marriage on the Saxon lady by threatening her people, but because of Hawisa’s feelings for the Norman to whom she had joined her life, it had not been necessary. And that made Vitalis ache, though not as once he had when his heart was denied the lady he served.
Sir Guarin, who was not as much the usurper’s man as believed, was a great warrior with whom Vitalis became acquainted when the Norman was captured by Hawisa’s men. For nearly two years, Vitalis had been the jailer of one who proved honorable, unlike most of his kind. Thus, it was hard to begrudge Guarin and Hawisa their happiness and the babe they were expecting—a child who would bear the surname Wulfrith, William having required his man to take his wife’s name to preserve that family’s reputation for training up England’s greatest defenders—warriors who, henceforth, would serve a Norman king.
Vitalis inclined his head. “That lady, indeed.” It being increasingly difficult to remain upright, it was time he and Zedekiah make their way back to their mounts. “Ere we part ways, William of Normandy, I have a boon to ask.”
Le Bâtard snorted. “If naught else, I am curious, Vitalis of Wulfen.”
Seeing no reason to let pass the assumption his would have been a life of service to that family, Vitalis said, “Not of Wulfen. Had you not thieved my family’s lands, awarding them to one who put finish to others of my line, I would be Lord of Gaulbridge.”
The usurper thought on that, shrugged. “I know not the name of Gaulbridge.” Since it was of far less account than Wulfen, likely he had bestowed it with a flick of fingers as if it were breadcrumbs. “Your loss is unfortunate, Vitalis no longer of Gaulbridge. But as you know, warriors do not give service without compensation, and the vanquished who resist the new order are prone to losing all. Had Saxons conquered my Normandy, no different would it be for my people. Now, what boon may I refuse you?”
Vitalis breathed deep to calm anger as well as settle a body intent on shaming him. “I believe Maël D’Argent awaits you outside.”
“He is the captain of my guard.”
A warrior who would not have approved of his king advancing far ahead of his forces. Doubtless, the chevalier was also displeased his liege had not allowed him to inspect the cave. William was a mighty warrior, but much too confident.
“I would have you deliver words to Sir Maël.”
William snorted. “Does the King of England look a herald?”
Though tempted to point out it was not uncommon for carriers of tidings to be ragged of mantle, Vitalis said, “Here the words—I shall continue to watch for you, Sir Maël.”
“I am to know what that means?”
“Non, it is a matter between the two of us.” Vitalis shifted his shoulders beneath the fur-collared mantle that felt more weighty than earlier. “Until next we meet.” He stepped back into shadow and turned away.
Sensing no movement behind, he entered the tunnel that would soon require him to fold his bulk—and make it difficult for the enemy to follow. As there were many twists and turns, it was several minutes before Zedekiah and he emerged into a day brighter for the lightening of clouds and the sun slipping through gaps to set the snow to sparkling.
Bending low and hastening to mounts tethered out of sight, Vitalis looked around and wondered which figures were Maël D’Argent and William. Surely the two nearest the cave, both being of similar height.
Would William reveal to his captain of the guard what had transpired and play herald to the enemy? Providing there was something distinctive about the piece taken from his mantle, likely he would since he would wish it recovered lest the tale was spilled of how it was gained and proof given of that claim. No king, man, or otherwise wished to be so humiliated.
Once mounted alongside the silent Zedekiah, Vitalis drew forth the cloth. The lower portion was heavily embroidered with many-stranded black thread shot through with a strand of gold. The flourishes, worked by a beautifully precise needle, made it distinctive. But more distinctive were the letters W and R embroidered between those flourishes.
W for William, R for Rex. William the King.
“An ill portent,” Zedekiah muttered.
Vitalis did not need to confirm the man looked upon the cloth, but peering around he saw it was so.
“’Tis not for me to tell you what to do,” his friend said, “but I must speak, my lord. No matter