“Stand and fight, you mangy, weather-bitten cur!”
The mangy, weather-bitten cur, who was actually quite a pleasant-looking young soldier, had no intention of doing anything of the sort. He backed up until he stood with his back to the barrack wall, then ducked out of the way of the next upcoming blow. The stick wielded by his opponent missed him by an inch or so, bouncing off the wall with a dull thud.
“Coward! You flee from my prowess with the blade!”
“Um…it's not a blade,” one of the horrified onlookers dared to mention. “It's just a stick.”
He regretted his words immediately. In an instant, the attacker’s attention shifted its focus to him. The people around the unfortunate speaker stepped back. Nobody wanted to be this close to deadly danger.
“Only a stick, is it?” The attacker started forward. “Oh yes, it’s only a stick. And do you know why it’s only a stick? Because none of you will let me have a real sword!” The attacker quickened her pace. The man who had been so foolish as to open his mouth tried to step back, but found a solid wall of people behind him.
“Well,” he began cautiously, “you see, maybe it's not a good idea for you to have a sword. After all, you're only five years old, and…”
That remark would probably have caused him some serious bruises, but at that very moment, a voice cut through the clear morning air of the courtyard.
“What in the name of Saint Peter and Saint Paul is going on here?”
All heads turned. The endangered soldier almost collapsed with relief.
“Milady! Thank God you're here! She won't leave us in peace and keeps meddling in our training!”
Accusingly, he pointed at a defiant Fye, who was standing in the middle of the courtyard, her stick raised to strike with both hands.
Jumping from Eleanor's back, Ayla rushed forward and gathered Fye up in her arms. She gave the soldier a cold look.
“You let a five-year-old participate in soldier's work? How could you!”
The soldier’s chin dropped. “We didn't let her do anything. She just came along and demanded to practice with us!”
“And why, if I may ask, did you not make her leave, soldier?”
“Well…um…Milady…because…because we… “ He closed his mouth, but his eyes said it all. Ayla sighed.
“Return to your training, soldier. I will take care of this.”
“Yes, Milady! As you command, Milady. Thank you, Milady!”
Ayla walked a little way away from the soldiers and settled down on an empty barrel, putting the little girl on her knee. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Reuben following her, watching the goings-on with interest. But right now, her attention wasn't focused on him, but on Fye.
“Fye?” she said in as cautious a voice as possible—the kind of voice you would employ to talk to a cornered wolf cub. “Will you give me the stick, please?”
A hopeful expression lit the little girl's face. “Will you give me a sword instead?”
“Um…no. I don't think so.”
“Why not? I want to have a sword!”
“I heard that.” Frantically, Ayla searched her brain for the right words. There weren't any available, so she went back on tradition. “But you see, Fye, girls, especially little girls like you, aren't supposed to have swords.”
“Why not?”
At last, Ayla was on firm ground. “Because there are three estates,” she declared. “The commoners, the clergy, and the nobility. Only the men of the nobility may carry swords.”
Fye frowned. “Why?”
“Because that's the way it has always been.”
“So why don't you change it?”
This was getting a bit too much for Ayla. She looked around for any help, but there was only Reuben, standing a few feet away, trying very hard not to smirk.
“Are children always like this?” she hissed in his direction.
He raised and lowered his shoulders. “I wouldn't know.”
“What should I do?”
“How about giving her a sword to shut her up?”
“You shut up!”
“As you command, Milady.”
Turning back to the child on her knees, Ayla decided to try a different approach.
“Why would you want a sword, anyway?” she asked, trying to make her voice reasonable and soothing. It didn't quite work.
Fye rolled her eyes. “To play with, of course.”
“But I thought you liked playing with pretty dolls, like all other girls. What about Agnes? Don't tell me you've forgotten Lady Agnes so soon. Why would you want to play with something as sharp and dangerous as a sword when you have a nice, pretty doll like Agnes?”
The little girl sized her up and was clearly dissatisfied with the result. It was obvious from her expression that this adult didn't know what the heck she was talking about.
“Don't be silly,” she explained. “They go together. If I don't have a sword, what should I use to defend Agnes’ honor from baddies?”
“I thought Sir Reuben did that.”
