The sack was nearly overflowing at this point, so she scurried out of the kitchens and headed towards the stables. The eastern sky was just starting to show hints of pink and orange as the sun begin to rise over a land that was crunchy with icy dew. Corisande knew that Cole was going to be leaving at dawn and she hoped she wouldn’t be too late. Rushing into the stables, she saw that it was still mostly dark, so the activity for the day hadn’t yet started. However, the horses heard her and thought they were about to be fed, so they began to stir and make noise.
Quietly, she made her way over to Cole’s fat, black stallion.
Round, black eyes were looking back at her.
Corisande had been around warhorses enough to know that they weren’t the most docile of creatures. In fact, her brothers owned horses that she swore breathed fire. Therefore, she had a healthy respect for the beasts that were trained to kill men, but the eyes gazing back at her didn’t look like a killer.
He had an enormous, beautiful face.
“I know you’re hungry,” she whispered. “I am sorry, but I did not come to feed you.”
The horse lifted his head, curled its lips, and showed her big horse teeth. It wasn’t a vicious move, but a rather humorous one. Such humor should be rewarded, so she pulled out a dough ball and carefully held it up to the horse on her flat palm. She was prepared to yank her hand back at any moment, but one sniff from those big horse nostrils and the horse gladly sucked up the sweet treat.
With a grin, Corisande went to sit next to the trough with the healing moss to wait for Cole to make an appearance.
It wasn’t long in coming.
Cole entered the stable, followed by a pair of servants who quickly went to light lamps so they could move about feeding the animals. She heard Cole ask one of the men if the horses had been fed yet, but they hadn’t, so Cole shook his head with disappointment and went to his horse. He petted the beast as he assured him that he would soon have a full belly. The servants were already bringing grain for the animal as Cole stepped aside so the beast could be fed.
“What’s his name?” Corisande asked.
Cole turned sharply to see her sitting in the shadows near the trough and a smile creased his lips.
“Who?” he asked.
“The horse.”
“His name is Drago.”
“He is very nice.”
He gave her an odd look. “He is not nice,” he said. “He is a vicious war animal, so guard your fingers when you are around him. What are you doing sitting in the dark like that, anyway? If one didn’t know better, one might assume you were an assassin lying in wait.”
Corisande laughed softly. “If I was an assassin, you would already be dead,” she said. Then, she lifted the sack. “I have brought you the food I told you I was going to bring. You may as well eat some while you are waiting for your horse to be fed.”
Cole came over to her and eyed her with some amusement, before taking the sack from her hand. He peered into it, made difficult because the stable was still dark. But he inhaled deeply.
“I can smell the bread,” he said. “What else did you bring me?”
“Cheese and apples,” she said. “There are also little meat pies in there along with sweet dough balls. Your horse had one and he heartily approves.”
Cole turned to frown at the horse. “Glutton,” he muttered. But he returned his attention to the sack as he walked over to the very last stall next to Corisande. It was empty and he sat down on the dirt floor, leaning back against the wall. “You have gone through the trouble of bringing this to me. Will you join me?”
Fighting off a smile, one of pure delight, Corisande went into the stall and sat across from him, a proper distance, but a good position from which to watch him. She realized that she liked to watch the man. He told a thousand tales with those eyes, that face, and that big body conveyed the life of a man of experience.
Everything about him spoke to her.
“Thank you,” she said. “It is kind to share your meal with me.”
He snorted. “You brought it,” he said, pulling out a still-warm loaf of bread and tearing it in half, handing her a chunk. “I do not usually eat in the morning but, more importantly, I do not usually break my fast with a beautiful young lady when I do. I am honored.”
His flattery brought that giddy feeling she was coming to associate with him, as if her cheeks were about to burst into flames. She took the warm, fresh bread and tore off a piece of it, popping it in her mouth.
“I remember back in the time when I fostered, the knights would yell at the squires and pages and tell them they were old women if they ate anything until the day was nearly over,” she said, hoping he couldn’t see the flush on her face. “That was difficult on some of the younger boys. The women were allowed to eat, but the boys were forced to work instead. There was one little boy – he was quite young – who was so hungry and would weep because he would not be fed. We used to take him food when the knights were not looking.”
Cole was watching her in the darkness. “Do you know why they refused him food?”
“Because they were cruel?”
He chuckled. “Nay,” he said. “They did it for a very good reason. When one is on a battle march, or in battle itself, there is no telling when food will be available or even feasible. When a man is traveling for his lord, it is his dedication to duty that will carry him through, not the lure of comfort and food. They do not feed the young men to toughen them, to make them focus on things they can control and not the things they cannot. It is a discipline tactic.”
She eyed him dubiously. “Withholding food from a child is a discipline tactic?” she asked. “It seems to me that there are better ways to accomplish such a thing.”
“Like what?”
She shrugged. “Like reason,” she said. “Most children are bright and willing to learn. Reason with the child, explain the way things are, help them to understand.”
Cole took a big bite of his bread. “All true,” he said. “But nothing leaves a mark more than physical distress or pain. That is why children are beaten when they are naughty. Remembering the pain will teach them not to be naughty again.”
“And you advocate beating a child?”
“Nay,” he said. “Unless the child is incorrigible, I do not see the need. I agree that reasoning can sometimes do more good than beating or starvation, but these have been discipline tactics for hundreds of years. They were used on me and I did not turn out too bad.”
Corisande laughed softly. “I suppose not,” she said. “Where did you foster?”
“Kenilworth and Norwich,” he said. “And you?”
“Prudhoe.”
“That is not far from here,” he said. “Have you remained in the north your entire life?”
“Mostly,” she said. “I have been to London twice with my family but, mostly, we remain in the north, where our family has lived here for many generations. Our ancestors were the Kings of Northumbria, so I am sure we will remain here for many generations to come. This land is in our blood. And you? Have you ever lived anywhere else?”
“I did when I was fostering,” he said. “But my father is the first generation of our family to live in the north. Our family is from Colchester, as an ancestor of mine was the dapifer for Eudo FitzHerbert.”