Chapter Twenty-One
It was dark by the time Cortez and his men returned to the MacInnis’ tavern.
He had the soldiers take care of the horses and wagon while he and the knights wearily approached the small, stout structure.
Glowing light emitted from the small windows cut into the walls, making it a rather inviting prospect as they pushed open the entry door.
Heated, smelly air hit them in the face.
There were more people in the tavern this night than there had been the day before, weary travelers seeking rest and food.
As the knights confiscated a table near the door and began calling over the serving wenches, Cortez headed to the rear of the structure where the two sleeping rooms were located.
He was anxious to see Diamantha and tell her about the day, and he was also eager to see how Sophie was faring.
But what he found upon entering their rented room was not what he had expected, not in the least.
MacInnis’s wife was there along with a man he didn’t recognize.
They were standing next to the smaller bed in the room, the one Sophie had slept on the night before, and Cortez’s gaze immediately found Diamantha seated next to the little bed.
Sophie was laying on it, bundled up, until all he could see was her little face.
She appeared to be sleeping and, as he entered the room, he realized that the hearth was blazing and it was very warm in the chamber. It was cloying.
Upon hearing the door open, Diamantha whirled around to see Cortez entering the room. She jumped up and flew at him before he could speak.
“Cortez,” she gasped. “Thank God you have returned.”
Her voice sounded terrible, frightened and strained. She also looked ragged, with circles around her lovely eyes. Cortez reached out and pulled her into an embrace simply because it seemed like the thing to do. He didn’t like her tone or the look of her. Apprehension gripped him.
“What is the matter?” he asked her, eyeing the others in the room. “Who is that man?”
Diamantha’s lower lip began to tremble as she pointed to the small man in the dirty brown robes.
“That is a physic from St. Francis,” she said, struggling not to weep.
“He is a priest but he is also the physic for the town. Goodwife MacInnis sent for him. Sophie is not doing very well and he has come to help.”
Cortez felt sick. He looked down at the sleeping baby, so pale and still. “God,” he breathed, turning back to his wife. “What is the matter with her?”
Diamantha was wiping away tears that spilled over. “She has not been able to keep anything in her belly,” she said hoarsely. “And she continually soils herself. She has no control over her innards at all. And when it comes… well, there is blood. She seems to be bleeding inside.”
Cortez looked at the physic, a man with great bags under his eyes and a big nose. “What have you done for her?” he demanded. “Great Bleeding Christ, she a mere baby. Illness like this will quickly consume her. What in the hell are you doing to make her well?”
He had quickly grown irate and Diamantha grasped at him, trying to shush him. The physic, however, was unintimidated. He met Cortez’s rage with a steady heart.
“I have seen this before, m’laird,” he said in a very heavy Scots accent.
“Things like this sometimes settle themselves in a few days, but we must keep the girl full of liquid – watered wine, watered ale, boiled fruit juice. We have been forcing her tae drink watered ale mostly because it has been known tae cure the evils that cause this terrible sickness.”
Cortez wasn’t satisfied with the answer. He dropped to his knees beside Sophie, his big hand on her head. Diamantha gently touched his shoulder.
“Do not wake her,” she whispered. “This is the first time she has been at peace all day. Let her sleep.”
Cortez was beside himself. He lifted his hand off of the child’s head, wanting to kiss her but not wanting to disturb her.
He was very nearly distraught as he motioned the physic to follow him out of the room.
The old man did, and followed Cortez a few feet away from the chamber door so they would not be overheard.
When Cortez finally turned to the man, there was great sorrow in his expression.
“Please tell me that this will pass,” he hissed. “Tell me that this will not kill her.”
The physic could see how worried the knight was.
“As I said, I have seen this before,” he said, although there wasn’t much comfort in his tone.
“It could pass in a few days, or it could grow worse. Only time will tell. Make her drink as much watered wine or ale as she will take. Put a little honey in it tae sweeten it. That makes it easier fer children. Feed her porridge and soft bread when she will tolerate it. Other than that, I canna do more. Her fate is consigned tae God.”
