“I think that is a very good idea,” Reuben growled, grabbing her by the arm and dragging her backwards. “In fact, a perfect idea. I need to get you away from him.”
“Oh, really, Reuben. I was only expressing my appreciation for his work.”
She tried to wriggle out of his grip, but he wouldn't have any of it.
“Well, in future, Milady, express your appreciation from a distance. Understood?”
“You are my vassal! You are supposed to do what I tell you, not the other way around! Let go!”
In answer, Reuben picked her up and carried her the rest of the way to Eleanor, depositing her on the mare’s back. “Well, I never do what I'm supposed to do, Milady. I thought you would have figured that out by now.”
He swung himself into his saddle beside her.
“Reuben?”
The quiet earnestness in her tone made him turn his head and look at her. All the anger disappeared from his face as he looked at her. Ayla knew why. She could almost feel the joy radiating out from herself. She placed a hand on his arm.
“Please don't be angry. Don't you understand what that food means? I thought my people would suffer dearly during the winter, maybe even starve! Now, we suddenly have enough in our cellars to easily last through the winter, and probably still have something to spare. I am…I can't even tell you how happy I am! Do you understand?”
Her eyes pleaded with him, trying to find something beyond the years of metal, battle, and blood that had made him what he was. He gazed at her for a few moments, in silence. Then he slowly shook his head. “Being happy for other people? No. I’m a cold-hearted, merciless bastard. I don't understand.” A little smile pulled up one corner of his mouth. “But I think that, one day, I might.”
Reaching out, she took one of his large, strong hands in both of hers and held it, feeling whole and hopeful for the future. “Let that day come soon,” she whispered.
“Lady Ayla! Lady Ayla, wait!”
Sir Rudolphus had come hurrying after them, a piece of slate in his hand. “I completely forgot! There's something else we've found in abundance.”
Ayla threw a wary look at Reuben, but he didn't make a move. Apparently he thought that, on horseback, she was safe enough from pseudo-amorous entanglements with Sir Rudolphus.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Weapons.” The young knight tapped his slate excitedly. “And materials from which weapons can be made. We found at least fifty spears, five swords, fourty-five guisarmes, and seven axes. Also bows of various forms and sizes, a great number of bowstrings, whetstones, wood, iron, and other raw materials in considerable quantities.”
Ayla made a face. “Have everything gathered and loaded onto a wagon. I want those…things on the way to the market at Rothenburg at daybreak tomorrow. Hopefully, the money will go some way to repairing the damage the mercenaries have done.”
Sir Rudolphus bowed and was already about to turn when Reuben held him back with a shake of his head.
“Milady…maybe it would be wise to keep these weapons a little while longer.”
Ayla turned towards him. “You want me to keep the weapons of the mercenaries? The tools of butchery with which they intended to slaughter my people?”
He nodded grimly. “Yes, I do.”
“But…why?” she asked, puzzled.
Reuben's face was dark and troubled and gave nothing away.
“I'm not sure. But please, trust me for now. You want to keep those weapons. You might need them some day.”
Shocking Parts of Goats
Flames penetrated the darkness.
“How…how…”
There was the mercenary's face again! The face of a dead man, his eyes open in a fear that lasted beyond death.
“Let me show you!” Reuben's voice was menace itself. The red flames of the torch neared the mercenary’s face, and the man began to scream. Fire started to envelop him, to eat him up, while Reuben stood amidst the flames, completely unharmed, laughing a demonic laugh.
“Give Satan my regards,” he bellowed and thrust his enemy down, down from the wall, down into the darkness.
Still, Reuben stood there. The flames spread over him, from his hands to his arms, from his arms to his torso. He began to turn, to writhe and wriggle while he laughed among the flames. When he turned to look at her, Ayla screamed and stumbled back. His legs weren't clad in armor anymore. They weren't even his legs. They were the shaggy legs of a goat, with mangy fur and cloven hoofs.
Reuben opened his mouth to smile—and then jumped at her, hands aflame!
