She was so naïve. Cortez shook his head. “I cannot and will not interfere in the man’s business,” he said, his voice low. “Come with me, now. I beg you”
The sounds of the crowd were growing louder and everyone turned to see the woman and her two small daughters being brought up to the scaffold. The little girls were crying, trying to cling to their mother, but being pulled roughly away by Gloucester soldiers. It was then that Diamantha caught sight of the cauldron Cortez had mentioned. There was great flame all around it as it sat at the base of the scaffolding and steam poured from the cauldron itself.
There was something cooking in the cauldron, boiling rapidly and hotly. As her gaze absorbed the scene, a horrific thought occurred to her. Diamantha turned to Cortez with an expression of shocked realization. Dear God… it couldn’t be….
“What is that cauldron for?” she asked, her voice oddly hoarse.
Cortez didn’t want to tell her. He sighed heavily, running a weary hand over his forehead in a hesitant gesture.
“Diamantha, please,” he begged. “Let us leave now, I implore you.”
“What is it for?”
He paused another moment, reflecting on his options. He had none. When he spoke, it was with the greatest reluctance.
“It is the instrument of execution,” he told her quietly. “Death by boiling is the usual sentence for those convicted of poisoning.”
It was as she had suspected. Sickened, Diamantha opened her mouth to say something when a horrific scream filled the air. Startled, she turned just in time to see a Gloucester soldiers throw the smallest of the two girls into the boiling pot. The mother screamed, the other daughter did the same, but the little girl in the pot didn’t die immediately. Her weak cries filled the air for a few seconds, eventually fading away as the crowd cheered wildly.
It was the most horrible sound imaginable and Diamantha staggered. She had Sophie in her arms still and she clasped her hand over her daughter’s head, forcing the little head down onto her shoulder and covering her ears as best she could. When she turned to Cortez, it was with tears streaming down her face.
“Get me out of here,” she hissed. “Get me out of here now.”
Cortez didn’t hesitate. He whisked her away, back towards the avenue that held their traveling party, with his knights closing ranks around them. They practically ran the entire way back to the wagons where Cortez helped Diamantha and Sophie up into Sophie’s padded little corner. Diamantha crawled all the way to the front of the wagon bed, beneath the bench, and huddled up there with her child. She wouldn’t even look at Cortez. As he turned away from the wagon to get the troops moving, he could hear her deep sobs.
The sound nearly broke his heart.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Norton. Droitwich. Bromgrove. Bloxwich. Penkridge.
They were just some of the towns Cortez’s party had passed through, small bergs that were all beginning to look the same. After what happened in Gloucester, Diamantha wasn’t so inclined to look upon any more towns with interest. In fact, her mood in general seemed to have dampened as the days passed and the party moved north.
It wasn’t so much in her actions or words, because those seemed normal enough, but Cortez could see something in her eyes that had dimmed. It was difficult to describe any more than that. The battle with the sheriff in Shaftesbury followed by the execution in Gloucester had given the woman two instances of the brutalities of life that, thus far, she’d been relatively immune to sequestered and protected at Corfe as she had been. Now, she was starting to understand the hardships people faced, and the dangers, but it was only going to get worse.
It started innocently enough as they left the village of Penkridge on a gloomy morning. It was a morning like any other morning, with a hearty breakfast of porridge and dried figs and then everyone packing their bedrolls, heading out as the sun began to crest over the eastern horizon. Their destination that night was Cortez’s father’s castle just outside of the city of Stafford, and everyone was looking forward to a great feast and the warm hospitality that Gorsedd de Bretagne was known to provide.
Diamantha in particular was looking forward to the safety and comfort that a castle could provide. She’d never realized how much she missed it until she’d been forced to sleep in smelly hostels and in damp tents for the past several days. It was another part of this quest that she hadn’t fully understood before the undertaking and she was coming to realize that she didn’t like the world as a whole. It was frightening and brutal. It had to be experienced to be believed.
Bundled up against the mist and cold, Sophie had a bit of the sniffles this morning so Diamantha rode in the wagon bed with her daughter, keeping her warm and dry, entertaining her by putting pieces of straw through the cage and teasing the kittens with it. Just as the group moved to the city limit, a town sentry approached them with a lifted hand. Cortez brought his column to a halt.
“M’lord!” the man called. “M’lord, wait!”
Dressed in his usual armor, including a heavy tunic and gloves to ward off the cold, Cortez leaned forward on his saddle.
“What’s amiss?” he asked.
The old man wiped at his running nose as he approached. Then, he pointed off to the north.
“The River Penk has been flooding its banks since last spring,” he said. “It’s flooded out several villages to the north, so be careful as you go. You’ll run into those willing to do anything to steal your food.”
Cortez glanced at Andres to his left, implying coming trouble with his mere expression. “Are we to expect great bands of starving villagers or just a few armed men?” he asked.
The old man nodded. “Both,” he said. “Proceed with caution, m’lord, at least until you get to Stafford. That’ll be a day’s ride at least with the road as bad as it is.”
“Noted,” Cortez said. “Thank you for the warning.”
