Guy looked around, and though he saw it was from Vilda’s direction his friend swung his gaze, he said, “What can be done about what?”
Maxen did not answer, but they were nearly upon Hereward the same as Taillebois.
Still he knows me, Guy thought as he returned his regard to Vilda who yet looked upon him. And now he thinks to assuage guilt over his sister’s lies and the breaking of our betrothal.
Though pride tempted him to resent that, he could not. When Elan wed Harwolfson, it had been necessary for Guy to leave his friend’s service since Maxen’s lands adjoined those of the former rebel, but that had not changed how greatly each friend knew and esteemed the other.
“Middle ground,” Taillebois pronounced in Norman-French as he reined in more distant from Hereward than did Guy and Maxen. “What do you propose, Pendery?”
When Guy shifted his regard to Hereward, he saw the anger on the rebel leader’s face was more forbidding than at a distance. There was hollowness about the eyes whose whites starkly contrasted with color suffusing his skin, nostrils flared as if every breath was drawn and expelled through them, and a muscle spasmed in his jaw.
The outlawed and exiled Hereward had not been in England in 1066, but Guy imagined this the face he would have presented had he fought at Hastings, risking life and limb to protect his people only to see his country snatched out from under them. Ely had been his Hastings, and now it belonged to William as well, that one Saxon-held piece of England returned to the whole.
“What are we to do here, Pendery?” Taillebois pressed. “And what think you our king will say of a parley when swords converse better than tongues?”
The same as Hereward, Maxen set his hands atop the pommel, the same as Hereward, spoke in Anglo-Saxon. “I am certain what King William says depends on how much he values you and your men, Taillebois, as well as the Saxon traitors whose lives he wished preserved. As I assume much he values them, for that Sir Guy and I returned. You would have preferred we did not, that you of far fewer number than the resistance face them alone?”
Taillebois gave no answer, but Hereward did. “I erred. I should have had my scouts follow you longer to ensure my prey remained vulnerable.” He looked to his cousin. “You are well, V?”
“I am.”
“To what place are you bound?”
“This day I am to be delivered to a convent of William’s choosing.”
His eyes narrowed. “William? Is that how you call him now—by his Christian name as if that murdering thief is family?”
Hurt swept her face. “I—”
He raised a silencing hand, looked to Maxen. “The same as Taillebois, I would like to know what we do here.”
“Though your numbers remain greater than our combined forces, you must know our warriors, trained up in arms since boyhood, will prevail. Heavy losses, aye, but the last flower of the resistance will perish.”
Hereward’s face darkened further, but he did not dispute that.
“Do you withdraw without battle, we will part ways, agreeing neither side will pursue the other for two sunrises, during which I urge you and yours to leave England.”
“Ha!” Taillebois crowed. “You think William will be pleased with such an arrangement?”
“He will not be,” Maxen said, “but ever he has known when to negotiate and when to fight. Once he is told what transpired here, I believe he will agree that to save those who aided him in gaining and keeping the English throne, it was better to seek terms and fight another day.” He looked to Hereward. “If further bloodshed is necessary.”
Movement drew Guy’s gaze to Vilda, and he saw her shift against Taillebois’ arm as if held tightly. But of greater note was the way she looked at Maxen. She had been shaken by the anger Hereward directed at her, but she seemed more shaken now, and he guessed she warred between suspicion and confusion over words and behavior that were no fit for the Bloodlust Warrior.
“An interesting proposal, especially from one who made rivers of Saxon blood at Hastings,” Hereward said, “but after what your king did to those on Ely, I find greater appeal in ensuring as many Normans as possible accompany me to the grave.”
“Cousin, those of the resistance who did not flee Ely were pardoned,” Vilda beseeched.
And earned more scorn. “Ignorance is unworthy of you!”
As dread further transformed her face, Guy tensed over what his king had done the morn after Ely was won while he paced before surviving leaders who refused to bend the knee. It might have happened even had one not cursed William, but their fate was sealed when the king halted over that man. Rather than being cowed, the Saxon had named him Le Bâtard and spit on him.
Vilda swallowed loudly. “Tell me, Hereward.”
“Your William pardoned common soldiers and simple folk, but not the leaders who remained to hold the isle. The few who accepted him are imprisoned, those who did not were maimed and bled out.”
Her stricken gaze swung to Guy. At his nod, moisture flooded her eyes.
“Hence, much appeal in joining our two peoples here by way of spilled blood,” Hereward said.
“Including that of your cousin whom Taillebois will be as quick to put down as Theta?” Guy asked sharply. “Is that what you want for her and your men who might make lives elsewhere even if you wish an end to yours?”
The outlaw glared, but some of the dark drained from his face, and he said, “Truly, the earl is bound for imprisonment in Normandy, the bishop confinement at Abingdon?”
“As my king commands.”
“I doubt that was the deal made with those who betrayed me.”
“It was not.”
Hereward chortled. “And you ask me to believe you and the Bloodlust Warrior will keep the bargain made with
