Ayla stood in the doorway. Her face was calm and unemotional. For a moment, Reuben saw her eyes move to him. Then they looked straight forward again, and she moved to her chair, to take her place at the head of the table.
“Greetings, my friends, my vassals,” she said in a voice as unemotional as her features. “I have called you together to give you grave news.”
“Oh, great,” grumbled Burchard. “We're being besieged, our military leader has just been buried, and we're all likely to die in the near future. Don't think of anything to cheer us up, please!”
Ayla silenced him with a look. She clearly was not in a mood to joke.
A shiver ran down his back as Reuben remembered what he had told her, in his room, after the funeral. “You must tell them. It must be you.”
“Why me?” Tears had run down her face in rivulets. She had stopped pounding on his chest, but only because she didn't have the strength to do it anymore.
Reuben's anger dwindled. He had been angry, terribly angry—she had called him a liar, called his loyalty into question after everything he had done to prove it! But then, as she had started to attack him, as he had felt her in his arms, fighting, crying, trembling, he had realized that it was not really him she was calling into question, but her own beliefs. Her own way of seeing the world.
During the entire siege, her belief in the loyalty and love of her people had given her strength. Now that belief was crumbling, and her strength along with it.
“Why me?” She repeated, her voice only a painful moan. “You discovered it. You tell them!”
“Me, tell your vassals that one of their own is a traitor?” Reuben's lips twitched in a humorless smile. “They aren’t even sure who or what I am, let alone sure whether they should trust me. They wouldn't believe a word I say. And if they did know who I truly am, they would want to kill me on the spot. No. You must do this. You must tell your commanders that there is a traitor among us, because, if there is anyone they will believe and put their trust in, it is you.”
“But Reuben…we can’t have a traitor in the castle. It can't be. It simply can't be.”
“Saying that it can't be doesn't change the fact that it is, Ayla. I'm sorry.”
“Reuben…hold me. Please, just hold me.”
“I will. I will.”
He had held her through the night as she cried into his chest. She had gotten less sleep that night, which was perfectly calm and quiet, than during any of the nights when the enemy had kept them awake with their infernal racket. Her enemies had not managed to break her spirit. Had her own people now done the job?
Looking at her as she sat at the head of the table now, tall and proud, not a single drop of moisture in her sapphire eyes, Reuben sincerely doubted it. He marveled at her. He was a strong man—in fact he had never met anyone stronger—and Ayla was just a slip of a girl compared to him. But the inner strength she displayed now took his breath away.
He might be the most terrible warrior in the entire Holy Roman Empire, but she was more than a warrior. She was a general.
There was silence around the table.
“So?” Burchard finally asked. “What is it you've got to tell us?”
Reuben continued to look straight ahead at Ayla. Their eyes met again, and she nodded. He nodded back, hoping that this small sign of affection would give her strength.
“The grappling hook in the dungeons has been examined,” she said. “And the examination revealed something serious. Something none of you will like to hear.”
She told them.
It was a bare account of the facts, without mentioning who had examined the grappling hook and drawn conclusions. She made it sound as though the examination had been conducted under her orders, and the original suspicion had been hers. When she was finished, the silence around the table returned.
Finally, Sir Waldar cursed. Reuben raised an eyebrow, impressed. As a connoisseur, he could tell that this had been an exemplary piece of infamy. He wouldn't have thought the old drunkard had it in him.
“It can't be,” Captain Linhart said, his voice hoarse.
Sir Waldar cursed again.
Lady Ayla didn't even bother to admonish him, which Reuben found slightly unfair, since she took every opportunity to try and cure him of cursing. But he supposed that, at the moment, she had weightier problems on her mind.
“Isn't there some other way the enemy could have gotten that grappling hook over the wall?” Burchard wanted to know. “Some other siege engine that we don't know about, or some trick?”
“Like what?” Ayla sked.
“Err…I don't know. I would have to think about it. But I'm sure I could think of something.”
