The morning after the battle, the sun rose in a glorious halo of red and gold. It was a beautiful morning—or at least so the maid told Reuben when she burst into his room at the crack of dawn, a serving plate with breakfast in her hands. Reuben, who had been up all night carrying and bandaging people, was not inclined to agree and expressed his opinion to the contrary by throwing one of his boots at her. Luckily, his eyelids were still glued shut and he missed by a wide margin. Even in his befuddled morning state, Reuben was enough himself to suspect Ayla might not like him giving one of her maidservants a black eye.
Once he had pried his eyes open, his outlook on life improved significantly. He found that the maid hadn't dropped the serving plate with his breakfast but had placed it on the table before she ran.
What a clever girl! Maybe I’ll be so generous as to not throw a boot at her the next time she comes in.
Hauling himself out of bed, he grabbed the bowl off the serving plate and began to stuff bread and sausage into his mouth with both hands. When he was finished, he licked his fingers and treasured the last remnants of the salty taste of the sausage. Being a knight who had lost his title and honor really had some advantages—such as not having to care about table manners.
But… if he stayed at the castle, he would have to pretend otherwise, at least in public, wouldn't he? He scowled. That was a heavy sacrifice. But for Ayla, he would make it.
Oh well. He could always work his bad mood off on somebody else. Delighted by that idea, he left his room and strode down into the courtyard.
“Let’s see what my minions are up to,” he murmured to himself, a devilish smile curving his lips.
There was no guard at the inner gate, just as he had suspected. Stepping into the killing fields, which now truly deserved their name, considering the blood spattered all over the ground, he saw that there was no guard at the outer gate either. Having seen all he needed to see, he made his way directly to the soldiers' barracks.
Silently, he let the door glide open and regarded the peacefully snoring soldiers. Doubtless, they had earned a day in bed. It would be only humane to let them sleep. In fact, it would be quite diabolical to disturb them. Reuben’s smile widened. He had forgotten how much fun being a commander could be.
He took a deep breath.
“To your feet you idle misbegotten sons of maggots!” he roared in his best battlefield voice. “The sun is shining golden! The early bird catches the worm! And If you won't be the early bird, you'll be the worm, and believe me, you won't want me to catch you! Up! Up I say, and if you're not up in ten seconds I'll do more than say it. To your feet! Are you soldiers or snorers? To your feet this instance or I'll light a bonfire under your bastards’ buttocks! Chop, chop!”
One of the soldiers raised a lazy eye. Maybe he expected it to be Sir Waldar, or Captain Linhart or some of his other familiar commanders. When he saw who it was that stood in the door, his other eye flew open. He rammed his elbow into his bunk neighbor and sprang to his feet. The bunk neighbor rolled over, and groaned: “What is it, Ka—”
Then he spotted Reuben.
He was so quickly on his feet that Reuben was surprised his toes didn't catch fire. In two or three minutes, all the remaining fifty-five soldiers of Luntberg had stumbled out of the barracks and were arrayed before Reuben in a more or less straight line.
“Listen up,” he bellowed, his voice easily carrying over the wall and towards the keep. “Past commanders may have tolerated your sloppy ways but I will not! I don't care if you fought in a battle all night! I wouldn't care if you fought in battle three nights in a row! You never know when the next attack will come, when the next enemy will spring out of the shadow!”
To illustrate the point, he sprang forward, grabbed a soldier by the throat and shook him until he had turned blue in the face. Thinking that he had probably gotten his point across, he let go, and the soldier collapsed into a crumpled heap on the ground, coughing.
Raising his hands to point at four wide-eyed guards, he called: “You and you! Guard the inner gate. You and you, guard the outer gate. If anybody wishes to leave, tell them the castle is under lockdown till the surrounding land has been scoured and found to be clear of mercenaries!”
“Um... nobody could leave anyway,” a timid voice dared to venture. “I mean, since the portcullis is down and the rope is cut.”
“That's where you're wrong, you puny little codpiece,” Reuben grinned. “We can't have our defensive mechanisms damaged, can we? You there! Find me a good, stout rope! Any of you who know the mechanism of the portcullis: go start repair work! The rest of you... well let's just say there's plenty of other work to be done. We have a mess to clean up!”
When somebody from the keep joined him half an hour or so later, Reuben was proudly surveying his troops while they scoured the outer courtyard with brooms and whet cloth. About half of the bloody mess was already gone.
That was, when he heard the footsteps behind him. He knew at once that it wasn't Ayla. They sounded much too heavy. Besides, if Ayla were to grunt and grumble like that, he might reconsider the plans for their joined future.
Burchard entered Reuben’s field of vision. A thick bandage was wrapped around his shoulder.
“I heard shouts out here, from the keep,” he grunted. “Sounded like a raging bull.”
“That was me,” Reuben told him.
“I see.” Burchard studied the slaving soldiers. “I also see you have them firmly in hand.”
Reuben nodded smugly. “It's nice to have some respect.”
The steward gave a derisive snort. “They don't respect you. They're just scared to hell of you.”
“Where's the difference?”