That was not the answer Cortez had been seeking. He looked at the physic, astonished and horrified. “That is all we can do?”
“I canna work miracles, m’laird.”
Cortez stared at the man a moment longer before wiping both hands over his face in a weary, distressed gesture. He didn’t know what to say. He was a man unused to feeling helpless but, at the moment, he felt incredibly useless.
“Then I thank you for your time,” he conceded, digging into the purse on his belt and producing a few coins for the physic. “Will you come back tomorrow?”
The physic nodded. “I will return in the morning tae see how the lass fares,” he said.
For a man who had seemed rather unemotional about the entire situation, he suddenly put his hand on Cortez’s arm in a surprising show of compassion.
“She is young and healthy, m’laird. She is no’ as sickly as some I have seen, some who did no’ survive.
Prayer will be a good medicine tae heal her. ”
With that, he left the tavern and headed out into the dark night were fat raindrops were starting to fall from the sky.
Cortez continued to stand there, hearing the noise from the common room around him but not really listening.
All he could think about was Sophie and her illness.
The anguish he felt was nearly beyond his ability to comprehend.
Dear God, he prayed inwardly. I cannot lose another daughter, not this time.
“Cortez?”
A voice came from behind him and he turned to see Keir standing there with a cup in his hand.
From the look on Keir’s face, Cortez knew the man had more than likely been watching the interaction between him and the physic.
Cortez reached out, took the cup in Keir’s hand, and drained it.
He smacked his lips as he handed the cup back.
“Sophie is very ill,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. “The physic has consigned her fate to God. He says there is no medicine he can give her, so all we can do is wait.”
Keir’s eyes widened and his mouth popped open in horror. “God’s Bones” he gasped. “She has grown worse?”
Cortez realized he was very close to weeping. His heart ached in ways he couldn’t manage to describe.
“She cannot keep anything in her stomach,” he said, “and she has no control over her bowels. She is losing blood and everything else inside her belly. The physic says he has seen it before and that all we can do is wait.”
Keir was horrified. He put his big hand on Cortez’s shoulder, squeezing in a show of support and sympathy, but the man was at a loss how to comfort his friend. “Surely there is something more the physic can do,” he muttered. “There must be something.”
Cortez shook his head. “He has no miracle to give her,” he muttered. “The only miracle can come from God.”
Keir’s expression was full of sorrow. “Then I will go to the church and pray for her,” he said. “I will go right now. I will not let you lose your daughter… oh, Christ, another daughter… as I lost mine. God must listen to me this time.”
Cortez could not speak for the lump in his throat.
Keir patted the man’s cheek before turning away and heading back to the table where the other knights were sitting.
After a few words were passed around the table, all four knights stood up and followed Keir from the tavern.
They headed across the road, through a small field, and down another wider road that led to the church of St. Francis.
The big, squat-looking house of worship accepted the Sassenach knights into the dimly-lit hall, where the five of them got down on their knees near the corner of the altar and began to pray for little Lady Sophie.
Candles were lit as the prayers were intoned, intending to beg God for the gift of life that He had denied the girl’s father.
Cortez would only find out the next morning that his knights had prayed all night.
*
After Keir had left the tavern and taken the other knights with him, Cortez struggled to compose himself before returning to the chamber.
He didn’t want Diamantha to see how shattered he was.
He wanted to be strong for her because, God knew, the woman was going to need it.
First her husband, then her father, and now this.
He wondered how much more she could take without collapsing completely.
He wondered just how strong she really was. He would soon find out.
Opening the chamber door smoothly, he saw that Diamantha was sitting next to the bed, leaning forward on it with her eyes closed, as Sophie slumbered quietly.
Cortez shut the door softly behind him but it was enough of a noise to wake Diamantha.
Her eyes popped open and she sat up, looking at him with a big, sleepy gaze. Cortez smiled gently.
“I am sorry to wake you,” he whispered. “I was trying to be quiet.”
She smiled faintly and yawned, rubbing at her eyes as she stood up. She went to Cortez and he swept her into an enormous embrace, squeezing her tightly. She squeezed back.