50. Down in the Dungeon

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The dungeon door slowly opened. Ayla saw Hans look up from where he sat, chained to the wall. His face turned grim as she, Burchard and Reuben entered the gloomy stone cell. Yet this expression was replaced by one of utter astonishment, when his wife Madalena followed them into the room.

“Good's teeth!” he exclaimed. “Madalena, what are you doing here?”

The woman had been staring at the floor, hiding her tear-streaked face. At the sound of his voice, she looked up and Ayla had to look away from the multitude of emotions that collided on her face as she saw her husband in chains.

She rushed to him and threw her arms around him.

“What am I doing here? I should be asking you that!” She whimpered into his neck. “What in God's name were you thinking? Hans, what were you thinking?”

“I was trying to protect you. I was trying to protect you and the girls.”

Reuben snorted. “Really great protecting you did there, you pock-marked maggot-pie.”

Ayla closed her eyes. “Would you please try to control your foul tongue,” she hissed into his ear. “It is important that everything goes smoothly!.”

“I know. It is my plan, remember?”

“Yes, I remember. I also remember that we need his cooperation to make it work.”

“It doesn't have to be willing cooperation, though. And, by the way, my tongue isn't foul. You can check what it tastes whenever you want. I wouldn't mind.”

“Are you two quite finished?” Burchard interrupted them, and Ayla felt a blush steel onto her face.

“Well, um... yes.” Turning to Hans she tried to assume a grave expression. “Hans, we have something to tell you.”

The traitorous guard swallowed. Beads of sweat were running down his face, although the air in the dungeon was ice cold.

“It's my execution, isn't it?” His voice was hoarse, but steady. “Well... I thank you, Milady, that you have brought my wife to me, so I can say farewell.”

“No.” Ayla shook her head. “I'm not talking about your execution. Actually, I'm talking about a way for you to win your life and your freedom.”

Hans' head, which had sunken down onto his chest, jerked up, and he stared into Ayla's eyes, disbelief written on his face in bold capital letters. When in Ayla's face he discovered nothing but absolute earnestness, he turned to Burchard, who nodded and scowled.

“No need to look so disbelieving. Personally, I would be content to let you rot in here for the rest of eternity, or better yet, have your head chopped off at sunset. But this one—” he shot Reuben an angry glare, “has come up with a 'plan' that requires your cooperation.”

“But... but I don't understand,” Hans stuttered. “What good would that do me, or my family? It may save my life for a couple of days, or weeks, if I do whatever it is you want me to do, but in the end it won't matter. The castle will fall, and I will be killed, along with the other common soldiers.”

He looked sideways at his wife, and Ayla could see how startled he was when he saw that she didn't look very distraught at his words. But he didn't know yet what Madalena knew. The wife and Ayla shared a look.

“Tell him, Milady, please.”

Ayla nodded reassuringly at the woman. She had been through enough.

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