With an ear-piercing scream, Ayla jerked up. She blinked. Suddenly, the darkness was gone. She was back in the castle keep, in her own bedchamber. Reuben was nowhere to be seen, with or without animalistic legs.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” she murmured, beating the bed-cover with one slender, ivory fist. “It's inexcusable to let my imagination get that out of hand! Get a grip, Ayla! Of course he isn't…of course he hasn't got anything to do with the De—”
She hesitated. Were her fears really that silly? Shuddering, she thought back to the moment when Reuben had put his hand into the fire without flinching. Something unearthly had happened then, she was sure of it. No creature on God's earth could stand that kind of pain. That left only two possibilities, only two other realms: Heaven, and…Hell.
No. Reuben could not be a creature from the nether regions, could he? The problem was that, if he wasn't, the only explanation left to her was that he was some kind of angel. And that, taking all he had said and done into account, was even harder to believe.
“Get a grip!” she repeated. “Why start worrying now? Why start having nightmares now? You’ve known there’s something wrong with him for ages, haven’t you? You’ve known he’s different from other men!”
Ah, yes, said a nasty little voice in her head. But before, there was the siege, wasn’t there? There was enemy army outside the gates, stopping him from leaving. Now, nothing is keeping him here—except you. You want him to stay. And you’re afraid of that.
“Nonsense!” Ayla muttered. “He’s never lifted a finger against me! Why should I be afraid of having him here?”
You’re not afraid of having him here. You’re afraid of having him. Of him having you.
“Nonsense!”
Oh, you want it all right—but you fear it, too. Because you don’t know what he is, and you don’t know what will happen.
“Shut up!” Ayla ordered her inner voice and slapped the bed again, silencing all thoughts. Taking a few deep breaths to calm herself, she looked around the room. Well, at least her silly nightmare hadn't disturbed anybody but herself. Now that the siege was over and the outer castle safe from bombardment, many of the servants had returned to their quarters there, and her chambers were once again hers alone.
A knock came from the door. A moment later, Dilli entered, with a cheerful smile on her face.
“I thought I would bring you your breakfast in bed today, Milady,” she announced. “Bread, now that we're off rations, and with a bit of the second cook’s excellent goat cheese.”
Ayla clutched her stomach. “Um…thank you very much, Dilli, but I think I'll stick to the bread. Could you take the goat cheese away, please? You can have it, if you want.”
“Are you all right, Milady?” Breakfast forgotten, Dilli put the tray aside and knelt beside her Mistress. “Is it all catching up with you now? You have exerted yourself too much lately. The siege must have taken a dreadful toll on you. How do you feel? Should I bring you a cup of herbal wine?”
Ayla smiled warmly at her maid and friend. “No, thank you. I'm perfectly fine. I've had a nightmare, that's all.”
“Oh, my poor lady.” Ayla could feel herself being encircled by warm, comforting arms. Not the same kind of comfort she received from Reuben, but still more than welcome. For a moment, she relaxed and let herself drift in the warmth. “What was it about? Maybe it'll help if you tell me.”
“I'd r
ather not, if it's all the same to you,” Ayla sighed. “It's very…private.”
She could feel Dilli stroke her hair.
“It's got to do with him, hasn't it?”
A chuckle bubbled up in Ayla's chest. “You say that like he's a dead warthog or something.”
“No. I'm not afraid of dead warthogs, Milady. I am afraid of him. I saw him walking around with three arrows in his back. That's not natural, it isn't!”
Only with a lot of effort could Ayla suppress a shiver. “You're probably right about that, Dilli. It isn't.”
“But you aren't going to send him on his way, are you, Milady?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I can't, Dilli. I love him.”
She felt the maid smile.
“Yes, Milady. I kind of noticed that.”
Grinning, Ayla pushed her maid away and raised an admonishing finger. “Now, don't be flippant with me, you serf! I'm still your mistress, you know. I could have you put in the stocks.”
