Ayla found the request a bit odd. After all, he had already double-checked the countryside around Luntberg, but she conceded.
“All right. We need to see what materials we can salvage from the soldier's camp first, anyway, and ask the village people about where exactly their houses stood, and who is most anxious to start rebuilding. I guess the smith at least should remain in Luntberg Castle for a while. We'll need him for repairing all the damaged weapons.”
“Yes,” Reuben confirmed, still looking into the distance. “We definitely need him to repair the weapons.”
Only later did Ayla realize what a strange tone he had said this in.
Burned
Over the next few days, Ayla was busy planning the reconstruction of everything that had been destroyed. There were a hundred things to discuss with the villagers: how big the church should be, since the village population had grown since its foundation, where to put the smithy, for fear of a fire breaking out, and, and, and.
Ayla soon found that her intention of rebuilding everything just the way it had been was impractical. Rebuilding everything better than it had been was a much more rewarding idea. It would mean that, out of all this destruction, there would at least come some good.
She even contemplated building a road between the village and the castle. Not just a dirt or gravel path, but a real road, made out of cobblestones. It would be a costly endeavor, no doubt, but it would mean quicker and easier passage from the village to the castle, more trade in the area, and something for her people to be especially proud of, as they worked together in rebuilding their lives.
While she was busy looking after her people, Reuben took care of the few enemy mercenaries whom they had taken prisoner in the last battle. The six of them went into a room with him and were shut up there for about an hour.
Ayla didn't know what exactly Reuben said or did, but at the end of the hour, of the six, only five mercenaries left the room, all of whom were suddenly very eager to join Lady Ayla's service. Pay? Why would they expect pay? No, it would be a great honor to serve such a great lady as her, if only she please, please, please didn't punish them, please!
“What did you do to them?” she whispered to Reuben.
“Me?” he asked innocently. “Why would you think that I did anything?”
Ayla chose to let it go. She had plenty of other matters to occupy her attention. Three days after the destruction of the enemy army, her men were finished with clearing out the enemy camp. They had found nobody there, save a few stable lads and their charges.
The lads were more than ready to enter into Lady Ayla's service without having to be locked in a room with Reuben first. They were mostly orphans whom the mercenary army had picked up and pressed into service for no pay at all. Their hollow cheeks and bony frames told a sad story that Ayla was more than glad to put an end to. She had given them into Burchard's charge. When the steward had protested, saying that that was work for kitchen staff, she had replied, “No arguments! Judging from the way you’ve tried to fill me up during the siege, you seem to be an expert in stuffing people full of food! So you can start right away with those boys!”
He had grumbled and complained some more, but she thought the way his mustache had twitched might have been a smile.
Ayla hadn't been so sure about what to do with the enemy horses, though.
“Maybe we should send them back to the Margrave,” she had suggested.
Reuben had looked at her as though she had lost her mind. “This man intended to take everything you have and make you his slave in all but name, and you want to send his horses back? Maybe with a complementary note and a few flowers?”
A blush rose to Ayla's cheeks. “I’m not in the habit of robbing other people of their property, like some people I know!” she snapped at him.
A grin spread over his face. “Is that supposed to refer to me, Milady?”
“How did you guess?”
“Oh, you're feisty today. Well, let me tell you, this isn't robbing someone. It's spoils of war. By right of victory, you are entitled to keep anything your foe has left behind. Besides…have a look.”
Striding to one of the horses, Reuben opened the animal's mouth. It jerked back, as if expecting an attack.
“Steady, girl, steady. I won't harm you. Just open your mouth a little bit wider…there! You see?”
He showed Ayla the bit in the horses mouth. She gasped.
“That's a twisted wire bit!”
“Exactly.”
“You poor thing!” Ayla rushed to the horse. Hugging it around the neck, she began to stroke its head. At first, it quivered under her touch. Only slowly did it begin to relax. “I'll bet your mouth is all cut up and bloody! How could those monsters do something like that to you? And you’re such a pretty thing, too. Come, let me take that out.”
