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.
He should probably try to hide it. This was a funeral, after all. But to hell with it! She was simply too marvelous.
“Sir Isenbard was as much a father to me as my own flesh and blood,” Ayla proclaimed. “He was a good man, a kind man, an honorable man. And most of all, he was a very rare man in that he was willing to sacrifice everything to keep his oath of fealty and fight for what is good and just—even his very life!”
The mutterings everywhere grew into a rumble of ascent. Several lone voices began calling out—some Isenbard’s name, some Ayla’s.
“He was a knight the like of which we shall never see again, my friends! I could stand here and praise him for ten days and ten nights, and still, it would not be enough. It would never be enough!”
Slowly, she raised her hands in front of her chest, and folded them in silent prayer. Reuben found himself caught by the spell, listening and watching with rapped attention, like all the others in the orchard, he was sure. Yet he was experienced enough a fighter to recognize this for what it really was. It was not just a funeral oration. It was a general, speaking to her troops. It was not just a speech to honor the dead. It was a speech to keep the living alive.
“There is no doubt in my mind whatsoever,” Ayla proclaimed, lifting her eyes to the sky, “that right now, he is passing through the gates of heaven that stand wide open to greet him. There is no doubt in my mind that he is watching us. Is he smiling at us? Probably not.”
Tears appeared at the corners of Ayla’s eyes.
“He’s probably scowling, and telling us shouting at us to dump him in the ground already and get on with saving our necks.”
More sobs from the crowd this time, mixed with a few half-weeping giggles. Reuben found himself smiling at the thought. Blast her! She was even getting to him!
“It is because I know he is watching right now that I do not feel presumptuous in speaking to you as he would.” Ayla’s voice rose, until it could be heard in the farthest corners of the courtyard.
“I’m telling you that I am proud of you. You all have fought your very hardest. You all have been steadfast, loyal and brave. You all have done as he has done, and if you continue on that path, I believe we can beat the accursed Margrave's bought murderers and save all of us, our friends and families from a fate worse than death. Do as Sir Isenbard has done for all of us: fight for loyalty, honor and love! As long as you do as he has done, Sir Isenbard is not truly dead. As long as you fight on to honor him, he lives on in our hearts.”
She raised her hands to the sky, clenched into fists.
“Sir Isenbard!”
The call was given back to her in thunderous chorus.
“Sir Isenbard! Sir Isenbard! Sir Isenbard!”
He would be proud of her, Reuben thought, wondrously, as he watched Ayla, standing over the crowd which was cheering and crying, triumphant and mourning all at the same time. If he could see this, he really would be proud of her. Who knows? Maybe he can. Maybe he is, right now.
And in that moment Reuben realized that he, too, was proud of her. Proud like the very devil! She had honored a warrior's death in the best way possible: she had given strength to the cause he had given his life for.
My lady… that’s my lady!
He could see the effect her words were having upon her people. They were not happy—it would probably have been difficult to ever catch them at a less happy time—however, they were resolved. Reuben could see it in their eyes, even in the eyes of the simplest peasants: that steely glint that marked an army which could not be bought, not be turned around by fear, not be beaten unless it was killed to a man.
And that won’t happen. I’ll make sure of it.
He could see that Ayla, too, recognized the effect of her words. She had given strength to her people, and the more she gave, the more she seemed to receive in return. Their strength was hers. It kept her standing, thinking, moving, at a time when she probably would have liked nothing better than to lie down in a corner somewhere and cry her heart out. Her belief in the loyalty and love of her people was her strongest solace and sharpest weapon.
Which made Reuben feel like a cad for the thing he knew he had to tell her.
But then, I am a cad, he thought to himself, wrily. So where’s the problem?
As the shouts of the crowd died down, Ayla stepped down from the root and nodded to Linhart. Reuben looked around. Without him noticing, the Captain had attached ropes to the ends of the bier on which Isenbard’s body lay. He took up one of them in his hand. Reuben grabbed another, and two castle guards took the remaining two. Lifting the bier by the ropes, they moved it over the hole.
