Reuben was so deep in thought that, at first, he didn't notice when Ayla spoke to him. Only when the girl tapped him on the shoulder did he realize it.
“Hello, are you listening to me?”
He looked up at her, for some reason annoyed. “Not really, no.”
She scowled. “You know, I am tempted to give you your compensation right now.”
That made him grin. “You promised your steward not to harm me until he gets back,” he reminded her.
“I'm sure he wouldn't mind. I don't know whether you've noticed, Reuben, but he doesn't exactly like you.”
“Whatever gave you that idea?” he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Ha!” She laughed a short, humorless laugh. Again, why was there no real amusement in her laughter? Was something troubling her?
“What's his problem with me?” Reuben asked to distract himself.
Ayla sighed. “He doesn't like what he saw in the clearing where we found you. You know, what those robbers did? If it really was robbers. Whoever attacked the mercenaries must be quite vicious.”
A grim smile tugged at the edges of Reuben's mouth. That I am, he thought to himself. Oh yes, that I am. And she must never know.
“He's an overprotective fool, really,” the girl continued. “He seems to feel that keeping everything and everyone that has been in that clearing at arm’s length is the best thing to do.”
Overprotective, perhaps, Reuben thought. But no fool. I will have to watch out for that old man.
Another knock came from the door—much more timid than before. Obviously, it wasn't Burchard. Reuben opened his mouth, but before he could say a word, Ayla called, “Come in, Dilli!” and gave him a superior smile.
That annoying little minx!
The screaming servant girl from earlier entered, carrying a bowl of water. Her hands were shaking so badly that little waves appeared on the surface of the water. She looked as if she would like nothing better than to run away again.
“Come here, Dilli,” Ayla ordered, “and put the bowl on the table.”
“Y-yes, Milady,” Dilly stammered.
She did as her lady had ordered, then curtsied hurriedly and almost ran out of the room.
“What is the matter with her?” Reuben wanted to know.
“You tell me,” Ayla said. “Earlier today, I sent her to look in on you. Five minutes later, she came running back screaming 'MiladyMiladywalkingaroundheisthreearrowsthreearrowsthree! Soakedinbloodheisthedevilwehavethewalkingdeadinourcastle!' and then ran off again.”
“I see.” Reuben felt her hands leaving his back.
A moment later, he heard the sound of the bowl being moved from the table to the floor, and Ayla's gentle ministrations began again.
“Mind explaining what that means, master merchant?”
He shrugged. “How should I know? She's just a silly serving girl.”
Ayla pressed an accusing finger into his back. “She may be a serving girl, but she's certainly not silly! And if I were you, I would be a bit more careful with remarks like that while you're under my roof!”
Reuben cursed himself. He should have guessed the girl would be a peasant-lover on top of everything else! Why should life be easy on him for a change by giving her an iota of sense and pride of rank?
“Of course, Milady,” he said.
“When she came running to me earlier, I went to your room immediately and found you lying in the corridor in a pool of blood! If it weren't for her, you probably would have bled to death out there. What possessed you to try and get up with the arrows still in your back?”
I wanted to find out whether you wanted to help or kill me, he thought. And apparently, you want to do both, you just don't know it yet.
Instead of saying that, he nodded gravely. “You are quite right, Milady. It was foolish of me.”
“You aren't trying to placate me, are you?”
“Of course not, Milady. I would never do something like that.”
“Hmm.”
She was quiet for a bit. Finally, she said:
“I've finished cleaning the wounds now. Next, I'm going to apply some ointment that should help ease the pain.”
Reuben almost laughed—but since that would have been a very odd reaction, he stopped himself. She was not to know what he was. Better to let her apply the ointment. What could be the harm?
A moment later, when the smell of the mixture reached his nose, he had his answer to that question.
“W-what is that?” he coughed, and whipped his head around to face her. “Satan's hairy ass! Girl, what is that?”
All he got for an answer was a resounding slap in the face. His hands automatically clenched into fists and started to move. Not that the slap had hurt, of course, but he hadn't allowed someone to slap him since he was five years old.
Calm, he told himself. Just stay calm. She's not even worth the effort.
“Don't you dare swear in my castle!” she growled. “I never want to hear such foul language again, understood?”
He blinked at her, at the fire in her blue eyes, and his hands relaxed out of pure surprise. That was why she had hit him?
