The Robber Knight

12. Wobbling Bulwark

“Yes, something came along that made me feel a lot better,” Ayla replied with a smile.

“Is that so? Well, I hope it lasts after you've seen the barricade.”

The barricade was indeed a sorry sight. It looked like an array of overgrown toothpicks. Men were wandering around asking each other questions like how they were supposed to make the posts stand upright and whether the pointy end should point upwards or downwards.

Ayla cursed herself for not noticing the confusion when she had passed through earlier. She had been too occupied with that scoundrel Reuben to even look at the fortifications, which had prevented her from noticing how very little fortified they actually appeared.

“Hey, you!” she called to the man who seemed to think he was in charge—he was the one who was shouting the loudest.

The big fellow immediately stopped shouting and came over to her, bowing. He was about two heads taller than Ayla and three times as hairy. Standing across from one another, they looked like a brutish bear and a little white lily. Yet it was the man that cowered, anxiously twisting his cap in his hands.

“Milady.”

“What's your name?”

“Bardo, Milady.”

“Then please tell me, Bardo: what is this,” she pointed at the pseudo-barricade, “supposed to be?”

The big man scratched the back of his head uncomfortably. “Well... I don't rightly know myself, Milady. It's a bit of a mess, to be honest.”

One of the poles chose this exact moment to topple over and fall onto the stones of the bridge with a loud clatter.

“I can see that,” Ayla remarked. Bardo ducked, as if expecting to be slapped. Ayla immediately felt bad for taking her temper out on him. He was surely doing his best—his life and his family were as much at risk as anybody's here. It wasn't his fault that as a carpenter he had probably more often engaged in making desks and bedsteads than fortifications for an impending siege.

No, it wasn't his fault. On the contrary, it was hers. She should have engaged in a few bloody feuds with her neighbors instead of passing her days riding through the forest on Eleanor. Then maybe Bardo would have acquired some practice by now, she thought wryly.

And Eleanor might still be with her. The thought was painful.

Softening her voice, she said: “Do you think you would be able to manage if somebody showed you how to do it?”

Bardo nodded earnestly. “Yes, Milady. I'm good at what I do, good at working with wood. I just don't have any experience with this kind of thing, Milady.”

“Well then, we will have to find someone who has,” she concluded. Turning to Burchard, who had stood by her side silently all the time, she asked: “Do you think Sir Isenbard has any experience in anything like this?”

“He has been around for more than sixty years and fought his share of battles,” the steward replied. “What do you think?”

Ayla nodded. “Then we're agreed. We must send word to him immediately, and to Sir Rudolfus and Sir Waldar, too. Thank God they live west of the river.”

“I wouldn't be so hasty with my thanks,” Burchard growled. “Sir Isenbard will be helpful, I agree. He might not be in his prime anymore, but he's hard as an old oak. Sir Rudolfus or Sir Waldar, however... that's another matter.”

Ayla raised her hands in exasperation. “They're the only other vassals my father has, Burchard.”

“That's what worries me.”

“What would you have me do? Even if they're no help at all, they will at least bring a few more men with them.”

The steward shrugged. “You're right, I suppose.”

“Send three riders out at once. And make sure the fastest rider is sent to Isenbard. I want him here as quickly as possible.” Shaking her head, she examined their feeble attempt at a barricade again. “In fact, I wish he were here now. I'm a fool not to have sent for him already!”

“And how would you have done so?” Burchard asked. “All our seven riders, including yourself, were rather busy up until now. There's no sense in beating yourself up. For your first siege, you're doing great!”

“Oh really. And what makes you think so?”

“Well, we're not dead yet,” the steward replied with a wolfish grin that showed his yellowing teeth. Before she could think of an answer to that, he walked off, beckoning three of the riders who had just returned from their rides to the eastern farms towards him.

Sighing, Ayla turned back to Bardo, who had waited silently, watching their conversation with apprehension.

“Well, it appears you'll soon get your help. Sir Isenbard will know what to do.”

“Yes, Milady. Thank you, Milady.”

She turned away, already considering what needed to be done next, but turned back one last time to look at the carpenter. “And one tip to start with...”

“Yes Milady?”

“The pointy ends go at the top.”

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Greetings, my fellow medieval people ;)

First of all, I would like to give you all a BIG THANKS for pushing this story past the 5,000 vote mark!!! :) :) I'm so excited and wish I could give you all a big hug, but since we all don't live next door to one another, an imaginary electronic one will have to do. THANKS!! Each and every vote & comment brightens my day :) :)

Do you like Ayla's perspective on her encounter with Reuben? :)

Till we meet again, I remain your faithful medieval bard

Sir Rob

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GLOSSARY:

Bulwark: A slightly old-fashioned word for fortification. They can be made either out of stone or wood.

Hildegard von Bingen: A medieval mystic, healer and abbess. She was famous for coming up with her entire own branch of medicine, which, she claimed, she had derived not from experience but from direct divine inspiration. On the right there is a picture from a medieval book showing her being divinely inspired ;)

Vassal: A vassal was a subordinate in the medieval feudal structure of military power, and answerable to his overlord / master / mistress. The highest overlord was the king / emperor. He would have dukes, margraves, and counts as his vassals, who in turn would have lesser nobles and knights as vassals, who in turn would have peasants and simple men-at-arms as their vassals. In a modern analogy, you could say that if you’re an assistant at a big company, you’re a vassal of your manager, who in turn is a vassal of your company CEO. Fortunately though, in modern times you don’t have to go to war for them.