Reuben looked questioningly at Ayla. “Milady?”
She hesitated a moment—then nodded.
Slowly, Isenbard's descent into the shallow grave began. After only three feet or so, he came to rest on the earth with a low 'thump'. People started moving forward, gathering around the grave, packed as tightly as possible. Isenbard's face could still be made out in the shadows down there. Half in darkness, the deathly pallor of his face seemed not as marked as before. He almost looked as if he were only sleeping.
Which was not true, of course, Reuben chided himself.
Ayla reached out to the tree beneath which the grave had been dug. From between the leaves, she picked one of the largest, most beautiful apple-blossoms.
“Rest in peace, my friend,” she whispered, and let it fall into the grave. It drifted downwards, slowly rotating as it sank through the air, and finally came to rest on Isenbard's chest, just above his folded hands.
“Father?” With a shaky little nod, Ayla gave a nod to the priest. “You may do your duty.”
The priest stepped forward, bent down and picked up a handful of earth from the ground. Stretching his hand over the grave, he let it fall. Then Ayla stepped forward to do the same, and as she did, the priest intoned:
“In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, till thou return unto the ground; for out of it wast thou taken...”
Captain Linhart took Ayla's place and threw a handful of dirt into the grave.
“... For dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return...”
The Captain stepped back and hesitated. Then, to Reuben's utter amazement, he gestured for him to step forward.
Raising a questioning eyebrow, Reuben looked at Ayla. She nodded. That decided it for Reuben.
He would not have said it was his place to do so, but he stepped towards the grave, bent down to retrieve a handful of earth, a let it fall into the gloom of the open grave. As the dirt hit the body, it had a sense of finality. Reuben realized that it had been his place to do this, for he was taking up the place of the man they buried here: the place of protector.
“... in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life, through our Lord Jesus Christ; who shall change our vile body, that it may be like unto his glorious body, according to the mighty working, whereby he is able to subdue all things to himself. Amen.”
“Amen,” repeated the congregation.
There was a moment of utter silence. Then two guards armed with shovels stepped forward. It was time.
As the two passed between Ayla and the villagers, blocking the former from the latter's view, Reuben saw her suddenly stumble and almost fall.
Satan’s hairy ass!
He abruptly realized that she had been running on borrowed strength this whole time. Her show of determination in front of the villagers was just that: a show. She could only keep it up as long as she had to, as long as she knew the villagers could see her. Even so, she would not be able to keep it up for long.
“Milady?” Taking her hand, he turned her towards him. “Perhaps I might prevail upon you to come to the keep with me? There are some urgent matters of defense I must discuss with you.”
She threw him a grateful look, which cut Reuben to the bone. She thought he was just making an excuse for her, helping her find some peace, when what he said had actually been true, and he was about to destroy the last bit of peace she had.
“Of course,” she mumbled. “Let's go.”
A corridor through the crowd opened up in front of them. People respectfully bowed their heads to Ayla as she passed, and Reuben could feel that it was as much a sign of respect as an acknowledgment of her grief. Behind them, the soft 'thud, thud' of earth slowly covering up the remains of Sir Isenbard sounded out in an irregular rhythm.
They walked quietly for a bit. Not that Reuben didn't have much to say, oh no. He had quite a lot to say. It was just that he didn't want to.
The night around them was strangely peaceful, in spite of the terrible events that had shaken the castle of late, and he did not want to break that spell. He did not want to break Ayla, either. Walking beside him in her white linen gown she looked as ephemeral and breakable as one of the beautiful apple blossoms in her orchard.
Suddenly, as if in answer to his thoughts, she stumbled and fell against him.
“Ayla!” His arms went around her instinctively. Holding her close, he felt her soft body pressed against his, her heartbeat feeling wonderfully alive, even through his mail shirt. He also felt the shivers that were racking her body.
