“Yes.” The words tumbled out of Ayla’s mouth almost against her own volition. “He is a merchant. A merchant dealing in arms. That is why he knows some things about war, I suppose.”
“I see.” Isenbard still didn't look convinced. “I could swear I saw him before he arrived here, though! And most certainly not behind a stall, selling daggers and knifes.”
“Oh, really?” Ayla tried to laugh and it didn't seem quite natural. “Well, he has a very common face, the kind of face you see everywhere.”
“Common?”
“Oh yes. And ugly. Very ugly.”
Confusion wrinkled Isenbard's brow. “Well... he has a scar, to be sure, but I wouldn't call him ugly.”
“I would. Ugly and unpleasant,” Ayla prattled on. Silently, she cursed herself, and cursed Reuben ten times more. What was she thinking? What was she saying? She had concealed Reuben's true identity from Isenbard. She had concealed the fact that she was harboring a thief and a traitor from her most trustworthy defender! Was she insane?
And now, fearing that Isenbard had somehow seen Reuben before, she was trying to distract him with the most inane babbling ever heard in the walls of Luntberg Castle. What was the matter with her?
Isenbard regarded her sternly.
“Well, I thought he wasn't very well-behaved. But I thought you liked him.”
“I? Certainly not. Whatever gave you that idea?”
“Probably the way you cried your eyes out when he fell down the stairs and almost broke his neck, the other day?”
Ayla flinched as he reminded her of that.
“No, no. It's just the stress that has been getting to me,” she maintained.
Isenbard didn't swallow her excuse as easily as Burchard had. His eyes narrowed in suspicion for a moment—but then he let it go.
“We have more important matters to discuss right now. How goes the defense, Milady?”
“Well, that kind of depends on how you look at it.”
“How do you look at it?”
Isenbard never had been one to ask easy questions. Ayla forced herself to remain calm. He needed to know this.
“Well, on the one hand, everybody is safe behind the castle walls. You know Luntberg Castle. You know that it will not be easily stormed.”
She paused, knowing that this had been the easy part of her assessment.
“But?” Isenbard probed.
“But, on the other hand, everybody is safe within the castle walls—and by everybody I mean hundreds of people. The entire village has sought refuge here. With that many people we cannot hold out long if that villain Sir Luca should decide to starve us out.”
Silence loomed between them, filling the emptiness of the great hall. An ominous and somber atmosphere lay over the scene: the cold light of the moon shining in through the windows, illuminating the slight figure of the kneeling girl in her white dress, and the old but still formidable knight, lying on his back, slowly stroking his beard in contemplation.
“Do you think they will attack?” Ayla finally broke the silence, her voice almost hopeful. She did not relish the thought of a battle, but she knew that in a fight, a castle with its thick walls and solid battlements was as good as hundreds of armed men to the defenders. It would be the only way to right the imbalance between Falkenstein's huge army and her little company of steadfast vassals. And at least everything would be over quickly and she would know her fate, be it salvation or doom.
Isenbard snorted. “Attack? Not in a thousand years! Why should they? They have us exactly where they want us. Now all they need to do is wait until we surrender, or until we collapse from hunger so they can climb over our walls at their leisure.”
That was pretty much what Ayla had feared, but she didn't give up hope yet.
“What if we were to taunt the commander? We could shout rude words at him and insult his honor. He might be angered enough to attack out of rage.”
The old knight's lips twitched. “Learning battle tactics, are we? Well, that might work—if we had a true knight as our enemy. But you forget that this Sir Luca is a mercenary, meaning that he has no honor to insult.”
“Oh. Right.”
“Besides, I would not even know which words to use.” Isenbard smiled grimly. “My father did not teach me the art of insulting, I'm afraid. He probably did not consider it part of what a knight should be taught, so I lack vocabulary in that area. Are you any more knowledgeable when it comes to insults?”
“No, but I know someone who is,” Ayla muttered quietly, almost to herself.
“What was that?”
“Oh, nothing. So what do we do now?”
Isenbard shrugged.
