De Warenne settled into his heels. “It is not the warrior’s way, but neither is it dishonorable to make use of dishonorable men, especially if sooner our sovereign may wipe his hands of this matter.”
“You speak of rebels willing to betray their own?”
“I suppose they are rebels since they are among those who invited Hereward and his men to make the isle their base.”
Understanding shone from William’s eyes. “The holy men of Ely’s abbey.”
“Oui, given the proper incentive, they can get us on the isle at a time most conducive to the resistance’s fall.”
“I would hear more.” William gestured his man to follow. “We shall speak in the solar.”
Upon their departure, many the sighs of relief. All here ached, hungered, and thirsted, and not a few hurt from injuries that needed tending. It was the same for warriors in the bailey and beyond the walls whose numbers would continue increasing as more followed their king to Brampton to learn what next would be asked of them.
“I must see to my men,” Guy said.
Maxen inclined his head. “And I to mine.” As they crossed the hall, he said, “The same as you, I hate this, and that every time we see an end to it, it proves but a corner turned with another stretch ahead.” He thrust a hand back through his dark hair. “I weary of questioning the belief one day I shall take up arms only to defend my family and those who work my lands.”
“More difficult for Normans raised among the English,” Guy said, “but I have to believe it will be done and soon.”
As they neared the doors, a pinch-faced squire entered. “Sir Ivo!” He pushed past those who placed the welfare of their men above filling their bellies.
Taking offense for an injured warrior ahead who stumbled when jostled, Guy snatched hold of the young man. “Show respect!”
The squire scowled. “Loose me, else my liege will—”
“Respect, whelp!”
The young man breathed deep. “Forgive me, but I have tidings of import to deliver.”
Guy pushed him aside, and as he and Maxen passed through the doorway, heard him call, “My lord Taillebois! A Saxon at the gate asks for you—one you will want to see.”
Was it the one come first to mind? Guy wondered. If so, the warning he had dissuaded Vilda from delivering to her cousin would have come too late.
With the crowing of the witch atop the tower and feeling the noose tighten around a throat that spewed deception, likely Theta had fled Ely to avoid answering for her betrayal. Now she sought refuge with the Norman who had made good use of her. And it was to be seen if Taillebois had further use of her.
“Oui,” Maxen said as they descended the steps, “we are thinking the same.”
Isle of Ely
He did not appear surprised to see her, but neither did he look pleased. Because he doubted her?
Martin, to whom Vilda had shown herself after waiting hours to catch sight of her cousin, drew her to a halt at the center of the lower floor of an inn that this day served the war council.
Hearing the murmuring of those left and right and feeling anger amid suspicion, she realized how she felt must be similar to what Theta experienced the day charges were leveled against her.
Except I am innocent, she thought, keeping her eyes on Hereward.
He eased back in his chair, jutted his chin. “Lift your skirt.”
She blinked, then hitched it up to reveal the chain Guy had muffled, the fabric woven through the links as muddied as the hem of her undergown.
“There!” He looked to those who stood in judgment of her. “Further proof my cousin was Le Bâtard’s prisoner. It matters not how she came to be in his power, only that she had no choice and our isle remains unbreachable for her keeping its secrets. Now I would speak with her alone.”
As Martin began ushering them toward the door, Earl Morcar called, “Hold!”
All halted.
“I have a question for the lady.” He landed his gaze on her. “You were seen being aided by a Norman—”
“Enough!” Hereward commanded as her heart pounded painfully hard. “I shall speak to her of that, and when I am satisfied with her answer, the matter ends. Now leave!”
Bishop Aethelwine, who had accompanied Earl Morcar to Ely, stepped toward the resistance leader. “As all know you care for your kin, you cannot be impartial. Leave the lady with us, and she will unburden her conscience by gentle means.”
Hereward sprang upright. “Two victories against the unconquerable! My leadership gave you that, and you dare question it? Dare believe I did all that only to throw it away on sentiment? What say you, Morcar who lost his earldom without a fight? Aethelwine who lost his bishopric after giving much aid to the usurper? All you who are with me because I am your best hope to take back what fear and incompetence lost?”
No answer, but just as it seemed he would only have to stomp a foot to scatter all, Aethelwine cleared the fear from his throat and looked around. “Abbot Thurstan?”
Catching her breath, Vilda followed his gaze. Though she had thought to have accounted for all those here and been relieved none of Hereward’s best men were lost on the night past, she had not noticed the Abbot of Ely who rarely left his House of God. Though it was out of shadow he stepped, she should have caught sight of him.
Shoulders more bowed than when last she had seen him, he halted alongside his fellow churchman, and in his scratchy, high-pitched voice said, “As the bishop tells, ’twill be by gentle means we learn the truth, my son.”
“Out!” Threateningly, Hereward strode past Vilda and halted, needing to go no farther with all heading for the door.
When the last departed, she stepped toward her cousin, ready to explain the sighting of her with a Norman. But he came around and grabbed her.
For a moment she feared he meant her harm,
