently bemoaned, and surely she need not be for the Normans.
“Curse you here, curse you now, curse you evermore!” She dropped her head back. “Fire rise and engulf! Hail finish all who escape flame! Rot where you fall, unmourned by your families, your line extinguished!”
She lowered her chin as if to look upon Ely, but her eyes slid to the forces this side. “Be gone!” she cried so loudly her voice cracked, then she dropped her head forward as if she had only enough strength to keep her legs beneath her.
Vilda peered over her shoulder at the command post whence the horn was blown and caught her breath when four blasts sounded one after the other.
The order for battle to commence given, chain mail glittered and rang in sinking sunlight as Norman cavalry moved onto the causeway.
“Lady!”
Vilda looked left.
Arrow straining the string of his bow, the archer gestured at Herba. “She is to curse without ceasing!”
As I ought to pray without ceasing, she thought and stepped to Herba. “Continue, else he will fly the arrow.”
Slowly, she lifted her head. “I do not feign this. I am near empty.”
Vilda touched her arm. “Now all grows loud, you have only to mouth words and act the part.”
“For how long?”
“I know not.”
Herba whimpered but raised her arms. When she began moving her lips, Vilda looked to the archer. As the men beyond him prepared to launch rocks hoisted onto the platform in crates, he lowered his aim. The threat was no less since the arrow could be trained on Herba in the blink of an eye, but there was some relief in that.
“Heavenly Father, the causeway looks a snake,” the woman muttered.
It did, those on the boats who held back its farthermost sections having released them, causing what resembled a tail to uncurl toward the isle as hooves began clattering over the floating bridge that steadily straightened.
Soon it would be near enough the resistance could attack it as done the first causeway—had they time, and that seemed unlikely with the cavalry more rapidly advancing. For their enemies, conscripted Fenlanders had built a structure of greater stability than its predecessor.
Insides beginning to crumple in anticipation of Normans reaching Ely and cutting down all who came against them, Vilda yelped when the resistance began hurtling rocks and tree stumps from behind cover of trees. More went in the water than landed on the causeway, but the ones that found their mark caused the structure to shudder and sway and the Normans to slow. Then the scores of rebels showing themselves above and between the shoreline fortifications began loosing arrows.
It was then the Normans atop the towers launched their own deadly missiles across the expanse. Some fell short, some overshot, and others landed well, tempting Vilda to press hands over her eyes so she not witness the deaths of men she knew.
The counterattack did not stop Hereward’s forces from hurtling rocks and flying arrows. Though the former threatened the causeway’s stability, the latter were mostly ineffective, causing the enemy to lurch in their saddles when keen points failed to penetrate chain mail. It appeared only one found vulnerable flesh, that chevalier dropping from his horse into the water.
This being war, adjustments were made that sacrificed innocents, in this time and place those blameless ones being horses. Their unarmored
