The Robber Knight's Secret

22. Underground

*~*~**~*~*

It took Ayla a while to make sure that everyone was settled peacefully. People stepped on each other's feet, lost their children, complained about the smoky air, pestered her with questions—the problems seemed endless. Once or twice, Ayla considered whether it might not just be simpler to chain her own people to the walls next to the captive soldiers, but in the end, she managed to make everyone calm down and stop bickering.

Maybe she shouldn't even have tried, though. Because, once everybody had quieted down, they couldn't help but hear the thuds and crashes from overhead, getting closer and closer. That made people even quieter, and then they could suddenly feel the ground shake under their feet and hear the mortar trickling down from the ceiling with every impact.

After some time, she noticed people drifting to the corners of the room, huddling in the dark. She heard one or two children starting to cry. Fear had sneaked among them like a snake, ready to bite anyone who came too close. Close to crying. Close to praying. Close to breaking.

Only a few people managed to keep their spirits up: Sir Rudolphus, who was sitting in a corner, happily calculating the number of impacts it would take before a part of the ceiling would cave in; the old woman Ayla had rescued from falling down the stairs, who seemed to view every minute of life after that as a gift, an extension to a life that was really already over; and a fat villager, who sat propped up against a wall, snoring so loudly he nearly drowned out the impacts above.

The most surprising thing in all this, though, was not Sir Rudophus, or the old woman, or the fat man. No, it was the behavior of the captive enemy soldiers. They, who, unlike everyone else, should be happy about the bombardment, because it foreshadowed the victory of their master, sat in miserable silence, their heads bent, now and then exchanging looks Ayla couldn't decipher.

Then she saw one of the soldiers stand up and walk over two steps, to where a young widow sat cowering against the wall. He stood there for a moment—then sat down beside her and put his arms around her shoulder.

Ayla watched, her heart contracting painfully. The young woman didn't flinch away. She didn't scream, or slap the man who, for all she knew, might have killed her husband. She just sank against his shoulder and started crying, quietly.

"E-excuse me? Milady?"

With difficulty, Ayla tore herself away from the sight of the crying woman. But when she saw who was speaking to her, her attention immediately came into focus. In front of her stood a little boy, with his arms clutched around an even smaller baby in his arms.

"I-I'm sorry to have to disturb you, Milady, b-but..."

Ayla bent down and forced a smile on her weary face. "That's no problem. What's the matter, little man? Where are your parents?"

The flash of pain that crossed the boy's face was all the answer she needed.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, kneeling and taking both the boy and baby into her arms. "My mother died when I was five. I know what it's like."

"M-mum's been dead ever since I can remember," the boy stuttered. "She died when Karl was born, they say, when I was just three. And now... now... dad died just a few days ago. Died like a hero, they said, fighting in the battle down at the bridge."

Ayla felt a chill go through her heart. "You and your brother have been alone all that time?"

"Folk have taken care of us, Milady. Given us a place to sleep, and we got the rations, same as everyone else."

"But nobody took you in? Took care of you?"

She felt the boy shake his head. "N-no. And Now I don't know what's happening, and I'm scared. And I'm hungry, and haven't had anything to eat since yesterday. And Karl..."