“So,” Reuben asked, peering into the air in that innocent manner he had which meant he was being diabolically cunning, while Ayla worked on the horse. “Should I send them back to the Margrave?”
“No! Of course not! Have them brought to my stables at once, and send the stable master to look after them.”
“As you wish, Milady.”
With the last people and horses out of the camp, it still took three days to take an inventory of all the other things left behind. When the work was finally finished, Ayla and Reuben, who had stayed at the castle most of the time—Ayla to look after the wounded, Reuben to harrow the soldiers—rode out of the gates again. They didn’t take the path down towards the devastated village, this time, though, but the one to the enemy camp.
Ayla could feel her heart beat faster as they rode. In her mind, she knew that the enemy was destroyed and all was safe again, but her heart kept insisting that there was still evil about, that evil would not so easily leave a place that had been the home of vile monsters.
“What is it?” Reuben asked beside her. She didn't look at him. It would have been a comfort to see his roguishly handsome face, but she needed to watch where the horse was going on this uneven ground.
“I don't know…” She shook her head. “I feel like the enemies’ ghosts are lingering somehow. Like their evil influence is not completely gone. Silly, I guess, but I can't help it.”
“Not quite so silly, maybe,” Reuben said, his voice hoarse. “Look.”
Looking up from the path, she saw what he meant. They were passing the villagers’ fields right now: acres of corn, swaying gently in the wind. Or, at least, that's what they should have been. Yet they were not. Smoke bit into Ayla's nose.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, staring at the blackened wasteland that had once been the crops of her people. From the corner of her eye, she could see Reuben rounding on the sergeant of their escort, but she didn't care. She only had eyes for the ashes.
“Why didn't you report this?” Reuben snapped.
“Y-you said to report any dangers, Sir. Those were not dangers. Only some ash, that's all.”
“Fool! Didn't you know those were cornfields?”
“Corn…no! No, Sir, I didn't. I'm from Sir Rudolphus's estate. I've never been here before. I'm sorry, Sir.”
Ayla didn't stay to listen to any more of the man’s stuttered apologies. She had to get away from here! Feeling sick, she spurred Eleanor on, away, away from the smoldering ash. She had to get away from that sight or choke on her own tears.
Reuben caught up to her quickly. The pounding of his huge stallion's hooves easily drowned out the noise made by Eleanor, just as it drowned out Ayla's dry sobs.
“Ayla! Ayla, stop!”
When she didn't, a large hand appeared in her vision, grabbing the reins. Whinnying in protest at somebody else other than her mistress handling her, Eleanor came to an unwilling stop. A moment later, Ayla could feel arms around her, hugging her tightly. She hugged him back just as fiercely, not caring who might be watching. She needed him right now.
“You have to stay with the escort, Ayla.” His voice was rough and full of conc
ern. “I've had the surroundings checked, yes, but there still might be lone mercenaries about. If anybody caught sight of you, and if he had a bow…”
“Reuben, don't you see?” Pushing him away a bit, Ayla looked up at him, her eyes watery. “Those villains burned my people's crops! That was their food for the coming winter! What are we going to eat?”
“You won't starve, surely,” he pointed out. “You have enough food for yourself and your servants in the castle.”
Outraged, she thumped his chest.
“Do you think I would eat when my people can't? I'd never eat more than those I have to care for!”
His eyes narrowed. “Yes, I've noticed. It is a strange habit from which I hope to cure you in the not too distant future.”
“Well, you won't have any luck with that!”
“Why not? Most feudal lords don't care how much their peasants eat, as long as there are still enough of them to do the work when the winter is over.”
“Well, I'm not most feudal lords!” Ayla bit her lip. What Reuben said cut her to the bone. “Would you eat when an army under your command is starving?”