“Of course. We'll just ask the enemy not to attack us while you're at it. Take your time.”
Burchard's mustache bristled. “Now, listen here…”
“No, you listen!” Ayla interrupted him. “We can all argue about it as long as we want, but the fact won't change: We have a traitor in the castle, and we have to take care of him, or he'll sell us all to the enemy.”
“How did you find out about this?” he demanded, his massive eyebrows drawing together in an angry frown. “How did you suddenly become so knowledgeable about grappling hooks and ballistas?”
“I believe the plural is ‘ballisti.’”
“I don't care what the plural is! I just want to know how you supposedly found all of this out!”
Reuben expected it, and it happened. Ayla wasn't able to keep her eyes from flickering into his direction. Both Burchard and Sir Waldar saw it.
“Him?” Burchard demanded. “He told you? Is that why he is here?”
“He is here because he is more experienced in warfare than any of us,” Ayla answered in a quiet voice.
“And how come?” Sir Waldar had now lost interest in cursing and in his empty tankard. He was leaning forward over the table, his little eyes were wandering between Ayla and Reuben. “Who is he, anyway?”
“He’s supposed to be a merchant,” Burchard answered the question. He looked over at Reuben in his monumental, blood-red plate armor with a giant sword strapped to his belt. “Lately, I've begun to have serious doubts about that.”
“Understandable,” grunted Sir Waldar. “I think either he or you owes us an explanation, Milady.”
Reuben tensed. His eyes flashed to Ayla, whose face gave nothing away. Did she intend to give them the truth? If she did, Reuben knew he was finished. Burchard and Captain Linhart would not tolerate a criminal among their number, moreover one who had robbed their mistress. He would be lucky if he was put to death quickly.
He waited, his heart beating faster than usual.
“No,” Ayla said. “I do not have to explain myself to you, and Reuben's secrets are his own. None of that is the real issue here. The issue is: do you trust my judgment? Do you trust my word? Do you trust me to lead you?”
She stood and bent over the table, supporting herself with both hands on the rough wood.
“Or do you doubt the veracity of my word, Sirs? Do you think I would lie to you, do you think I would accuse one of my subjects unjustly?”
They all shrank from her gaze.
Then, the one person Reuben would never have believed capable of making a contribution spoke up.
“T-the facts as you have outlined seem to be undeniable, Milady,” Sir Rudolfus stammered in a low voice. “I do not know much about siege weapons or grappling hooks, but everything as you have outlined it was supported by logical arguments. I cannot deny the truth of your words, however much I might wish to. There is a traitor in the castle.”
Ayla nodded at him. “Thank you, Sir Rudolfus.” Then she turned towards her steward. “Burchard?”
He bit on his over-bushy mustache. “As much as I'd like to deny it, I can't,” he finally admitted. “What you've said makes sense.”
Her gaze wandered towards to Sir Waldar. He grumbled something unintelligible, but he too nodded.
Finally, her gaze landed on Captain Linhart.
“Captain?”
“Aye.” He nodded gravely. “I do not doubt you, Milady.”
“So we're all agreed that we have a traitor among us?” She gave all of them one final chance to object. But, to Reuben's relief, they lowered their eyes and nodded, submitting to her judgment.
“Very well,” she breathed. “Then the only thing that remains is: What are we going to do about it?”
Reuben straightened in his seat. His time to speak had arrived. He hadn't had a chance yet to talk to Ayla about the measures he had already taken to protect the castle from treachery. Last night, she hadn't been in any state for such a discussion. He would have preferred to talk it through quietly with her before discussing it in the open, but they had no time for such luxuries.
“May I speak, Milady?” he asked, using his best courtly voice. It was a bit rusty. He hadn't tried to sound subservient for more than five years in a row now. But he still managed a passable approximation of the tone.
“Certainly, Sir Reuben.” She nodded at him. Burchard's, Rudolphus’s, and Waldar's eyes flew wide open as they heard the title by which she addressed him: Sir—the title of a knight. For a moment, they looked as though they were about to interrupt and start questioning, but they held back.
