Chapter Thirteen #3
“They are tiny little animals that hardly eat anything at all,” he said, his voice low. “Are you truly going to argue with me about this? Do you truly want to give these people our food so we will have nothing?”
She didn’t, but there had to be a way to help. An idea popped into her head. “We will be stopping at your father’s castle tonight, will we not?”
Cortez nodded. “We will.”
“If we need our stores replenished, can we not do it there? Your father should be able to resupply us most adequately if we give these people some of our food.”
He rolled his eyes unhappily. “I cannot depend on that,” he said. “I have no idea what my father will have. If he has nothing, we will be in a good deal of trouble and our quest to reach Falkirk might be seriously delayed. Is that what you want?”
Of course it wasn’t. Reluctantly, she shook her head and let the subject die. Or so Cortez thought. Reaching out, he gently touched her cheek, smiling at her when she looked up at him. With a wink, he turned his charger around and cantered back to the front of the column.
Diamantha, however, wasn’t finished, not in the least. There were children starving just a few feet away from her and she couldn’t sit by and do nothing about it. No matter what Cortez said, she had to do something, however small. She couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t.
Eyes on Cortez, and on Drake, who happened to be closest to her, she sank back beneath the oiled tarp to hide from view, but the truth was that she was about to do some reconnaissance in the wagon.
As Sophie sniffled beside her, she began to dig around in the wagon bed, coming across bags of walnuts, of almonds, of pears, and of little green apples.
Heaving the bag of apples into her lap, she opened up the sack and was pleased to note that there were several dozen apples nestled in the bag. It was perfect for her needs.
Pulling a couple of the apples forth, she handed them over to Sophie, who was thrilled with more food for her animals.
With the bag in hand, she dragged it along with her across the wagon bed until she was once again just outside of the oiled tarp.
Drake was next to the wagon, riding slightly head of her position with his attention on the beggars.
Diamantha eyed the big knight for a moment, planning out her covert operation.
“Sir Drake?” she asked politely, pointing off to the east. “Could that possibly be more starving people over there?”
Drake turned his attention away from the beggars, and from her, to gaze off into the distance.
As soon as he turned his head, Diamantha grabbed several apples and hurled them towards the beggars.
She had good aim because one, two, and then five apples sailed over Drake’s head and into the field beyond as de Winter searched for something on the horizon, something Lady de Bretagne had asked about, that didn’t exist.
But he heard the apples sailing over his head and by the time she launched the fourth and fifth apple, he was looking around to see where the sound had come from. When he looked curiously to Diamantha, sitting near the side of the wagon bed, she was the picture of innocence.
“Did you hear something?” he asked.
Diamantha shook her head. “Only the beggars,” she said evenly. “What did you hear?”
Drake wasn’t sure. He looked around and could see the beggars in the field as they evidently collected something off the ground.
He couldn’t see what it was, but suddenly, the beggars were running after the convoy, shouting their pleas.
They were holding out their hands and crying for something, something he couldn’t quite make out.
It was odd, truly. Intensely curious, he watched the beggars for a moment but the minute he looked away, towards the front of the column, he heard those strange noises over his head again.
This time, he was faster, and he turned towards the starving folk in time to see small projectiles flying through the air.
He wasn’t sure what they were or where they were coming from, but he had a suspicion.
He returned his attention to Diamantha, who was looking quite innocuous as she sat at the side of the wagon bed.
She even smiled at him, brightly, which led him to believe that she was up to no good.
No woman smiled that way unless she was trying to hide something.
With a heavy sigh, Drake simply faced forward, listening to projectiles sailing over his head.
He turned a blind eye to it, at least for the time being, because he knew the lady was simply trying to do something kind.
He also knew she was disobeying her husband, which put him in a very bad spot.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw it when she dropped one of the small green apples she had been throwing at the starving peasants.
He could hear the beggars, off to his left, as they squealed excitedly over the thrown fruit.