“Stay where we are and pray, for now. There may yet occur something unforeseen which will save us. The fortunes of war are fickle, they easily change sides. Of course I could tell you more if I actually were able to see the state of our defense with my own eyes, if I could walk around, bear a sword, and...”
“No chance! No, no, no chance at all!” Ayla started wagging her finger at him again. “I said you would remain on this stretcher until you are fully recovered, and remain there you will, or I will have you tied down, understand?”
Isenbard made a face. “Yes, Milady.”
“Now I'm going to get you a cold cataplasm for your head. And woe betide you if you're not still lying down when I return.”
“As you wish, Milady.”
*~*~**~*~*
During her ministrations, Isenbard pestered Ayla with repeated entreaties to be allowed to get up and take command of his men again. However, Ayla rebuffed each and every one of them, and, having finished with caring for the old knight, charged some of the villager's wives, who had by now returned to the great hall, with holding the old knight down and alerting her, should he attempt to rise. She made sure Isenbard saw and heard her do this, and made sure the women she asked were sensible, reliable, and moreover as beefy as cart oxen.
As she left and threw a look back, she saw the old knight eying his guards apprehensively, and smiled to herself. He was in good hands.
Outside of the keep, Captain Linhart, the man to whom, in Isenbard's absence, she had entrusted the defense of the castle, was waiting for her.
“Greetings, Captain,” she greeted him. “How goes the defense?”
“I don't know that there's much to defend yet, Milady. But there's something going on out there. Come, you should see this.”
Curious, she followed him through the inner gate of the castle, to the outer wall. There, he held one of the tower doors open for her and let her ascend the spiral staircase inside before him, following with one of the torches he had taken from the wall.
Up on the battlements, the cold night wind greeted them. Ayla shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. Down in the castle she always felt so sheltered. Up here she was exposed to the elements—and worse things.
“I beg your pardon, Milady,” Captain Linhart said, abashed. “I forgot how cold it is up here. Should I lend you my coat?”
Ayla shook her head, giving the captain a weak smile. “No thank you, Captain. It isn't only the cold which makes me shiver.” Her gaze strayed down into her valley. Her valley, which was no longer hers.
With a grim expression on his face, Linhart stepped up beside her and pointed down. But Ayla had already seen it.
“What is that?” she gasped.
Hundreds of bright, reddish dots surrounded the castle, flitting from one place to another, growing brighter, then darker, then brighter again, like hungry fireflies. And there was more: if Ayla concentrated very hard, she could just make out the faint outline of something enormous, a dark ring of gigantic proportions surrounding the entire hill on which Luntberg Castle stood.
“My guess is that these are our enemies, building siege fortifications,” said Captain Linhart grimly. “Ditches, barricades, towers, everything. Look.” He pointed to one place, where dozens of the fireflies had converged into a large swarm. No, not fireflies—enemy soldiers with torches! They were scurrying up and down a large construction, hammering on it, adding to it. Before Ayla's incredulous eyes rose a tower, probably made of wood, and already more than a dozen feet in height.
“They must have a master builder in their army, Milady.”
“But why? Why are they building this? Do they think we will attack them?”
“No.” Linhart shook his head. “More likely they want to stop us from escaping.”
Ayla's throat constricted as she understood. This was the noose of the rope—and it was tightening.
*~*~**~*~*
Over the next few days, Ayla saw to it that every last person in the castle was clothed, fed and sheltered. As it turned out, Burchard need not have worried about the unseemly possibility that other people would be sharing her bedchamber: Ayla was so busy that she didn't get to sleep much anyway. And if she did, it wasn't in her own chamber but in some corner when she was just too tired to continue, and simply sat down before she collapsed.
One ray of sunshine, however, pierced these gloomy clouds of misery: Isenbard was recovering at a prodigious rate. After only a day, Ayla judged he was fit enough to sit up. With her unceasing ministrations, the remnants of the yellowish bruise on his head had soon shrunk to the size of a hazelnut and faded into violet. Not long after, it was completely gone. Finally, after another day of rest, Ayla granted the old knight the right to stand on his own two feet again.