“Ayla, what's the matter?”
What a stupid question! Her oldest friend has just been put six feet under with an ax wound in the neck!
Desperately Reuben tried to remember any courtly lessons from his early days as a knight about cheering up tearful ladies. From what he could remember, most of the methods involved winning a tournament for the lady in question or sending her flowers. He didn't think either method would work in this case.
So he just repeated his stupid question.
“What's the matter?”
“Nothing, nothing.” She waved away his concerns. “It all got a bit too much for me, I guess. I'll be right as rain again in the morning.”
No you won't. Because before the morning, I must tell you what I discovered.
But he didn’t say that. Instead, he murmured: “Yes, of course. Let's go back to the keep, though, all right? After two attacks on the castle, I'm taking no chances. I want you in the safest place possible.”
She looked up at him then, her sapphire eyes wide open, questioning.
“You want me safe?”
He nodded, feeling his heart swell painfully. Satan’s hairy ass! Why did love have to be so damn painful? It was supposed to be a good, think, wasn’t it?
“Always,” he whispered.
“I want you safe too,” she whispered back, reaching up to touch his cheek, once, briefly. It was the first time she had touched him so deliberately in a long time, and it made Reuben's heart swell even more. The pain drained away to be replaced by a flood of heat. This! This was what love was supposed to feel like! “I just wish,” she continued, still looking up at him, “that this whole feud was over, and everybody were safe and you and I could...”
“Yes?” Reuben hardly dared to breathe. “Could what?”
She bit her lip.
“Nothing.”
For a moment, Reuben thought about persisting, but then she swayed again, and he reprimanded himself for being so selfish. But then, it was hardly surprising. Being selfish was his favorite pastime, and it would take some effort on his part to break the habit where Ayla was concerned.
After only a few more minutes, they had reached the steps of the keep. At the door, Ayla hesitated, looking up at Reuben again and smiling weakly. “I hope you don't mind what I said.”
“What you said? I don't understand?” Reuben shook his head in confusion. “Do you mean your speech to the villagers? But Ayla, you were magnificent.”
“I meant that thing... That thing about Isenbard being a knight the like of which we shall never see again. I didn't mean to belittle you or anything. It just seemed appropriate.”
Of all the things she could be worrying about, she was concerned about offending him! He returned her smile and pressed her hand.
“Don't worry. You said it yourself—Sir Isenbard was an honorable knight. So he was definitely better than me, because I am not.”
A noise came out of her throat. He wasn't exactly sure whether it was a little laugh or a sob. Maybe both. Or maybe neither.
“Let's get you inside. You look exhausted.” Reuben reached out and held the door open for her. Then, as she started to move, he gently shouldered her aside and marched into the hallway before she could.
“That's not very courtly of you,” Ayla muttered.
“So?” he replied with a smirk.
“So you’ve proven your point. Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For the attempt to cheer me up.”
He smirked at her. “Did it work?”
In return, she gave him her best attempt at a smile. “Not really. But it's nice to know that somebody cares enough to try.”
“I care.” Taking her hand again, he pressed it gently. “I care very much.”
One of her eyebrows rose enquiringly. “Enough to be a courtly knight and let the lady through the door first the next time?”
“Hmmm...” With his free hand, Reuben scratched his chin. “Let me think... no. Not that much.”
“I thought so.” She returned his gentle squeeze. “You are a scoundrel.”
“An abominable one.”
In companionable silence they walked up the stairs together, holding hands. Then, in front of Reuben's room, they halted.
“Well... I suppose...” Ayla hesitated for a moment. “I suppose you'll stay here? The racket is over, I have well-rested guards in front of my chambers again. So I don't need your protection around the clock anymore.”
