Shortly, Thurstan admitted her, expressed concern over her injury, and once she surrendered the weapons on her belt, led her to the infirmary where she was surprised to find there rebels who had fled well ahead of her. But only six.
As the abbot gestured her toward a bed distant from the men, she said, “Did you turn away others, Father?”
“’Twas necessary,” he said, the only good of it he did not feign ignorance. “Now take your ease and your injury will be tended.”
As he turned away, she realized the other rebels here had something in common. They were leaders of men, not followers, and of greater import to Hereward the same as she.
“Abbot?”
He looked across his shoulder.
“What else was necessary besides turning away common soldiers of the resistance?”
He averted his gaze. “The day is not done, Lady, but you may rest in the knowledge soon all will sleep better than they have in years.”
She gulped down a sob. “Not all, and certainly you shall not sleep well if you are truly a man of God.” She drew a shuddering breath. “Would I could say you knew not what you did, but I believe you are well aware and that the Lord does not approve.”
Seaming his lips, he left her staring after him and wanting to hate him. And she was fairly certain she did.
Vilda lowered to the mattress, pressed fingers to her neck where an arrow had sliced flesh near the great vein, and pulled them away. Though she continued to bleed, the fresh blood atop that which had dried was spotty.
Had God spared her? If so, for what? Like the others Hereward had left behind, she had failed to hold Ely. When he returned…
“Do not,” she whispered. “Leave England and start anew with your wife whose arms have too long awaited you.”
“You know we are prisoners, do you not?” said someone to her right.
It was he who had taken the name of Boar, and such sorrow lined his face she thought him ten years older this day. But he was also in pain, the bandage wrapped around his upper arm seeping blood.
“I know,” she said.
He nodded at the others. “Our only chance is to slip away ere Le Bâtard and his men arrive. You must come with us. If there can be any redemption for running from Normans, it will be found in safely delivering you to Hereward.”
Struggling against the temporary reprieve of apathy, she glanced at the white-robed monk moving toward her with a basket over an arm. “When he is done, you shall tell me of your plans, Boar.”
He pivoted, and she gave herself into the hands of the holy man who, with tears in his eyes and disgust among his words, said he was sorry the needs of the Church came before the needs of those for whom they prayed. After cleaning, salving, and bandaging her neck, he rasped, “Now I will be so busy tending other patients, I will not soon enough see what goes behind me to raise an alarm.”
She stared as he retrieved his basket and moved to the far side of the room, then she crossed to her fellow rebels and learned of their plan—a simple one providing it was brought to completion before Normans arrived.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Where is she?”
Guy thought it peculiar that should be the first question put to Abbot Thurstan after William cut short their introduction in the courtyard, but he was glad.
Past those going ahead of him onto the isle, Guy had watched Vilda’s desperate defense of the shore while most rebels fled. He had seen the bright of her face and heard her scream when she slung her last stone that should have killed but had not, that warrior regaining his feet as the elite force came off the causeway.
Arrows and rocks had followed her up the incline to the trees, landing on all sides of her and felling a half dozen rebels also in retreat, but not her. Guy had nearly shouted a warning that would have come too late when he glimpsed an arrow streak so near he was certain she would be put through. But without falter, she had gone from sight.
Had she sought sanctuary here? It was as William suspected when she was not found among those who fled to the town and surrendered after token resistance, hopeful the king would keep his word those of the common, both citizens and soldiers, would be pardoned if they yielded.
Abbot Thurstan having given no answer, Guy looked closer at the holy man who had betrayed Hereward and saw hatred in his eyes and stubborn about his mouth. He did not like what he had done, he did not like Norman rule, and he did not like the disrespect shown him by William refusing to observe the rules of formal introduction between men of power.
“Well?” demanded the one who no longer had reason to gain the favor and good will of a Saxon whose position at the abbey would likely be awarded to a Norman as had so many since the duke donned England’s crown. “Am I to assume vengeful rebels removed your tongue, Abbot Thurstan? I see no evidence of it, but it must be so since it would be unpardonable to make the King of England wait so long on an answer.”
The abbot forced a smile. “Forgive me. As you are a man of the sword, you may not be able to appreciate it being no easy thing for a man of God to turn his back on a handful of his flock to save an armful.”
William stepped nearer and thrust up a hand with three fingers raised. “At the moment, I am concerned only with those you conceal in your palm.” He tapped the first finger. “Earl Morcar. Where is he?”
The abbot moistened his lips. “Prostrated in the chapel, and before
