Throughout the following day, a constant trickle of men sought the safety of Radulf’s army. Some of them came alone and expressed a desire to fight with the husband of Lady Wilfreda, others brought their families and set up camp, huddling dry-eyed and weary beneath the azure banner of the King’s Sword.
As Radulf watched them come, and watched his wife go among them—with the bodyguard he had insisted upon—he understood at last that she had been right. Her people loved and trusted her, far more than they had ever trusted Hew or Vorgen. She had come north to give them hope of peace, and despite their instinctive distrust of the Norman conquerors, they believed in her enough to grasp at the opportunity she was giving them.
Hew was camped some five miles away. His army, mostly Kenton’s men with a few rebels thrown in, had ruthlessly pillaged the surrounding countryside, making themselves even more hated than before. By joining Hew, Kenton’s soldiers were doing as they had been ordered, but many of them didn’t like it. They had fought at Hastings with the Normans they now faced as enemies. Deserters had already joined the trickle of Englishmen who were swelling Radulf’s army.
He was well satisfied.
Lord Henry, too, had had to admit his mistake where Lily was concerned. Radulf had noticed, with amusement, his friend’s attempts to charm his wife as only Henry could. He was even more amused to notice that, although she listened politely, Lily was not cajoled by his glib tongue. Had he once thought Henry could charm her away from him? She was not such a fool.
It was midday as Radulf stood, listening to Henry and Jervois argue about tactics, his eyes scanning the smoky camp with its many souls, all dependent upon him. He noticed his wife leave their tent. She paused a moment, breathing in the air, straightening her back as if preparing herself to face whatever obstacles might be set in her path.
Aye, she was a proud woman, and Radulf was proud of her and what she had done. A man could ask no more than to live with such a woman at his side. Her hair was bright and uncovered, like a young girl’s, her gown a simple one, so as not to intimidate the common folk, and she wore no jewelry apart from the red-eyed hawk upon her thumb.
He watched her stretch again, as if her back ached. Something in the movement, something in the way her hands were folded so protectively across her belly, struck a discordant note in Radulf.
Puzzled, he watched her descend once more into the heart of the camp. Stephen was trailing behind her, and the boy shot wistful glances at the soldiers as they checked and sharpened their weapons, shouting bravado to hide their fear.
Many of them would be dead tomorrow, but Stephen probably didn’t think of that, Radulf thought wryly. He was dreaming of the glory.
Radulf had already decided that the battle would take place tomorrow, soon after first light.
He would march his men in predawn darkness to the long, flat valley where Hew was encamped.
Then they would attack. If Hew was unprepared, so much the better, but Radulf did not fool himself into thinking it would be an easy victory. Kenton’s men were well trained; they were no rabble. No, it would be a hard fight, but one he had no intention of losing.
His gaze slipped back to Lily. She had reached Gudren and Olaf’s tent, and seemed to be hesitating there. Even as she made to move on, Gudren’s gray head popped out of the opening and her arms waved bossily, gesturing for Lily to enter.
With a regal nod of her head, Lily did so, vanishing from his sight.
“I am glad to see you, my pretty one.”
Gudren had not changed. She was as plump as ever, her face barely wrinkled, her pale eyes cunning.
“And you, mother.” Lily smiled, answering her in her own tongue.
Gudren sighed. “It does my heart good to hear the sound of Norway. I knew you were not who you said you were, lady. I told Olaf you were of Viking blood, but he scoffed and said I was getting old. Now see who is old!”
Lily smiled. “Olaf prepares for the battle?”
“He works all day and at night he sharpens his axe.”
Lily hesitated. “He believes in a great victory, like Radulf?”
Gudren watched her thoughtfully, as if considering her question. “Radulf has a spell upon him.
He cannot be defeated. That is what Olaf believes.”
“Yes, I have heard such things myself.”
“But you do not believe them,” Gudren answered for her. “You doubt, because you are afraid for him. We always fear losing what we love most, pretty one. But Radulf is strong and clever. He will not take risks with his life. You will see. He will return to you and your babe.”
When Lily stared at her, eyes wide, Gudren laughed in delight.
“You thought I would not know! Me, Gudren, who has borne five babies and helped to birth many, many more? You have a look, my pretty, a softness. I am never wrong.”
Lily swallowed, pressing her hands over the slight rounding of her belly. “No, mother, you are not wrong.”
“You have told him?”