Dilli looked down, but Ayla knew she was also grinning and only trying to hide it. “No you couldn't, Milady. If I was in the stocks, who would you go telling your heartaches to? Burchard? I'm sure he'd be more than pleased to listen.”
That made Ayla laugh out loud, and Dilli joined in. “Oh yes,” Ayla gasped, “he'd be very pleased indeed. So pleased, in fact, that his mustache might turn gray from the terror of the experience.”
It was a good, long time before they could stop laughing. When their mirth finally subsided, Ayla felt ten times better than before.
“Thank you, Dilli,” she said, hugging the maid once more before releasing her. “Thank you for putting up with my silly antics.”
The maid's face was once again serious. “They aren't silly at all,” she said, gently stroking Ayla's hair. “It's all right to be worried. I would be worried if you wouldn't be worried, with that sort of man. But…if you forgive the question, Milady—what is it in particular that has you worried?”
Ayla hesitated a moment. Finally, she decided that talking about her fears in a general way couldn't hurt. Not with Dilli, whom she trusted wholeheartedly.
“I…I think he has secrets.”
Dilli actually gave a little laugh. “Of course he has, Milady! He is a man.”
“But what if his secrets stand between us?”
The maid thought for a moment. “Well, then there's only one thing to do.”
Eagerly, Ayla clasped Dilli's hand. “Yes? What? Tell me! I'd do anything! Anything!”
“Ask him.”
“Wh-ask him?”
“Yes, ask him.”
“But I can't do that!”
“Why not, Milady?”
“Because…because…” Ayla thought hard. But it was no good. She couldn't think of an explanation. Not of a rational one, anyway.
“Because I'm afraid of the answers he might give,” she said finally.
“I see.” Comfortingly, Dilli kindly stroked her mistress's hand. “But still, you won't get an answer until you find the courage. You won't know if your fears are justified until you ask.”
“I know. I know. It's just…”
Suddenly, Ayla looked over to the window. Through it, the sun was visible, by now well over the horizon. The lady of the castle gasped. “Oh Lord, look how late it is! I have completely forgotten that I have to check up on my patients!”
She started to scramble out of bed, but Dilli held her by the shoulders and firmly pressed her back down. “No! You won't get up. Not until you've eaten. You've hardly touched a thing while we were under siege. You need to be fattened up!”
“No, I don't.”
“Yes, you do. And don't worry, you'll still be more than pretty enough for your man.”
Color shot to Ayla’s cheeks. “He’s not my man!”
“Really? Judging from the way he looks at you, I’d say something different! Now eat!”
Ayla was so flustered that Dilli had dumped the platter with her breakfast on her knees before she knew what the maid was doing. Resigned to her fate, she sighed and picked up a slice of bread.
“You've become strangely high-handed for a maidservant, lately,” she remarked grumpily.
“Only where your welfare is concerned, Milady,” Dilli said firmly. “Now eat.”
“Yessir,” Ayla muttered so low that Dilli couldn't hear. The maid remained kneeling besides her mistress for a few moments longer, just to check if her commands were being obeyed. When she saw that Ayla was digging into her breakfast, she rose to her feet again.
“See how lucky I was to bring you bread and not gruel,” Dilli remarked. “It would be long cold by now. You eat. Then you can go and look after your patients. Should I still take the goat cheese away?”
“No thanks, Dilli. I'll deal with it somehow.”
They both knew Ayla meant more than just the cheese.
Dilli smiled and curtsied. “I'm glad to hear that, Milady. Until later.”
*~*~**~*~*
As instructed by superior powers, Ayla finished her breakfast and only then went to see how her patients had fared during the night. When she finally had looked them all over, she was happy to announce that everyone she had yet feared for was out of danger. They were all going to survive.
“You're going to be all right,” she told a castle guard with a sword-wound she had feared might fester. “Your wound is healing just fine, now that I've cleaned it and bandaged it. Soon, you'll be on your feet again.”
The guard gave her a weak smile. “Thank you, Milady. You are as one of God's angels.”
