The Robber Knight's Love

09. Surprise, Surprise

Lady? Sir Luca's mind seized the word and clutched it like a trophy. There was only one “lady” in the vicinity. In the soldier's camp there might be a few women, but none of them could be called a lady. The only lady he knew of sat not far away behind thick stone walls, waiting for the first symptoms of starvation to set in.

She couldn't have anything to do with this man, could she? She didn't have warriors like that, warriors who could sneak into a heavily guarded and fortified camp in the middle of the night, warriors who could talk about cutting off ears and tongues without so much as blinking.

Who was this man?

“You're probably wondering who I am,” the man said.

A shiver ran down Sir Luca's back—something that hadn't happened to his back in years. Not since he had taken his last cold bath.

“Well, keep wondering,” the voice growled. “You're here to answer my questions, not the other way around. Now, I am slowly going to remove the knife from your throat. Do not scream for help. If you do, I will kill you immediately.”

The Italian mercenary believed every word. He knew a merciless tone of voice. He had used it too often himself not to know it.

Slowly, the knife came away from his throat. Sir Luca reached up, equally slowly, to rub his throat. The red line where the blade had had contact with his skin stung.

“What do you want?” he rasped.

“A great many things. Untold riches, a good drink, your head on a spike... the list is endless. But unfortunately, I'm not going to get all of them tonight. I'll settle for two horses and a suit of armor.”

“And for that you broke into a heavily guarded army camp? You might have stolen those things at any town.”

“Yes, I might have. But you see, I want two specific horses, and a specific suit of armor. And I also wanted the pleasure of my blade at your throat. Listen to me closely, now. Not too long ago, your men had an unfortunate encounter with a certain stranger in the forest. They took things from him. Things that weren't theirs to take. Specifically, a brown mare, a black stallion the likes of which you won't find anywhere, and a magnificent suit of red armor. Am I correct?”

“Yes.”

“The latter two of which you appropriated for yourself?”

“I did.”

“That, my friend, was not a very wise thing to do.”

Sir Luca and the voice were back to agreeing. At that moment he wished he had never seen or heard of, much less donned, that particular suit of armor. Red had never been his color, anyway.

“Where are the horses?” the voice demanded.

“They are picketed at the back of my tent.”

“Both? What would you want with the mare?”

“I use her as a pack animal.”

The stranger clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Hm... I'll better not tell her that. I doubt she would like it.”

“Her?”

The knife was at his throat so quickly Sir Luca wasn't even sure how it had gotten there.

“You speak when spoken to, understood?” the stranger growled.

“Yes.”

“Now, where is the suit of armor?”

Slowly, Sir Luca pointed to his right. “Here in the tent, behind that partition.”

“Excellent.”

Without any warning, the stranger grabbed hold of Sir Luca and tossed him on the floor. Before the Italian could turn, the stranger had grabbed his arms and pulled them painfully behind his back. Within seconds, the long sleeves of his nightshirt were tied together. His legs received a kick and reflexively jerked upward, only to be caught and bent back. Before Sir Luca knew what had happened, his arms were tied to his legs and he was lying on the floor, bent like a sausage on a hanger, and totally helpless.

“If you would excuse me...” The shadowy form of the stranger above him made a slight bow. “I have to change.”

There were a few minutes of silence, during which Sir Luca was wondering what in God's name the man could be up to. Only occasionally did he hear a clink or a scrape, but other than that—nothing.

Then, suddenly, footsteps approached the tied-up mercenary commander. But they were not normal footsteps. There was a clinking of metal with every step. An ominous sound.

A shadow fell across Sir Luca.

“Are you comfortable?” the stranger asked.

“Um... not really, no.”

“Excellent.” The stranger knelt and patted Sir Luca on the head. “You have behaved yourself very well throughout our little encounter, I must say. I give you leave to scream for help now, should you wish to do so.”

He rose again.

“What?” Sir Luca wasn't quite sure if his ears had deceived him.

“Scream for help. Bellow. Yell. Call your guards.” The stranger shrugged. “Otherwise, getting out of this camp would be far too boring.”

Sir Luca twisted his head and now, for the first time could see the stranger in full, towering above him. The sight almost took his breath away. The stranger was wearing the blood-red armor of which Sir Luca had been so proud. But not only that: he wore it like a second skin. Where Sir Luca had had to give his page orders to tighten the straps of the armor so it wouldn't rattle on him like a collection of cook pots, the armor fit this man as if it had been made for him. He looked like the devil prepared for war against the heavens.

At his side hung a huge sword, the sword that had been retrieved along with the armor and that Sir Luca had never been able to lift higher than a few inches. The stranger grabbed the hilt now, and drew it easily with one hand.

“Go on,” he growled at Sir Luca. “Scream for help.”

“Err.... help?” said the mercenary commander.

“Come on, you can do better than that.”

“Help!”

“Louder, man, louder!”

“HELP! HELP! HELP ME!!”

From outside, the sound of trampling feet could be heard. The stranger turned without a word towards the approaching soldiers and strode out of the tent, sword in hand.

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Greetings, Milords and Ladies!

Today I thought I would experiment with persepctive! ;) What did you think of this chapter from Sir Luca's point of view?

Fare well till next time

Sir Rob