The Robber Knight's Love

37. Sweet and Bitter

Ayla climbed onto one of the enormous, gnarled roots of the tree. With her standing on this makeshift platform, Reuben was the only one in the crowd who was as tall as her. She towered over all the rest.

“My friends,” she called out, her voice echoing between the castle walls. “We all have lost our strongest protector today, our champion against the evil forces that are arrayed against us. And we have lost far, far more than that. We have lost a friend.”

For a moment it seemed her voice might break. But only for a moment.

“The Good Book says,” she continued, “Brothers, we do not want you to be ignorant about those who fall asleep, or to grieve like the rest of men, who have no hope. We believe that Jesus died and rose again and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him.”

She swallowed, wrestling with the power of the words.

“I know these words, and I do believe in the resurrection and eternal life. And yet... Sir Isenbard lies there, unmoving, and my feeble, doubting spirits weeps at the sight. Before he will rise again with our Lord Jesus Christ, many hundreds or thousands of years may pass. Mountains will grow and fall, kings will die and new ones be crowned, and we all will long be dust in the wind before the day comes when Isenbard von Riffgarten will rise again. He will never, ever again walk among us here at Luntberg.”

Reuben heard small sobs from the crowd as women began crying, and saw the grim faces of men trying not to let their fear show. He wondered what Ayla was doing. If she wanted to encourage the villagers, she hadn't had much luck so far.

“I look into his cold, unmoving face and the sight drains the hope out of me. I ask myself, what shall we do without him? What can we do? Now that he is dead, should we surrender to the Margrave? Give up hope?”

There were uneasy mutterings among the crowd, and some more sobbing. Reuben tried to signal to Ayla to shut up, but she didn't seem to see him. What the hell was she doing?

“A voice inside me whispers: It would be the best thing to do,” she continued. “We could submit ourselves to his rule. Maybe he will have mercy. Maybe everything will turn out all right.”

Reuben’s teeth clenched in outrage, and he had to restrain himself from grabbing and shaking her. What in the names of Satan and all his little devils…!

Her head sank as she looked down and rested her chin on her chest. The mutterings increased. People threw each other looks of mingled despair and fear, and Reuben realized suddenly these weren't her own thoughts and fears Ayla was voicing. They were her people’s.

“Yes, maybe we should surrender,” she continued, still looking down, avoiding everybody's eyes, “Maybe it would be the wisest thing to do. But, what then? What happens when in a year, I come to this grave, a slave to the Margrave? Shall I bend my knee, speak a prayer and say: Isenbard, you fought for my freedom—and you died for nothing?”

Suddenly, the orchard went deadly quiet. Literally deadly. Even the birds in the trees had stopped singing for the moment.

“Blasphemy!” Ayla’s head shot up, and she fixed the crowd with a stare so sapphire blue, so intense, that it made Reuben shiver from head to toe. “Pure blasphemy! Will I condescend to that level of cowardice? Will I? Will we? Or will we remember the man that Isenbard was, and honor his memory?”

Suddenly, she seemed to grow taller, in a way that had nothing whatsoever to do with the large tree root she was standing on. The whispers in the crowd changed, no longer spreading despair, and on Reuben’s face, a grin began to grow.