She didn't seem all that pleased about it. At any other time, Reuben would have smiled, pleased as the devil on holiday in Babylon by the fact that she didn't want to let him go. But now—now he actually wanted to go, to escape before he had to tell her the painful truth. But it was impossible. It had to be now. He could not delay any longer.
“Come in for a moment, will you?” he asked. “There's something I have to talk to you about.”
He could see that he had taken her slightly off guard with that. So he just entered his room and held the door open for her to follow. She did so, eventually, a puzzled expression on her face.
“All right.” Reuben firmly closed the door behind her, then went to the window to pull close the wooden shutters that normally were used to keep the cold night wind out. In this case, they would be used to keep prying ears from overhearing what he had to say. This information was too dangerous to be spread around. If just one other person besides Ayla got wind of it, the rumors would spread like a wildfire and do untold damage.
“Reuben?” Ayla's look of bewilderment had increased, Reuben could see that even in the near total darkness that now filled the room. With two flints, he lit a candle on the table and, as its light cut through the darkness, sat down on one of the chairs.
“Reuben? What are you doing?”
Without answering, he motioned for Ayla to take the other one. She did so, looking at him intently, trying to read his face.
“You remember the night you were almost abducted?” he asked. “The first night mercenaries intruded into the castle?”
Her lips twitched. “I'm not likely to forget it, am I? You saved my life that night.”
Reuben shrugged. He wasn't looking for praise. Not right now, anyway.
“Do you remember how the mercenaries managed to get into the castle?”
“Some kind of large metal hook, wasn't it?” Ayla asked, frowning slightly. “They had a rope attached to it.”
“Exactly.” Reuben gave a nod. “A grappling hook. We thought they had thrown it over the wall to get in.”
“We thought?” Ah. She had picked up on the emphasis in his words right away. Even in the dark, Reuben could see the frown forming on her face. “That's what happened, isn't it?”
“I went down into the dungeon... examined the grappling hook.”
“Yes, and?”
Reuben took a deep breath, remembering her oration earlier tonight, remembering her extolling the loyalty and bravery of her people. He couldn't do this, couldn't tell her! But he had to. There was no other choice.
*~*~**~*~*
Ayla stared at Reuben's face intently. Something was going on. Reuben wasn't behaving normally. Well... of course he wasn't. After all, he was Reuben.
But he wasn't even behaving strange in the usual way. He wasn't cursing, wasn't cutting people into pieces or making lecherous remarks. He just sat there, looking grim.
“Reuben? What is it?” She grabbed his hand. “Reuben, please. If you suspect another threat from Falkenstein or something, you must tell me.”
His lips twitched for a moment.
“No, not from Falkenstein, I'm afraid, Ayla.”
“I don't understand. What do you mean?”
“Ayla... I'm so sorry. The grappling hook could not have been thrown over the outer wall. It is too high.”
Ayla's confusion only increased. Was that all?
“So? If it couldn’t have been thrown, they used a catapult.” She frowned. Why was he bothering her with such trivialities?
“No, they did not.” He shook his head, his eyes burning as if besieging her for forgiveness. Forgiveness for what? “As I said, I went down there to examine the grappling hook. It's not the kind that can be thrown by a siege engine. It could not have been thrown or shot up from below.”
“And?”
“Ayla, don't you see?”
A cold shiver ran down Ayla's spine. Not from below... If not from below, then from where? There was only one possible answer.
“Reuben... what are you saying?”
But even as she asked, she already knew the answer. She knew from the tortured expression in his eyes.
“Ayla, I'm sorry, I don't know any other way to say this...” He swallowed, once, hard. “There's a traitor in the castle.”
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My Lords and Ladies,
Catastrophe upon catastrophe! Do you think that God has forsaken Ayla and Sir Reuben, or is this simply the latest in a long line of trials, at the end of which will come a triumphant victory?
Now the hunt for the spy shall begin! All gather round with your swords, spears and special spy-finding arrows ;-)
Farewell until the next chapter,
Sir Rob