Captain Linhart was the only one who didn't look very surprised. He had seen Reuben fight.
“Thank you, Milady.” Reuben bowed his head. “I have already taken measures to prevent the traitor from letting our enemies into the castle as he did that one night when you were almost captured. Up until recently, the guards on the wall went on their patrols alone. This makes it easy for a traitor to make contact with the enemy, as he is unsupervised. I have ordered the guards to form groups of three, so that one would always be watched by two others, who could overpower him if need be.”
“Thank you, Sir Reuben.” She nodded and gave him a minuscule smile that warmed Reuben's heart more than the full force of the sun. “That was a wise precaution. Any other suggestions?”
“We could inform the men of the danger,” Captain Linhart suggested. “It would make them more watchful.”
“It would also make them mistrust each other and rob them of confidence,” Reuben pointed out. “Trust me, I have commanded men in battle before. Telling them there is a traitor among them would not be a good idea.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Reuben saw how Burchard again opened his mouth at his mention of having commanded men in battle before, and again, he closed it without saying a word. Apparently for now, the steward would not pester him with further questions. But Reuben saw the question burning in his eyes: What if he's lying? And worse, what if he's telling the truth?
“What else can we do?” Sir Rudolfus inquired. The tremor in his voice was evident.
“Nothing much except tighten security.” Reuben shrugged. “We will have to keep an even closer watch on everything than before. Especially, we must guard the gates.” He turned to Captain Linhart, fixing him with an intent stare to convey the importance of what he was saying. “The traitor will use every opportunity he has to let the enemy into the castle. We cannot allow that to happen. If we are surprised by an attack through our own gates, we are finished. It is as simple as that. You, Captain, will be responsible for having the gates guarded strictly at all times, understood?”
Linhart nodded. “Yes, Sir.”
The title did not pass Reuben's notice. He smiled.
“No, Captain! You will do no such thing.”
His smile disappeared. Slowly, he turned in his seat to look towards the person who had countermanded his orders.
It wasn't Sir Rudolfus.
It wasn't Sir Waldar.
It wasn't even Burchard.
It was Ayla.
He blinked, the wrath he had been preparing to throw at his adversary evaporating in the blink of an eye.
“What?” he asked, flabbergasted.
“I believe my order was perfectly clear,” Ayla said. A dreamy smile had appeared on her lips. She seemed to look into a great distance. “You will not pay any particular attention to the guarding of the gates, Captain. In fact, you will withdraw all guards from the gates. Let it be known among the soldiers that the gate guards have been sent into the orchard to hold vigil at Sir Isenbard's grave.”
Pity welled up in Reuben. He saw the detached smile on Ayla's lips, and it was like a dagger through his heart. This had all been too much for her! She was beginning to lose it. But she couldn't, not now when everything depended on her leadership.
Reuben looked around. Everybody seemed just as surprised as he had been, but nobody had yet found the courage to challenge their mistress' orders.
“Ayla,” he began in a soft voice, but she cut him short.
“Then, after making that proclamation about the gates being unguarded, you will post your six most trustworthy guards hidden in the two towers on either side of the gates and will tell them to watch for anybody approaching. Whosoever comes to the gate that night, and if it only may be to oil the hinges, will be seized on the spot!”
A cold tingle ran down Reuben's spine as he started to understand. Ayla had not cracked under the strain. Not at all. Suddenly, he saw her smile in a different light. It wasn’t the smile of insanity. It was the smile of a commander who had just found out she had won a victory before she had even so much as drawn a sword.
“Do we understand each other?” Ayla demanded, rising from her chair and looking around the table. The five men, including Reuben, rose as one and bowed to her.
“Yes, Milady,” they chorused.
“Very well.” She nodded grimly, and Reuben almost thought he would burst with pride at the sight of the fire in her sapphire eyes. “We will catch this traitor tonight and make our people safe again. That I promise you on my life and my honor!”