“I'll swear as much as I want if I have cause enough,” he said. “Besides, it wasn't a curse, it was a description—the only thing I could think of that could smell remotely as foul as what you've got there.” He pointed to the clay pot in her hand. “What kind of hellish mixture is that?”
“It is a tried and tested recipe for ointment, and it does not smell like Satan’s hairy a— like the devil's piliferous[1] rear end. I got the recipe from a wise sister in a nunnery where I used to live.”
“I never knew nuns were on such good terms with the one in the pit.”
Again, the girl stabbed him with a threatening finger. “Do you want me to hit you again or do you want me to finish fixing you up?”
“Would fixing me up include applying that grizzly mixture to my back?”
“Yes.”
“Then I think I would prefer being hit again.”
Wordlessly, Ayla scowled and placed the lid of the clay pot on the floor beside her.
Reuben sighed. “How did I know that wasn't going to work?”
“I have no idea.”
“Perhaps you could just bandage me without smearing that mixture on me first. I'm sure my wounds will heal fine, and the pain isn't really that bad, take my word for it.”
She ignored him, and he felt something cold touch his back.
Cursing again, he flinched away. “I said bandage me without it!”
“And I say hold still! If you don't stay where you are, I'm going to call a few men to hold you down.”
Reuben could hear in her voice that she meant it. Of all the people to rescue him, why did it have to be such a Xanthippe?[2] Why couldn't he have ridden past another castle, with a lady that was obedient and demure and all the things females were supposed to be? But then, such a lady might have run away screaming if she'd found him in the forest instead of stopping to help. He would just have to take the rough with the smooth.
The only problem with that, he thought, as the smell of the foul ointment invaded his nostrils and made him want to puke, is that there seems to be significantly more rough than smooth.
“Roll over,” she commanded.
“Why?” Reuben asked, suspiciously.
“Because three guards are waiting just down the hall, ready to roll you over if you don't do it yourself.”
Reuben nodded to himself. That seemed like a good enough reason. He had to respect someone who knew how to use their threats. Slowly, he turned so that he was facing her. She had a very odd expression on her face, one he couldn't place right away. There was a little crease between her eyebrows, and her lips were puckered. Was she angry at him? Well, he thought wryly, she had reason enough.
As soon as she noticed his look, the expression vanished, to be replaced by one supposedly far more fearsome. It almost made him laugh, because now he knew what her expression before had meant. It had only taken him so long to recognize because he hadn't seen that expression on another human face in a very long time. Silly girl! But it couldn't be, could it? Could she really be concerned for him?
“Now,” she said, holding up a warning finger, “don't move,” and she began to smear the disgusting ointment all over his chest.
“God's breath!”[3] He flinched back, away from her and the mixture on her hand. “What do you think you're doing?”
“Helping you. And I forbade you to curse!”
“That wasn't a curse either! You said that stuff came from a nunnery, didn't you? Well, something must have made it smell as bad as it does.”
“That's blasphemy.”
“Probably. Get used to it.”
When Reuben retreated further up the wall, Ayla clenched her teeth and said, in a controlled voice:
“Come back here.”
“No! Not if you come near my front with that stuff again. What's in that mixture of yours, anyway?”
“Nothing really bad. Just some rose oil.”
“Rose oil? I know how roses smell. Definitely not like that.”
“And some eggs, beeswax, cow fat, pus, and old wine.”
“Pus? What kind of pus?”
“I don't know. You'll have to ask the stable master who provided it. Now come here!”
“No!”
The girl glared at him. “I will apply this ointment one way or another.”
“Not right under my nose, you won't.”
“You were the one who suggested I push the arrows out the front instead of pulling. It's your own fault you've got wounds on the chest as well as on the back.”
Reuben snorted. “Oh, excuse me for not wanting my insides ripped open by barbs.”
“You are excused. Now come here already!”
Reuben remained where he was, silent.
In reply, she simply put her finger in the pot and scooped out a bit of the foul mixture. She looked at him with those big blue eyes of hers, seeming to ask: I want to help you, and you don't let me? Just because of a little smell?
Oh damnation! Before he knew what he was doing, he moved forward, took a deep breath, and held it. “Do it!” he said.
