to draw near Daryl, what might have been named Vitalis’s unfortunate escape was not to be.
“Do not lose faith,” Guarin said as Vitalis fixed his gaze on De Warenne riding at the fore. “Providing tidings of your capture do not bring William south—that he but issues instructions on where you shall be conveyed—we may yet free you, especially if Maël sends tidings of his own with the cloth cut from William’s mantle.”
Though the usurper would be wrathful if he learned the captain of his guard had not held close his king’s shame, it did not surprise that what had transpired in that winter cave had been revealed to Guarin. What was the maxim to which his family held? That first, in between, and in the end, they were D’Argents. Thus, those of their blood were told what was necessary to remain true to those words.
“Nicola has it on her person?” Guarin asked.
It was a curious thing to ask of one who ought to have it on his person, but easily unraveled. Nicola must have shared with the false abbess that Vitalis had given her the mantle piece to pass to Sir Maël, then when Mercia and Nicola’s cousin were aboard the Danes’ ship, the woman must have told the king’s man.
“Has she?” Guarin asked again.
Vitalis having confirmed his suspicion of who rode behind and to the right of De Warenne, surely only because he could not match the earl’s skill at riding, he said, “She does not.” He jutted his chin. “It is in Prince Richard’s possession.”
Chapter Nineteen
The only good of the ride to Red Castle was that De Warenne refused to remove Vitalis from Sir Maël’s custody. Thus, the prisoner remained with the D’Argents, albeit surrounded by Norman knights.
When the entourage paused to tend the horses and slake their own thirst and hunger, in a whisper that often had to be commanded lowered to keep it from others, Nicola revealed to her kin what had transpired in the weeks since the trade with the abbess went awry.
Her emotions in relating Bjorn’s death and Zedekiah’s sacrifice teetering and causing tears to spill, Vitalis remained silent—listening as he observed those beyond, most closely Daryl who paced among men he might call his own but who tolerated him only because they followed Abbot Turold’s orders which De Warenne let stand. Because it amused the earl, Vitalis guessed.
Several times, Daryl’s pacing had drawn him relatively near Vitalis as if he hoped to entice the unbound captive to avenge Zedekiah’s death. And Vitalis was tempted, though not so much he overlooked he was weaponless and a dozen warriors could give aid before Daryl fell to these bare hands. As long as the captive appeared to present no threat, he would be able to act should an opportunity arise.
Seeing the knave draw near again, Vitalis denied him the satisfaction of his gaze and instead studied De Warenne.
For one of high nobility, he ate and drank like a beggar propped against a tavern wall—stuffing his mouth, talking past food that sprayed those near, and quickly chewing and swallowing the sooner to begin again. Likely, he was among those who named Saxons heathens.
Only once had Vitalis caught the man looking close upon him. They had locked eyes, then De Warenne turned aside and called for another skin of wine—possibly different from the one now tipped high.
Having felt intently watched since pausing here, Vitalis moved his regard to the young man who hunkered beside the stream. As expected, Prince Richard’s gaze awaited his. As not expected, his mouth curved, and just as slightly he shook his head.
Not disapproval. Not mocking satisfaction. Was it assurance? That the prince had kept his word not to reveal their encounter? That he would continue to hold it as close as the mantle piece he could sooner return to his sire if Vitalis’s capture brought William to Red Castle?
Deciding it did not matter, Vitalis inclined his head and settled his gaze on Nicola who had finished relating their hasty departure from Thetford’s wood and the single sighting by Normans who must have sent word to Daryl.
“A fitting end!” that knave pronounced in Saxon-accented Norman-French and laughed.
Though Vitalis knew those words were meant more for him than whoever appeared to receive them, he looked around.
Daryl clapped a hand on the shoulder of a knight who had aided in slaying Zedekiah.
“A fitting end, indeed,” the man said.
Daryl slid his gaze to Vitalis. “Now no traitor can say they were not warned.” He exaggerated a frown.