Unfortunately, he had to do something about it. If he didn’t, Cortez would have his head. He took the chance of leaving his post and spurring his charger to the front. He came up behind Cortez and cleared his throat loudly.
“My lord?” he said.
Cortez turned around abruptly, seeing that Drake was right behind him. His brow furrowed. “Why did you leave your post?”
Drake was clearly reluctant to say anything but he knew he didn’t have a choice.
“Lady de Bretagne…,” he trailed off for a moment but then started again, stronger this time.
“Lady de Bretagne is doing what you told her not to do. You must understand that by telling you, I am damaging any trust I might have with her, but if I do not tell you, then I am assuming responsibility for her actions and risking your wrath. I am in a bad position, either way.”
Cortez’s dark eyes flickered a moment before looking back through the column to the wagons in the middle.
As he watched, two small projectiles sailed into the air and out into the field below.
The starving people were swarming on whatever it was.
Stricken, he pointed to another projectile as it went sailing.
“What in the name of Great Bleeding Jesus is that?” he demanded. “What is she doing?”
Drake watched the man’s irate face. “She is throwing apples to them, I believe,” he said sympathetically. “One of the many bags of apples we have on the provisions wagons.”
“Apples?” Cortez repeated, outraged. “I told her not to feed them. She is deliberately disobeying me.”
Drake put up a hand to stop the man before he went charging back to the wagon, quite possibly to spank his wife. In a small way, perhaps he was saving Cortez’s marriage because, as new as it was, it certainly couldn’t take a husbandly beating.
“My lord, if you please,” he said quickly, “as you know, my mother runs a great charity, one of the biggest in all of England. As a young lad, I was raised in the halls of The House of Hope, so I well understand the conviction and self-sacrifice it takes to impart benefits to the poor. My father often chided my mother about it, but the fact remained that he admired her a great deal for her selfless and compassionate nature. Don’t you see?
The world needs people like my mother and Lady de Bretagne, for they see beyond the poverty to the human need beneath.
Your wife will not give away all of our food, as you asked, but one bag of apples…
to us, it is a small thing, but to those people, it is their life right now.
Isn’t this the England you fight for? All people, not just the rich? We are all God’s creatures, after all.”
Cortez gave Drake a rather wry expression before rolling his eyes, perhaps with some defeat. “Who taught you that, de Winter?” he wanted to know. “Your mother? She made a fine sap out of you.”
Drake grinned. “Mayhap she did,” he said. “But I understand the compassion your wife is demonstrating. Mayhap you should try to as well.”
Cortez looked over Drake’s shoulder, watching the last few apples fly into the air, into the hands of those who would look upon it as a gift from God.
Much of what Drake said held true. The man was right, in many aspects, and the anger Cortez had been feeling vanished in a puff, much like the mist around them that was disappearing into the air.
It vaporized and blew away. De Winter had wisdom about him, no doubt about it.
After a moment, Cortez simply shook his head and jabbed a big finger at him.
“No more apples for you for the rest of this journey,” he told him. “You just fed all of those Children of God your share of the fruit.”
Drake fought of a grin. “Gladly, my lord. They were sour, anyway.”
With that, he reined is horse around, leaving Cortez at the head of the column struggling not to smile.
Compassionate wife, indeed. He still had much to learn about her, even her rebellious nature, which he frankly found rather charming.
The woman had spirit and, in spite of everything, he rather liked it.
When Drake resumed his position next to the provisions wagon, Diamantha was finished throwing apples to the peasants and thanking God that de Winter had left his post and allowed her to dispense of the fruit as best she could.
Oblivious to the fact that both Drake and Cortez knew of her own private rebellion, she settled back in the wagon and took her daughter in her arms again, making herself comfortable for the long ride ahead.
She couldn’t do anything for those girls in Gloucester, but for the starving children of Stafford, she was able to contribute just a little and it gave her a satisfying moment in a trip that hadn’t been full of many.
In a trip that had been filled with it share of dark and light so far, Diamantha had been able to make a little difference in a few lives.
It wasn’t much, but it was something.