“No, I'm not,” she replied, smiling back at him. “I can't sing or play the harp. Now rest.”
Leaving the injured behind, her heart was more full of hope than it had been yesterday. Perhaps that was because there had been no further deaths today, or because of the celebration yesterday which had shown her how much reason there was to rejoice. Still, while she wasn't sad, she was anxious. Her nightmare lingered in her mind, as did her talk with Dilli.
Should she ask Reuben about his strange…ability? About his past? She doubted she would find the nerve to. Somehow, an iron curtain seemed to separate the Reuben of today from the dark and bloody figure he had once been. She was afraid to look beyond that curtain, probably for good reason.
She wished there was some place she could find two quiet minutes to think, a place where she would see her path more clearly in front of her.
Suddenly, a melancholic smile appeared on her lips. She did know such a place.
A servant carrying a pitcher of water went by her, and she motioned for him to stop. Bowing slightly, he halted and looked at her expectantly.
“Excuse me, do you know in which storeroom we keep candles?”
“Candles?” Frowning, the servant looked out of the window, which showed the morning sun presiding over a perfectly bright day. “Um…of course, Milady. I could fetch one for you, if you wish.”
“That would be most kind. Thank you.”
Depositing his pitcher on the windowsill, the servant hurried off. Soon, he returned with a beeswax candle, flint, and steel.
“Here, Milady, in case you want to light it.”
“Very considerate of you. Thank you.”
The servant bowed deeply, now that he didn't have a pitcher full of water to balance. “Not at all. It is an honor to serve a lady such as you.”
Before Ayla could say something, he took up his pitcher again and hurried of. She looked after him, wondering whether Reuben had also gotten to her servants by now, or if he could actually mean it.
*~*~**~*~*
When Ayla stepped into the orchard, a peaceful quiet lay over the trees. Birds were sitting in the branches, hopping from one twig to another, but somehow they seemed to know the importance of the moment and kept their silence. Only the grass under her feet made soft noises as Ayla approached Sir Isenbard's grave.
I will have a stonemason called, she thought as she looked down at the bare earth, feeling moistur
e at the corners of her eyes. And he will put up a headstone here, on which all Isenbard's brave and selfless deeds will be inscribed, for everyone to see.
Leaning forward, she put the candle on the grave, smiling at the sight of numerous field flowers which had already been placed there. Village folk might be too poor to afford candles, but they had their own ways of expressing their feelings.
“You have not been forgotten, Uncle Ironbeard,” she murmured. “And you shall never be forgotten.”
She was not used to lighting many fires herself. She had to strike steel to flint several times before sparks flew, and one caught on the wick of the candle. Soon after, a tiny flame flickered among the flowers, and the wholesome, smoky scent of the beeswax candle floated through the air. Not caring whether she got herself dirty, she knelt in the grass in front of the grave and put her hand on the earth.
“Your sacrifice wasn't in vain,” she whispered, tears coming to her eyes. “I just wanted you to know that. We won. We saved the village from Falkenstein. His army is destroyed, his commander is dead. Your sacrifice saved us all. Thank you, Uncle Ironbeard, for this, and everything else. Thank you for teaching me how to ride. Thank you for teaching me to be brave, and to never give up. Thank you for being there for me when I needed you, always.”
She bent her head and, clasping her hands together, murmured:
“Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord; and let perpetual light shine upon him. May he rest in peace. Amen.”
The last word of the prayer seemed to echo between the trees. Ayla just sat there for a while, enjoying the peace and quiet of this place and the fact that, for the first time, she could now really cry for Sir Isenbard von Riffgarten. Her tears dampened the earth under her fingers. One fell into the candle, and smoke rose from the flame with a sizzling noise.
The noise woke Ayla from her grief.
She opened her eyes, smiling sadly. “I suppose it's not right to come here asking you for something, when you've already earned your rest so thoroughly, but…I need your advice.”
She swallowed, feeling infinitely grateful that she was speaking to a grave. She would never have been able to say what she was about to say to a live person. The words came tumbling out of her.