“But if terms—”
“Enough!” William turned the warrior toward the tent flap. “Gather your possessions and return. Your reward will be waiting with an escort to the channel. Within a sennight, your wife will be in your arms.”
When he was gone, the king beckoned to De Warenne. “So better I may determine how to punish and reform the lawless, acquaint me with these Fens.” As De Warenne stepped alongside, William’s gaze landed on Guy. “I understand those under your command have distinguished themselves, forming an elite force who protect greater numbers better than they can protect themselves.”
It surprised he was informed of that, just as it had surprised he had not forgotten Guy. “I remain true to my excellent training, my liege—ensuring no lives given into my keeping are frivolously lost.”
“Admirable. Providing you not disappoint again as done in Scotland—Almighty, rid me of the deceitful King Malcolm and conniving Princess Margaret!—you may yet regain royal favor.”
At what cost? the thought slipped in. Like many other Normans, especially those who had made this country their home long before the conquest, Guy wearied of death, destruction, and unrest—and loathed being a part of it. But until he fought his way out of this life, it was how he earned his living.
“Come, Sir Guy. And you, Pendery and Taillebois. We shall make much of a day that is the first of the last for that outlaw.”
Isle of Ely
It satisfied how quickly the harlot was dissuaded of the belief her summoning would benefit her—whether she thought Hereward could no longer resist her or desperation caused him to reconsider paying her aunt to enlist the forces of evil to oust the Normans.
The moment Theta entered the inn that served as Hereward’s command post this side of the isle, her sultry smile fell and she halted, causing the one who held open the door to give her a push.
Her eyes flitted over men of note standing both sides of the rebel leader who reclined in a chair, one leg crossed atop a knee as if the report William’s army was in the Fens was of no concern. Those eyes flitted back, pausing on Vilda who stood between her cousin and Earl Morcar.
“You called, I came, my lord.” She dipped as if to a king, causing the fine gown exchanged for last eve’s simple one to rustle, then sauntered forward. “Tell, blessed Hereward, how might this humble Saxon serve you?”
He began drumming the fingers of one hand on the chair arm, causing faded blue and black tattoos coursing wrist to shoulder to ripple atop muscles that had been many an opponent’s undoing. He was of no great height, but his build was so formidable he had no need to be.
When Theta halted before him, the drumming ceased. “How well do you swim, Woman?”
Watching her, Vilda caught a glimmer of fear and possibly guilt. Then came puzzlement. “Not well, my lord. Indeed, if there is not muddy ground beneath my feet to keep my chin above water, I will drown.”
He grunted. “Though I was loath to allow you to face your accuser, she who saw you come out of the marsh last eve insists.”
As Vilda stepped nearer him, once more she glimpsed fear on the harlot’s face. But again, confusion was drawn over it. “Do you deny you were in the water last eve past the middling of night?” Vilda asked.
The harlot’s mouth hitched in a sneer. “Why would I? ’Tis no secret I, the same as others upon Ely, provide for men long without the comfort of a woman.” She inclined her head. “I was there. If you were, you must have seen the man with whom I…” She gave a little shrug.
“I saw only you,” Vilda said.
Theta’s mouth formed a pout. “A pity you missed him. He is quite the man.”
“Who?” Hereward asked.
She cast down her eyes. “He is wed the same as you, my lord—and lonely with his wife so far away, also the same as you.”
“Who, Theta?”
She looked left at the half dozen men there, right at the others. “I can say only that he is here, and I must keep my word to be discreet for his sake and mine.”
Hereward sat forward, causing long hair the same gold as his eyebrows and mustache to slide over one shoulder. “Why for your sake?”
She sighed. “Do I lose the trust of men of quality, I will be reduced to those who are”—she made a face—“coarse.”
“Common men.” Hereward jutted his chin at his servant, Martin, who had been with him since his exile. “Many of whom are of good quality, some more so than those with whom you consort.”
Hereward the arrogant youth would not have spoken such, unlike Hereward the man and leader. It had been the same for Vilda who was raised to believe her blood was superior to that of commoners. Now like her cousin, she was certain it was the good done in life, regardless of the class into which one was born, that made a person stand a bit taller, and surely only then to raise up others. However, that belief was only the first step in living it, the latter mostly elusive under the rule of Le Bâtard.
It will change when England is Saxon again, she thought. Better we will live, love, and work alongside our neighbors.
The harlot groaned huskily. “My lord, you must believe me. Last eve’s outing was all innocence.” Though her words roused snickers, she continued, “After my lover departed, I bathed. There is no more to it than a good regard for cleanliness.”
“Then if I tossed you in deep water, you would drown?”
Hearing resolve in Hereward’s tone, Vilda caught her breath.
The woman could not have heard that resolve, for lightly she said, “Unless one of my admirers plucked me out, I would drown.”
Hereward pushed upright. “Then the sooner that is tested, the sooner we are done with this matter.”
Theta gasped. “Surely you jest!”
“On this isle, allegiance