The steward gave a non-committal grunt, then he fell silent and just stood behind Reuben, his jaw working. Reuben ignored him. He figured the steward would start talking soon enough about why he was really here. Reuben had an idea what that might be.
Finally, Burchard cleared his throat. “You're... interested in Lady Ayla.”
Ah. He had been right.
He raised an eyebrow. “How quick of you to notice.”
“Don't be flippant with me, boy!” Gripping Reuben by the arm, Burchard tried to pull him around to face him. Reuben remained standing, as if he were a stone statue, his muscles not even having to bunch to resist the older man. Slowly, he turned of his own volition and fixed a fiery gray glare on the steward.
“And you,” he said in a low voice, “do not call me boy. You will find that it is really very inappropriate. Now let go of my arm.”
Burchard let go of him as if he held a poisonous adder.
“Very well then,” he started again, clearly having to force his voice to remain calm. “Listen to me, Sir Reuben. It is evident that you intend to court my Lord's daughter. It is evident that she cares for you deeply, the devil knows why! From what I've seen I believe you care for her too. But with you, I'm not going to settle for belief. Ayla is a brave mistress, and as clever a young lady as ever I have seen, but she is still a young girl. She does not see through your pretenses as I do.”
Oh trust me, Reuben thought to himself, tempted to smirk, That's where you're wrong.
“What are you trying to say, steward?” he asked out loud. “Are you trying to give me fair warning?”
“Indeed I am. As Lady Ayla's vassal, it is my duty to protect her, no matter whether or not I am a warrior. You will not encourage and then betray her. You will not harm her in any other way. If you do, if you hurt her...” Burchard's massive eyebrows bunched together. Even Reuben had to admit, it was an impressive sight. There was a pause, as the steward thought, furiously.
“I just realized something,” he finally admitted, muttering a low curse and glancing over at Reuben's muscled form and the huge sword at his belt. “There's nothing I can threaten you with, is there?”
“You could threaten to come into my room in the middle of the night and cut my throat,” Reuben suggested. “But if you try, I should warn you. I always keep my door bolted from the inside, no matter where I sleep, and I have various... surprises for place for people trying to pay my room a nocturnal visit.”
Burchard glared at him. “You're no knight of honor!”
“No,” Reuben admitted, rather cheerfully. “But I'm willing to pretend to be one sometimes, for Ayla's sake.”
“Who are you, Sir Reuben Rachwild?” Burchard whispered. “Where do you come from? What is it you are hiding?”
Meeting the older man's gaze steadily, Reuben remained silent. He had no intention of telling this old walrus a single syllable.
“Sir Isenbard knew, didn't he?” Burchard demanded. “And that Italian commander! They knew what you are.”
Again, Reuben remained silence. But this time, his silence served only to confirm what Burchard already knew.
“He called you something...” Burchard muttered. “The Commander. He called you something in Italian before he died. If only I could remember.”
Reuben tried not to let the relief show on his face. He wasn't very good at concealing emotions. Rather, he usually chose to air them, preferably with the help of a human punching ball. But this was one time when he had to keep a tight hold on his emotions. Burchard didn't remember—thank all the demons of hell!
Burchard raised a finger till it was under Reuben's nose.
“You just wait. I'll find out what it is you're hiding. And if it is anything that can hurt my Lord's little girl—may God have mercy on you!”
“He? Mercy on me?” One corner of Reuben's mouth twisted up in the semblance of a smile. “Now that is very unlikely.”
*~*~**~*~*
Ayla's eyelids fluttered open. She was lying in her bed, soft sheets surrounding her. For a moment, she didn't know why she felt so warm and happy. Then she remembered: Sir Luca was gone, the army beaten, her people were safe and Reuben loved her!
She allowed herself to dwell on the last point for a few minutes, enjoying the feeling of warmth from both the outside and the inside, as the sun fell in through the window and her heart blossomed.
Then, slowly, she stretched and prepared to rise. But no, her bed was just so warm and comfy... She snuggled into the warm sheets once again, and repeated to herself: Reuben loves me. Reuben loves me.
Yes, a little voice in her head told her, but who is Reuben really? Or rather… what is he? Do you remember the hand in the fire...?
Shoving back the thought and her blanket aside, Ayla set up and drowsily reached for her shoes. Still in her nightgown, she pattered towards the narrow window and looked out over the valley. The sun was rising. Birds were singing in the trees and on the tops of towers. Far below her in the distance, the river glittered in the sunlight.
Ayla smiled again.
She had been right to banish all dark thoughts. Nothing could be amiss on a morning like this. It was going to be a perfect day, of that she was certain. After all, what could possibly go wrong now?
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Greetings, my Lords and Ladies,
I don't know, but I think Lady Ayla will soon discover the answer to that question. What do you think? ;-)
I hope you liked Burchard as the protective, growling bear.
Farewell for now
Sir Rob
P.S: This Chapter is dedicated to my favorite writer of all time: Sir Terry Pratchett (who unlike me really was a knight) and who recently died at the age of 66. Milords and Ladies, I most humbly ask you to raise your mugs of ale and mead in a toast to the writer who inspired me more than any other. You'll be missed :(