The old man backed off and let them pass. Cortez and the party moved off, but not before Cortez instructed each one of his foot soldiers to arm themselves with crossbows. Knights went into battle mode, removing their shields from the provisions wagon and slinging them over their left knee for quick access. Leaving James and Andres at point, Cortez made his way back to the wagon containing Diamantha and Sophie.
The oiled tarp was back up, providing adequate protection from the mist. He leaned over, peering over the edge of the tarp and looking in at the women as they huddled together, covered by a warm traveling blanket. When Diamantha looked up and saw him, he smiled.
“You appear to be sweet and cozy in there,” he said.
Diamantha grinned as Sophie answered. “I’m playing with my kittens,” she announced.
Cortez laughed softly. “I can see that,” he said. “Those must be the happiest pets in all the land. They eat more than I do, they certainly sleep more than I do, and they get to play with you all day long.”
Sophie sneezed, evidence of her sniffles, but it didn’t dampen her enthusiasm. “Come and play!”
Cortez shook his head. “Alas, I cannot, little chick,” he said, his gaze lingering on Diamantha. “I came to tell you and your mother to stay in the wagon for now. Do not leave its safety.”
Diamantha’s smile faded. “Why?” she asked. “Is there trouble?”
He shrugged faintly. “There could be,” he said. “I want to make sure you ladies are safe. You’ll stay in here until I tell you otherwise. Understood?”
Diamantha nodded. “We will.”
“Promise?”
“I do.”
Cortez winked at her. “Thank you,” he replied. “I shall return later.”
He was gone, leaving Diamantha with some anxiety in her chest. There could be trouble. She wondered what he meant but after what happened at Gloucester, when she had peppered him with questions and only learned a terrible truth, she thought perhaps not to bother him with silly questions. She was coming to think that ignorance was sometimes the better partner in all of this. If there was troubl
e, maybe she didn’t want to know everything about it.
So the party trudged on in the misty morning, listening to sheep in the distance, bleating through the fog. The road was very muddy, terribly so, and every dozen feet or so the wagon would get stuck in the dark, rich mud and a few soldiers would have to throw their backs into shoving it out of the hole. But Diamantha stayed true to her promise to remain in the wagon. She didn’t try to get out and help the men when the wagon stuck. She held on to her daughter as the wagon lurched forward, again and again.
The morning seemed to be passing with painful slowness and with degrees of apprehension felt by all. None felt it more than Cortez. He rode point with his brother, watching the landscape through the mists, waiting for the hordes of starving to appear, flying out at them. Not only did the fog hide the dangers, but there were great clusters of trees smothering the road in places which simply made it worse. It was a cloying, terrible feeling.
He kept focused on the city of Stafford, which was less than a day’s ride ahead of them. His father’s castle was five miles to the west of Stafford and he was looking forward to seeing the man he hadn’t seen in three years, not since his father had come for Helene’s funeral. He was anxious for the man to meet Diamantha and Sophie, for his father had dearly wanted grandchildren and heirs. Now, there was the hope for some, at least with Cortez. With Andres, there was no telling if the man would ever marry.
With thoughts of his brother and his wild ways, Cortez glanced over his shoulder to see Andres riding a few feet away astride his big yellow charger. Remarkably, the man had kept out of the bottle since departing Sherborne and Cortez hoped it would remain that way. He had enough on his mind without having to worry about dragging his brother out of a gutter somewhere.
Andres must have sensed his brother’s attention because he turned to look at him, the visor down on his helm. When he realized Cortez was indeed gazing at him, he flipped the visor up.
“What is it?” he asked. “Why are you looking at me?”
Cortez shrugged, turning his attention back to the road. “I was simply wondering when, or if, you were ever going to marry,” he said. “We will be seeing Father tonight and you know he will ask you that question. You had better have an answer that pleases him.”
Andres sighed heavily. “No answer I will give him short of telling him I am already married will please him,” he said, disgruntled. “I wish he would stop harassing me about it.”
Cortez smirked. “He is your father,” he pointed out. “It is his duty to harass you about marriage. What about that lord’s daughter you met at Sherborne Abbey last month? What is her name? Adaline?”
Andres shook his head. “Adaliza,” he corrected. “She is far too young and far too rich. Her father would never approve of the match.”
Cortez cast him a long glance. “How do you know?” he demanded. “Have you asked? Have you even tried?”
Andres wouldn’t look at him. “Leave me alone or I shall go ride at the rear,” he said. “I will not let you bully me. You have had two perfect wives and I’ve not even had one.”
Cortez grinned, his thoughts now lingering on Diamantha. The past few days had been quite pleasant between them and although they’d not made love again after that wildfire of a night back in Bath, the manner between them had definitely changed. She was much more polite and sweet to him, and he in turn looked upon her with nothing less than stars in his eyes. He couldn’t help it. Even now, simply thinking on her, all he could feel was unadulterated giddiness. It was marvelous.
“My wife says she has two sisters,” he told him. “Mayhap they are not spoken for. Would you like for me to find out?”
Andres shook his head. “I will find my own wife, thank you,” he said. “If your wife wants husbands for her sisters, then talk to de Winter. His father wants him married so badly that he has threatened to beat him if he is not wed by next year.”