“No,” he answered without having to think about it. “I wouldn't. But an army is different.”
“Why?”
“Because…they are an army. And I am their commander.”
“Well, those people,” she pointed in the direction of the castle, “may not wear any swords or spears, but they are my army. And I am their commander. It is my duty to care for them.” Her head slumped forward to rest against his oh-so-comfortable, strong chest, and, hidden from the world, she let a few secret tears spill over. “And I fear I have failed.”
She expected Reuben to pull her closer—so she was rather taken aback when she felt him letting her go, and she looked up to see was he was doing. He was just sitting there, looking along the path towards the enemy camp. There was a sparkle in his gray eyes.
“Maybe,” he said in a thoughtful voice. The corners of his mouth twitched up in a devilish smile. “Maybe not. Come with me, will you?”
The Enemy's Postmortem Gift
They arrived at the open gates of the camp to find a sergeant of what used to be Isenbard's men waiting beside a large pile of metal objects.
“Greetings, Milady, Sir Reuben.” The sergeant bowed deeply.
“Greetings, sergeant,” Ayla replied. Everything inside her yearned to ride on, to leave these unimportant trinkets behind and search for what she really wanted, for what she prayed was inside the camp. But she knew she couldn't do that. She couldn't start a panic by acting strangely, and she had to keep a cool head. Pointing to the jumbled pile, she inquired, “What is this?”
“All metal that isn't weapons or armor that we found in the camp, Milady—some oil lamps and candlesticks, a lot of pots and spits, and some other odds and ends.” He pointed to another pile. “Those are other small things: clay jars, clay plates, horns. I've brought them out here for one of the servants to inspect. Maybe we can use some of it in the castle.”
“I have a better idea,” Ayla said. “Bring all of it up to the castle, and have it looked through by the villagers. I'm sure they'll recognize much of it.”
The sergeant’s eyes widened. “You mean that…”
Ayla nodded, a feeling both sad and happy at the same time—but, most of all, impatient to get on. “Yes. A lot of it will probably turn out to be loot from the village. See to it that everything is returned to its rightful owner. That which has no rightful owner, I order you to distribute fairly among those who have lost the most. In this, I trust your judgment, sergeant.”
“Yes, Milady! I will not fail you, Milady!”
“See that you don't,” Reuben growled. “I, for my part, most certainly don't trust your judgment and will be around to check.”
“Reuben!” Ayla jabbed her elbow into Reuben's ribs. He merely smiled at her in return.
The sergeant seemed to be able to hold his ground, though. He paled a little but met Reuben’s eyes. Ayla saw a little of Isenbard in those steadfast eyes. “Yessir!”
“Do you know where the rest of the things are kept?” Ayla wanted to know, eager to get away from the subject of violent threats.
“Yes, Milady! Inside the camp. We didn't want to unpack or move the food so it won't get spoiled.”
“Very wise. Until later, sergeant.”
The two of them spurred their horses on and rode into the camp at a brisk pace.
“Why do you always do that?” hissed Ayla as soon as the man was out of hearing range.
“Do what?”
“Set people on edge like that.”
He grinned at her as though she'd given him a compliment. “Do I set you on edge?”
“No! But every single soldier under my leadership.”
“Well…for one thing, it's good for discipline. And for another, it's fun.”
“You shouldn't misuse your authority for your own amusement!”
Leaning over, he quickly brushed his fingers along her neck, and she felt a shiver shoot down all the way down her spine.
“Can you provide me with other kinds of amusement?” he whispered, with enough heat in his voice to make her faint and fall off her horse. But Eleanor was far too trusty a steed to let that happen.
“Don't worry.” Reuben reached over and took her hand, caressing its back with his thumb. The motion sent tingles all the way up Ayla’s arm. It was becoming hard to remember what they had been talking about. “Soldiers enjoy it when you handle them a bit roughly. I think those lads of yours are actually beginning to take a liking to me.”
