Chapter Five
In the swirling mists of the early morning, Cortez and Diamantha made their way to the church directly across from the gatehouse of Corfe, alone.
He wanted to get it over with and she didn’t want any close witnesses, so they journeyed to the church without any entourage or retainers.
It was just the two of them, traipsing through the fog and damp.
The village of Corfe was crowded around the southern end of the castle, waddle and daub huts that were clustered tightly together like a herd of lonely sheep.
St. Edward the Martyr’s church was literally across the road from the main entrance to the castle, a rather large cathedral that had been there in some form long before the Normans came.
It was into this cavernous church that Cortez and Diamantha had proceeded.
It smelled like wet earth and incense, a strange and acrid smell.
Cortez remembered the church from Robert’s funeral mass, when it had been packed with knights who had fought with Robert Edlington at one time or another.
The man had been well-liked. In a massive hall that had once intoned the utterings of Edlington’s death, now it was witness to the marriage of Edlington’s widow to the man who had left Edlington to die.
At least, that’s how Cortez viewed it in ironic reflection. Those were the facts.
He wondered if the priests knew the facts, too, from the way they looked at him.
They had been more than happy to perform the marriage sacrament at Diamantha’s request and, because they knew her, three of them shared the duties of the liturgy.
They also eyed Cortez with some suspicion, not knowing who he was and seemingly protective over the lady of their castle.
Cortez took it all in stride but the wariness of his presence lingered, even when the priest made the last sacrament and bade Cortez to kiss his bride.
Cortez did, on the cheek, only because he swore those priests were shooting daggers at him with their eyes. After that, he was impatient to leave.
The priests carefully recorded the marriage in their big book of events, much as they recorded the births and deaths of the town as well.
Anything of note that happened at Corfe was recorded.
Since the mass had been witnessed by three priests, all three signed the book with their marks and presented Cortez with a stamped sheet of vellum that legitimized the marriage.
Once Cortez had that certificate in his hand, he paid the priests well, took Diamantha by the hand, and practically pulled her out of the church.
He had a mission to accomplish and he was ready to get on with it.
He was ready to move forward with his new wife and get away from the church where the priests were eyeing him as if he were stealing the lady away from them. He was coming to feel like a thief.
Diamantha had been oddly silent throughout the event; at that point, Cortez was grateful for small mercies.
At least she wasn’t weeping, which had had expected.
She seemed rather stunned by it all and had lapsed into uncharacteristic silence.
He wondered how long it was going to last. By the time they entered the gatehouse of Corfe and headed into the massive lower bailey, the fog was lifting somewhat as the sun began to rise.
Cortez could see his men gathered for travel, with tents packed and fires doused.
His two knights were on horseback, spurring their heavy-boned coursers along the group and making sure everyone was prepared to depart.
Cortez’s hand was still on Diamantha’s arm as they headed towards his men.
“Since you are already in traveling clothes, I will assume you are packed and ready to depart,” he said. “Where are your possessions?”
Diamantha seemed to be staring off into the distance, as if seeing things that were no longer there.
Perhaps she was seeing her life past, with Robert, something that was now gone.
There was a new, uncertain life in its place.
In any case, she snapped out of whatever trance she was in when Cortez spoke to her.
“Everything is in the keep,” she told him. “Will you have my horse brought forth while I go inside to retrieve my belongings?”
Cortez’s hand dropped from her arm. “It would be my pleasure,” he said. “Do you require any other assistance?”
She shook her head. “Nay,” she said. “I would suppose we are traveling lightly so I am not bringing anything heavier than what can be carried upon the back of a horse.”
He was rather pleased by that statement. A sensible woman, he thought. If she was forcing him to take her, then at least she was being reasonable about it.
“Very well,” he said. “I will await you by the upper gatehouse.”
Diamantha nodded her head and moved away from him, heading up the wet incline of Corfe’s enormous outer ward on her way to the inner gatehouse.
Cortez couldn’t help but notice that she hadn’t made eye contact with him in any fashion since they’d left the church, not even in this brief conversation.
She seemed preoccupied and sad. Not that he blamed her, but he couldn’t worry about that now.
What was done was done, and she would have to accept it. They were now married.
Turning for his men, now grouped and prepared to leave, he went about final preparations as he awaited his wife to rejoin him.
With a lingering glance over his shoulder at Diamantha’s dark blue form as she disappeared through the upper gatehouse, he wondered if he shouldn’t go with her.
He was rather wary of letting her out of his sight considering what had gone on between them in the past. The last thing he needed was her changing her mind and barricading herself inside the castle.
He hoped it didn’t come to that, but he couldn’t be sure. At this point, he was praying he wasn’t going to have to lay siege to get his wife back.
*
Diamantha could feel Cortez’s eyes on her back as she made her way up to the keep, but she ignored it.
She was trying not to think of the fact that this could very well be the last time she ever saw her beloved Corfe.
The marriage, the mass… all of it had passed in a blur.
All she could think when they had entered the church was of Robert and the last time she had attended church with him.
It had been right before he’d left for the north and she recalled how he’d held her hand the entire time.
There had been such comfort and strength there.
God, she couldn’t think of it anymore. It was making her mad with grief.
Now, she was no longer Lady Edlington but Lady de Bretagne, a title once held by her dear friend.
Helene had looked upon her position in life with such honor.
At the moment, all Diamantha could manage to feel for it was sorrow.
By the time she reached the gatehouse, the soldiers were opening the great panels for her and she walked through, trying not to slip on the rather steep slope as the path ascended into the upper ward.
She was struggling to focus on what tasks lay ahead of her and not the distress she was feeling.
The course took a steep turn to the right and the stairs to the keep lay before her.
She took the steps as she had taken them a thousand times before, already missing the comfort they brought her, knowing that the keep she called home would soon be swallowing her up.
She was barely through the massive oak and iron panel that comprised the front door before her women were upon her.
They had been lying in wait for their mistress.
It was dark and cold in the entry, shielding them in the shadows, but Diamantha grinned at the group, wearily, as they began to fuss over her.
Someone was trying to pull off her damp cloak while someone else was trying to hand her a cup of warmed mead.
She put up her hands to stop all of the tugging and fussing.
“Cease, my little goats,” she said softly but firmly. “I am not removing my cloak and I plan to leave just as soon as my bags are retrieved. Where are they?”
One of the women, a very tall female with a big white wimple pulled tight around her head, motioned to the wall near the entry door. Diamantha noted the two rather large leather satchels and she nodded, satisfied.
“Excellent,” she said. “Where is my daughter?”
One of the women hustled over to the narrow spiral stairs and disappeared up the well. The woman with the white wimple spoke in a nervous voice.
“Do you truly plan to leave, m’lady?” she asked.
Diamantha nodded. “I do,” she said, glancing to the group.
She spoke with more bravery than she felt.
“I became Lady de Bretagne this morning. I plan to travel now with my husband to retrieve Robert’s body, as I told you I would.
You listened to me as I reasoned out my plan before presenting it to de Bretagne.
I must do this, ladies. I told you as much, so worrying over it will not change the way of things. It is done.”
One of the women teared up, wiping at her nose as she turned away and went to stand in the shadows to shield her loss of composure.
Diamantha was struggling not to become weepy as well.
If she were to cry, then her women would become positively hysterical and she couldn’t deal with it.
So she squared her shoulders and went to check her bags.
Crouching down, she tossed her cloak back to remove the magnificent silver collar.
She didn’t want to wear it while traveling and ended up tucking it carefully into one of her satchels.