She began to apply the sticky paste. Her soft fingers slid over his chest around the area where the arrows had pierced the skin, just below his right nipple. Despite the stickiness of the ointment, it felt good for some reason. Reuben found himself relaxing.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, he admonished himself. He shouldn't be relaxing. He wasn't safe here. He didn't even have a sword in his hand, which more or less equaled his conception of being safe. Why was he feeling like this?
“I'm going to apply the ointment directly to your wounds now,” Ayla said. “It'll probably hurt very much. More even than when I pushed the arrows out. Do you think you can hold still?”
That was why. The girl was so hilarious! How could one not be relaxed?
“I think I'll manage,” he replied, trying very hard not to laugh.
She caught on to his mood, though, and her eyes narrowed. “Very well.”
She wasn't very gentle in applying the smelly stuff to his wounds. A few bits and pieces of skin came off. Reuben looked down at his chest curiously and wondered if this should hurt very much. Probably it should. What a strange world he was living in, sometimes. So different from anybody else's.
“Does it hurt very much?” she asked sweetly, rubbing it in in the most literal sense.
“Not at all,” he replied. “You have a most gentle touch, Milady.”
She pressed harder. “Do I?”
“Oh yes. The hands of a true healer.”
“Well,” she said, her eyes burning with blue fire, “I'm very glad you think so. Time to wrap this up.” With a swift motion, she grabbed another linen from the table. “And you. Can you sit up?”
Reuben sat in response.
“Raise your arms.”
“Why?” he asked, suspiciously.
“Because I will need to wrap this around your chest to stop you from bleeding,” she replied, holding up the cloth. “And I don't think you would want me to tie your arms to your sides in the process. Although, now that you've mentioned it,” she added, her lips twitching, “that might not be such a bad idea.”
Reuben raised his arms without deeming an answer necessary. That absolved him from explaining why exactly he had hesitated: namely because, normally, when someone asked him to raise his arms, it was because they wanted to take him prisoner.
He was abruptly pulled from his thoughts when Ayla leant forward and suddenly their bodies were very, very close and... her arms were around him. This shouldn't have surprised him. It was only logical. She needed to reach around him to wrap the bandage around his chest. Once. Twice. Regretfully, he noticed that the linen bandage was nearly at an end. The girl reached around him a third and final time—and this time her hold lasted slightly longer.
Reuben felt his arms drop and reach forward to take the ends of the bandage from her. “Shall I help you with that?”
Somehow his hands didn't end up on the bandage, but on her shoulders.
“Err... I... Yes, please do. I mean, do it yourself!”
Quickly, she drew back and turned away. But not quickly enough. He had seen the rosy hue of her cheeks, and involuntarily grinned at the sight.
Jumping to her feet, she quickly went to the door and, without turning, said: “I have to go now. There's important business I must attend to.”
“I'm sure,” he said in an amused voice. “I can imagine that a lady such as you has many important tasks before her every day. When you take a break from combing your hair and plucking your eyebrows, do come and visit me. It's sure to be boring alone here.”
She threw a scathing look over her shoulder. “Are you sure I didn't hurt you at all?”
“Nope,” Reuben replied, jovially.
“What a pity. Well, I will try my best to visit and put that right. If I can't manage it, I can always send Burchard.”
With that threat hanging in the room she rushed out, leaving Reuben behind grinning like a Cheshire cat.
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So, how do you like Reuben's genuinely medieval cursing? I wanted to make him a rough character, since Robbers would hardly be gentlemen, but I also don't like all these unimaginative modern swear words, so I thought I'd research medieval bad language. How does it fit his character? ;)
On the right we have a picture: One of the lovely castle suggestions from my readers, Eltz Castle in Germany. This is pretty much how I imagine Ayla's castle :) :)
I hope you enjoyed the chapter? :)
Fare well for now my dear friends,
Sir Rob
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GLOSSARY:
Piliferous: a fancy word for 'hairy' ;)
Xanthippe: This was the name of the wife of the Ancient Philosopher Socrates. She was such an energetic, outspoken lady that her name became a synonym for 'shrew' ;)
God's breath: A typical medieval curse. Back then, the foulest thing to say was to swear a false oath on the name of, or some part of, God (e.g. “I swear on the teeth of God that...”). In time, this wearing of a false oath got shortened to just referring to some part of God. But that's the reason why, even today, a curse is also referred to as an “oath.”