Instead of pulling out her Reuben-doll, Fye's eyes wandered to the real thing standing behind Ayla.
“Well, yes,” she allowed. “But he's not good enough to do it on his own. He needs my help.”
From behind her, Ayla heard a noise. She wasn't exactly sure whether it was a snort or a strangled laughter. Maybe both.
“Well, we'll see about that,” Ayla replied, trying very hard to keep a straight face. “I'll watch how he does over the next week or so, and if he doesn't come up to scratch, I will see that he has some assistance.”
“Thanks so much,” murmured Reuben behind her. Ayla didn't turn.
“But really,” she continued, hugging the little girl close for a moment and trying to impress all the safety and warmth she possessed on her, “you don't need to worry. Agnes is perfectly safe. The evil man is dead. You…you saw it yourself.”
“Well, yes, but…”
“But what?” Ayla inquired, stroking Fye's wild locks.
“There could always come another. The world is full of baddies.”
“She actually does have a point there,” Reuben commented. Turning her head, Ayla hissed, “Don't encourage her!”, then went back to ignoring him again.
“We'll keep you and Agnes safe from all the baddies,” she told Fye. “Don't you worry. We'll…”
“Fye! Fye!”
Ayla looked up to see the girl’s mother, Margaret, hurrying over the courtyard, straight towards them.
“Oh Fye, where have you been! I've been looking all over the place for you. I… Milady!”
Only then did she recognize Ayla and dipped a hurried curtsy. “Begging your pardon, Milady. I hope she hasn't inconvenienced you?”
“Not in the least,” Ayla assured her and handed the daughter to her mother. “She is a wonderful little girl. You should be very proud of her. Only…if I were you, I would probably keep her away from any sharp objects.”
“Sharp objects, Milady?”
“Don't ask.”
“Yes, Milady. Thank you for the advice, Milady.”
When Ayla turned, relieved to be free of her contrary charge, she found Reuben, not looking at her, but still gazing with interest after the child being carried off by its mother. She was having some difficulty trying to pry the stick from Fye's hands.
“What is it?” Ayla asked, suspicious.
“She's got courage, that one,” Reuben remarked, nodding into the direction where the little girl and Margaret had just disappeared behind one of the outer buildings.
“And a streak of madness, Reuben! Who ever heard of a girl fighting with a sword?”
“Oh, I don't know.” Stepping closer, he grinned at her lasciviously. “I could probably teach you how to do a few interesting things with my sword. Only, I'm not sure whether you could handle such a mighty weapon.”
Ayla contemplated his statement quietly for a few moments, taking into account all she knew of him. Then she asked, trying to keep her voice relaxed,“We're not talking about actual sword fighting anymore, are we?”
“You get to know me better and better every day,” Reuben agreed cheerfully.
“Reuben?”
“Yes, Milady?”
“You are a gutter-minded rogue.”
“Yes, Milady.”
“That doesn't disturb you in the least, does it?” she asked, slightly vexed.
“No, Milady.”
As she studied him, the grin on his face slowly faded until it was replaced by an expression of such indecipherable yearning that it cut her heart. Slowly, he raised his hand and touched her cheek, just once.
“Does it disturb you?” He wanted to know.
“Sometimes.”
“But not all the time?”
“No. Definitely not.”
How quickly they had returned from teasing to serious talk. Ayla threw a look over her shoulder. All the soldiers were busy with their training and out of hearing range. Raising her hand to her cheek, she took his hand in hers and squeezed it gently. Standing up on her tiptoes, she leaned forward.
“I love you,” she whispered into his ear. “I don't ever want you to forget that. But I want to know someday, Reuben. About your past, I mean. Someday, I will need to know.”
Letting go of his hand, she turned and was just about to move away when Reuben's voice halted her in mid-step.
“Ayla?”
She took a deep breath. “Yes, Reuben?”
“What I told you was true. I didn't sell my soul to the devil.”
She heard the unspoken word in the air.
“But?” She prompted, her voice hoarse.
“But he might be taking a special interest in me nonetheless.”
For a moment, Ayla just stood there. Then, she slowly turned, but only half-turned, so Reuben could just see her stubbornly raised chin and her mouth, quirked up at the corners.
“Then I'll deal with him when he comes!”