Cortez turned in the saddle, seeing that de Winter was riding mid-pack, stationed by the wagons for protection. He wriggled his dark eyebrows and turned around.
“His father is going to have a task ahead of him,” he said. “As much as I revere Davyss de Winter, Drake may be able to best his father. If I were Father de Winter, I would think of another tactic.”
Andres nodded in agreement but he wanted off the subject of why he was not yet married. Opening his mouth to broach an entirely new line of conversation, he suddenly caught sight of something coming through the fog. The mist had lifted slightly, giving them a much greater range of vision, and he spied something on the road ahead, lingering by the edge of the trees. His good humor fled.
“Cortez,” he snapped, unsheathing his broadsword. “Look, up ahead by the trees. Do you see it?”
Cortez was instantly on alert, his sword coming forth because Andres had drawn his. He could see people, ahead on the road, and he turned to de Lohr, who was riding several feet behind him.
“Protect the wagons,” he ordered. “Tell the men to be on the defensive.”
James nodded shortly and spun his charger around, riding back through the ranks and delivering orders. The pace of the travel slowed as the men went into defensive mode but, gradually, they came upon the cluster of people lingering by the roadside.
Cortez lowered his sword as soon as they came into clear view. It was mostly children, with a few adults intermingled, and he could hear a baby crying. Although his sword was lowered, he still had it in his hand in case this was a ruse. As the party drew nearer and he could see all of the women and children, he was positive it was a ruse. He turned to his brother.
“Ride up there and drive them off,” he rumbled. “I’ll not have them distracting the men so their husbands can attack while my soldiers are focused elsewhere.”
Andres nodded sharply and charged forward, heading straight for the gathering of women and children. Most of them scattered with the big charger bearing down on them but one small boy didn’t move fast enough. The charger bumped the child and the lad went flying, literally sailing into the mud a few feet away. He landed heavily but unhurt, screaming his lungs out. Andres, undeterred, pointed a finger at the fragmented group.
“Be gone, all of you,” he bellowed. “Be gone before I turn my men loose on you!”
What had started as pathetic begging had now turned into frightened screaming with a big angry knight in their midst. The women were wailing and so were the children. The little boy who had been bumped by the charger scrambled to his feet and ran off towards one of the women who happened to be holding a baby. Andres continued to yell at them, trying to intimidate them, but they did nothing more than scatter around. No one made a serious attempt to leave. As the column drew close, the beggars tried to migrate in their direction and away from the bellowing knight, but Andres kept them herded away from the road as one would have herded sheep. Weeping and pleas filled the air.
Diamantha could hear them from where she was safely insulated in the wagon bed. In fact, she had been hearing the cries for a couple of minutes now and they were growing stronger by the second. Pulling Sophie off her lap, she set the little girl down on the cushions beneath the wagon bench and crept over to the edge of the oiled cloth to take a peek. Cortez had told her not to leave the wagon, and she would not. But she would take a look and see what the commotion was about. It was natural curiosity, especially when she could hear children.
The mist had dissipated somewhat and yellow streams of light began to poke through the clouds, illuminating patches of ground below. Diamantha could see a group of people several feet away and a big knight positioned between them and the road. It was clear that he was trying to keep the group at bay. Diamantha could see many women and children, all of them dressed in layers of tattered clothing, feet bound with cloth and not shoes, and no one had proper protection against the cold morning. Increasingly concerned, Diamantha captured Drake’s attention.
“Sir Drake?” she called over to him. “What do those people want?”
; Drake, helm on and visor down, turned his armor-clad head in the direction of the women and children. “Beggars,” he said. “They’ve come to beg for our food and whatever else they can wrangle from us. Andres is trying to run them off.”
There were some very little children among the group and after what she had seen in Gloucester, Diamantha was rather sensitive to small children in general. Her brow furrowed with concern.
“They look so poor and hungry,” she said. “Is there something we can do for them?”
Drake shook his head. “We would go hungry ourselves if we did,” he said. “There is so much need here that it would drain us quickly.”
The procession was passing by the group now and Diamantha, peering out from the wagon, was in clear view of the beggars. When they saw her, they ignored Andres completely and began to wail in her direction. One of the women, a round female with a mass of red hair wrapped around the top of her head, risked the angry knight and ran in Diamantha’s direction.
“M’lady!” she screamed. “Please, m’lady, help us! We’ve no crops, no food to eat! The children are starving, m’lady, please!”
Diamantha wasn’t sure what to say. As the lady of Corfe, she was often in the position of helping those less fortunate and she had indeed on many occasion. It was difficult for her to refuse those in need of assistance. But her region was rich and fertile, and those in need were usually those from whom sickness had taken its toll, or perhaps widows and orphans who simply needed help. She’d never seen starving, destitute people like this, not ever. It was an entirely new level of poverty. Before she could answer, however, Drake cautioned her.
“We were warned about these people, my lady,” he said quietly. “They will do anything they can to steal from us. It would be best if you sat back in the wagon until we have passed through this stretch. These may not be the only people we meet along this road.”
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