“Steady,” she said as he tried to stand and wobbled dangerously from side to side. “Take it slow, will you? Should I bring you a stick to lean on?”
“A stick?” Isenbard growled and tried to shove her away, before he remembered that she was a lady and knights didn't shove ladies. “What do you think I am, a doddering cripple? If you want to bring me something to lean on, let it be a sword! I'll recover quicker with a good blade in my hand, just you wait and see.”
“Yes, I'll wait. I'll wait another few days, and so shall you. No swords for you until you can walk straight, understood?”
“Yes Milady,” grumbled the old knight reluctantly.
Ayla worked ceaselessly until she was bone-breakingly tired. Everybody admired her efforts and, in whispered tones they thought she wouldn't catch, called her a heroine to her people. Every time she heard that she felt a tiny pinch of guilt. Not that she wouldn't have done anything and everything for her people. But the real reason she worked so incessantly was quite another.
Working kept her busy.
Being busy kept her mind occupied.
And with her mind occupied, she was less likely to think of... him. The man she didn't love and who had never loved her, but whom, for some infuriating reason, she still couldn't seem to forget.
She had walked past his door several times, and every time a stab of pain shot through her heart. She couldn't help wondering how he felt, on the other side of that door. Was he agonizing too? Was he in pain?
And then came the obvious answer from her own common sense: of course he wasn't. All that was on the other side of that door was evil and emptiness. He was no man, but a demon in the guise of a man. He had no feelings for her or anyone else.
Never did she hear a sound from the inside of the room. It was almost eerily quiet, whenever she walked past. Once, she even pressed her ear against the oak door and listened with all her might.
Nothing.
What was he doing in there? The question was one that haunted her wherever she went. Just like the question what she was supposed to do with him. For now, she had ordered men to guard him, and her maid Dilli to put three meals in front of his door every day. But that couldn't go on forever. She shouldn't even have hesitated, she just should have him ordered executed.
Yet still, she did not.
At nightfall on the second day after the battle at the bridge and the flight into the castle, she was sitting in a corner, exhausted from the day’s work, pondering his fate once again, when Dilli approached her cautiously.
“Um... Milady?”
“Yes?” she asked, distractedly.
“I can come back later, Milady, if you're busy.”
“No, no,” Ayla mumbled. “I'm just thinking. But it's not important. Why do you wish to talk to me, Dilli?” Despite her words, she kept staring absent-mindedly at a tapestry on the opposite wall, not looking at her maid.
Dilli bit her lip, nervously. “Well, it's about this fellow in the guest room. You know, this merchant, Reuben?”
That got Ayla's attention. Her head whipped around and she demanded: “What? What's the matter with him?”
Quickly, Dilli retreated a few steps. “I- I don't know, Milady. That's the thing, I really don't know, and I thought you would like to know that I don't know and that's why I came.”
“You're not making any sense, Dilli.”
“Well, it's like this, Milady...” Dilli swallowed and hesitated. Ayla would have liked to wring the truth out of her, but she did her best to keep her face calm and her hands steady. “You ordered me to bring him his meals, and leaven them in front of his door.”
“Yes, I know that.”
“And so I did, Milady, so I did three times every day. But you see... he never took them inside. When I came to bring the next meal, the last one was still standing in front of the door.”
A tingle ran down Ayla's spine.
“Is that so?” she said, trying desperately to keep her voice calm. “Well, that is a strange circumstance. Let's go and have a look.”
Dilli had to almost run to keep up with Ayla on their way to the guest chamber. But when they arrived, her mistress didn't seem very eager to enter. For some reason she just stood there and didn't do anything.
“Um... Milady?” Dilli inquired after a minute had gone by.
Ayla shook herself. Taking a heart, she raised a hand to knock. Then she thought What's the matter with me, it's my castle after all, pushed open the door and stepped inside.
The room was empty
No Reuben.
No nobody.
No nothing.
“Strange.” Dilli stepped forward, lifted the corner of the mattress and took a peep, as if she expected the mountain of a man to be hiding underneath. “He isn't here. Where can he have disappeared to?”