She thought that this might be a bit too optimistic a view of things, but held her tongue and reluctantly pulled her hand from his oh-so-seductive grip. They had business to attend to.
After a short ride through the camp, they reached a place in the middle. Ayla saw a few holes in the earth, right in front of her.
“What's that?” she asked.
“It's where Luca's tent stood,” came Reuben's quiet reply.
Ayla sucked in a quick breath. “H-how do you know…? Of course! You were here.” He had probably seen a lot of the camp, that night he had stolen back Eleanor. It was odd, looking at these four round holes in the muddy ground now. They were all that remained of the stranger from a foreign land who had tried to take everything she knew and loved away from her. Now he was dead.
Ayla decided she didn't like it here. It didn't exactly feel like somebody walking over her grave—rather as if she were walking over somebody else’s grave.
“All right, let's get this over with.” Sliding from the saddle, she stepped towards Sir Rudolphus, who was waiting for her beside the holes in the ground. After the impressive job he had done with the castle supplies, she had put him in charge of taking stock in the enemy camp. It had been an excellent choice, Ayla could see that right away. His eyes were shining, and his Adam's apple was bobbing in excitement.
“Sir Rudolphus.” Ayla smiled and acknowledged him with a nod. Nothing had ever felt as hard as that smile.
Please let him have found what we need! Please, God!
“Tell me what you have found, Sir knight.”
Please, God! Just enough to get us through the winter!
Sir Rudolphus took a deep breath.
“Well, Milady, apart from the various utensils and paraphernalia you already found beyond the limits of this encampment, there is a great deal more to discover. First of all, of course, are the tents. They are of a surprisingly good quality, especially those of the officers. They will, I am sure, catch a good price on any market. Some I suggest we should keep. In case of emergencies such as the recent violent altercation, we could extend our housing capacities beyond the buildings of the castle and utilize the yard for this purpose.”
Reuben, who had dismounted, too, by now, leaned over and whispered into Ayla's ear, “Does he always talk like this? Maybe he needs a good bump on the head, and he'll start making sense.”
Ayla's li
ps twitched. Was he still trying to cheer her up? Well, whether deliberate or not, it was working. She raised an eyebrow at Reuben.
“I have no problems understanding him. Do you?”
She nodded to Sir Rudolphus. “Your suggestion seems to me to be an excellent one, Sir Rudolphus. Please continue with your report.”
And please, please get to the important things now!
“Thank you, Milady!” She was rewarded with a nervous, but heartfelt smile. “Apart from the tents, there are a lot of provisions, of course.”
Yes! Please!
Her heart made a leap.
“What kind?” Ayla wanted to know, her voice hoarse. If only they would be in luck now…
“Dried fruit, salted pork and fish, grain, things like that. Food that can sustain somebody over a long march and is generally non-perishable.”
Yes! Food that will hold over the winter!
“Oh, thank the Lord,” Ayla sighed. “Please, Sir Rudolphus, tell me you've already counted everything? How much?” Anxiously, she held her breath. “How much corn is there, exactly? Is it enough to sustain all of us for a few months?”
He grinned a boyish grin. “Hundreds of sacks of corn, dozens of barrels of fish and meat. It’s literally enough to feed an army. I have already ordered it to be stored in the same manner as all our other supplies, so it will be safe from pests of all kind.”
“Yes!” Before she knew what she was doing, Ayla had run forward and thrown her arms around the young knight. “Yes! Yes! Yes! Sir Rudolphus, you're a wonderful knight! Don't ever let anyone talk you into sword fighting! You're doing fantastic just as you are!”
“Um…thank you, Milady.” With a face as red as the royal arms of England, the young knight tried to squirm out her grip. He was about to get help with that. Reuben appeared beside the two, his eyes practically throwing lightning bolts.
Quickly, Ayla let go.
“Oh, um…sorry, Sir Rudolphus. We'll leave you to continue your work.”