Ayla tried to speak but couldn't. The room was empty. No Reuben anymore.
“Maybe he went to the kitchen to get a cup of milk?” Dilli speculated. Then she frowned. “But no, I think the guards outside would have mentioned that to us. By the way, Milady, why are there guards outside? Is there anything worth guarding here?”
Ayla tried again, and this time succeeded in getting her dry tongue to move.
“Dilli? Will you leave me alone for a couple of minutes?” she asked. Her voice sounded strange in her own ears.
“Err... of course, Milady.”
On tiptoes, the maid left the room and closed the door behind her.
Slowly, as if in a trance, Ayla walked to the window. Unlike many of the arrow slits in the castle, this one was wide enough for a man to slip through, if he wished to fall to his death. Leaning out, she looked down the wall. No sign of anything. From far away, she felt the reverberations of a wave of relief. Then another possibility struck her. She walked over to the garderobe, opened the doors and there it was: from the wooden hanger, where dresses and coats were suspended in an orderly manner, also hung a thick rope which lead down into the darkness, providing an escape out of the keep.
How had he gotten from there over the outer walls, out of the castle?
Ayla didn't know and she didn't have the energy to wonder. She did however have no doubt that he had managed it. Whatever one might say of his morals or manners, his abilities were certainly not to be underestimated.
She slumped against the wall beside the garderobe and tried to keep the awful truth at bay. But it wouldn't be denied. It was too evident.
He was gone.
He had finally fled and abandoned her. This was the proof. He didn't love her. He had left her alone to face her worst enemy.
But then...
Ayla frowned. Something didn't quite fit. If she was nothing to him, why did he not go before, when the Margrave's men hadn't yet surrounded the castle? Why had he only left now, when it was so much more difficult and dangerous? A terrible possibility slowly wormed its way into her mind.
Had he really had feelings for her, and had she driven him away with her accusations?
Not that her accusations hadn't been justified. But that didn't lessen the pain of losing him in the slightest. Only now, when it was too late, did she realize the depth of her feelings for this insolent rogue. Her rogue. Her robber knight.
No, hers no longer. Never really hers, in truth. He might have been, could have been, but she had driven him away, and that was the end of it.
Still, she hoped against hope that he would make it through the siege fortifications and the lines of Falkenstein's soldiers. Even if she couldn't have him, she wanted him to live. To be happy. Somewhere. With someone.
The last thought slipped into her mind almost before she had noticed, and sent an ache through her that was almost too painful to bear. To think of him with another woman was impossible. It made her want to bury herself in her bed and never wake up again. She couldn't think of it. So Ayla dashed the tears from her eyes and resolved instead only to think of siege tactics and food rationing for the rest of her probably very short life. Much more reasonable things than love, anyway.
Her heart feeling frozen and dead, Ayla turned to leave when she spotted the chessboard on the only table in the room. She halted in mid-step. Strange—someone had taken the trouble to remove all the figures but one. Squinting, Ayla looked closer, and saw that it was a solitary knight.
The figure was carved into the shape of a horse.
A single horse, all alone, away from everything it knew, far away, waiting to be reunited with its friends... oh no! Dread shattered the coating of frost around Ayla's heart from one moment to the next. No, no, no! He couldn't possibly be so stupid as to try and do what she thought he was going to do, could he? No, no, please no!
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Greetings, Milords and Ladies! :)
I give you three guesses where Reuben has gone off to, and what he's doing right now... ;-) I hope you look forward to seeing the red robber knight finally in action! :)
And drum-roll please... I proudly announce that I have started a new story called 'STORM AND SILENCE' (Cover image to be seen on the right). It is once more a historical story with plenty of adventure and romance, and is to be found on my profile, or can be reached directly via the external link in this chapter.
I've already received great feedback on it, and wish to thank you from the bottom of my heart! For those of you who had not heard of the story before, I'd be delighted to hear your opinion! :)
Fare well, oh noble companions
Sir Rob (sitting in the tower chamber of his castle, chewing on his quill and anxiously awaiting feedback)