Ayla gave herself one day of rest from the work that lay ahead. One day, and no more. She badly needed a day of rest, and besides, it was time to visit her father.
“Hello!” Sticking her head through the door, she lovingly looked down at the old man. “Are you awake?”
“Yes,” he yawned. “I slept like a baby.”
“You didn’t hear anything during the night?”
“No. Why, did something happen?”
“Well…sort of. The siege is ended. We’ve won the feud.”
“What?”
It took Ayla quite a while to convince him that she was not, in fact, making a bad joke. When she had managed to convince him of that, his next theory was that either she had gone mad or he was dreaming and would wake up any minute. It took a good part of the morning to rid him of his doubts.
“But how?” he kept saying, even when he finally believed her. “How could you, Captain Linhart, and the others suddenly achieve this victory? To do that, one would have to be a master tactician and experienced warrior! We have no one like that here!”
Ayla felt a blush creep into her cheeks.
“Ayla?” the Count gave her an intent look. “We have nobody like that here, right?”
“Um…I think I must go,” she mumbled, getting to her feet. “I forgot, there are still wounded to look after, things to arrange, houses to rebuild…”
“Ayla! Come back this instance and explain!”
“Bye!”
And she dived out of the door, down the tower steps. Somehow, up to this point, she had conveniently forgotten to mention a certain lecherous red knight’s presence to her dear father. That would have to be rectified, with a clear head and a wagonload of diplomacy.
For now, Ayla went to the wounded. Yes, it had, at first, only been an excuse to get away from her father’s threatening inquisition, and yes, she had given herself one day off, but only from all the rest of the work. She couldn't sit idly by while there were still people hurting and sick within her walls. So she worked pretty much the whole morning, changing bandages, talking to people, applying salves, and, in one case, holding the hand of an old soldier who had gotten a guisarme in the gut.
“I'm so sorry,” she told him with tears in her eyes. “There's nothing I can do for you.”
The old man smiled a crooked smile. His teeth were uneven and yellow, and half of them were missing. Still, for some reason, it was a beautiful smile.
“Milady, I knew that I was gonna die the moment that pick-sticker cut me open. I've been a soldier for more than thirty years, remember? Don't worry yourself. I've had a good time. I've died the way I've always wanted to: in battle.”
“But I don't want you to!” Ayla protested. “I don't want you to die! I don't want anybody to die!”
The man's smile became softer. He moved his head in what might have been a nod. It might also have been the best attempt at a bow which a dying man could manage.
“It has been an honor to serve you, Milady von Luntberg. I shall give Sir Isenbard your regards.”
Managing a small nod of her own, Ayla attempted to smile. It turned out more like a grimace, but it was the effort that counted.
“You do that,” she sniffed. “And be sure to tell him that I love him.”
The old soldier pressed her hand gently. “I figure he already knows that, Milady. But enough of us boring, old, dying men. I want to talk of the living as long as I still can talk! Are congratulations in order?”
What? Ayla was confused, so much so that it even stopped her tears. What was he talking about?
“You know? That Reuben fellow?” The old soldier winked at her. He actually winked at the mistress of his castle and his liege lady! “Are you going to tie the knot with him?”
Ayla turned as red as beetroot and hid half of her face behind her hands. The old man chuckled.
“It's all right, lass. The reaper will be along to collect me soon. I'm allowed to ask rude questions. Remember, before I go, the priest will come and forgive all my sins.”
Ayla couldn’t help smiling a little at that. “True.”
“So, what about the two of you? Are you two…?”
“I…I think so,” Ayla mumbled. What was she doing? Why was she suddenly opening up about her innermost feelings, fears, and doubts to this man, whom she'd known all her life simply as a friendly face under an iron cap? “Yes, I think so.”
“Is he a good man?”
Ayla gave this question due consideration.
“Well…I'm not too sure about that. I rather think he isn’t. But I think he's the man who could make me happy.”
The old soldier chuckled. “That's often the way it is. Well, Milady, I wish you a happily ever after. You've certainly gotten the right fellow to make sure no harm ever comes to you.”
Ayla looked at him, puzzled. “What do you mean?”
He chuckled again, but this time, it ended in a coughing fit. Ayla held him and tried to soothe him until it had subsided. When finally he could breathe again, the soldier smiled. A trickle of blood ran down the side of his mouth.
“I saw the look in his eyes when that Italian bastard had you. Milady—I've been a soldier all my life. I've seen my share of wroth and hatred. But never in my life did I see a look like that. If you want the advice of an old soldier—take him. He'll go through hell for you.”
Ayla's fingers shook. The words of the old soldier had struck a chord in her, reawakened her deepest fears and darkest questions. For a moment, in front of her inner eye, she saw a hand burning in flames. Reuben’s hand.
“I know,” she whispered. “I'm only afraid he's already been there.”
A frown appeared on the old man's face.
“What do you mea—” Suddenly, he broke off. A violent coughing fit seized him. Ayla tried to soothe him or give him some water, anything, but it would not do.
“Fetch the priest!” she yelled at a passing maid. “Tell him to bring everything for the last rites! Quick!”
The old soldier died within the hour. She never even got a chance to ask his name. Later, another guard told her it was Wigand. Ayla knew she would not forget Wigand for the rest of her life.
There were many others she tried to save that day, some she could help, many others she couldn't. Lunch was no particularly appetizing prospect when she was finally finished looking after all her patients. Yet Ayla went anyway, knowing that it would be her first real meal in a long time. Knowing the castle was besieged, she had reduced her rations and skipped meals for a very long time. Even though her faithful watchdog, Burchard, had done his best to stuff her like a goose at regular intervals, Ayla had more than once given her rations to children or the sick.
She entered the great hall—and suddenly, the buzz of voices around her ceased. Everyone was there: the villagers, the off-duty guards, the servants, maids, cooks, and kitchen boys. Suddenly, they sprang to their feet and started cheering.
“Milady!”
Dilli came running towards Ayla and hugged her without bothering to curtsey. “Milady, where have you been? The enemy is gone! Destroyed! We are safe! You saved us, Milady! We have to celebrate! Where have you been? Oh, thank you for saving us, Milady! Thank you!”
The call was taken up by others. Ayla was grabbed by dozens of hands and lifted on the shoulders of the crowd that streamed towards her. Cheering and throwing their hats into the air, they passed her from hand to hand like a victory trophy.
“Please…let me down! It wasn’t I who saved you! The plan wasn’t my idea! Let me down! We still have a lot of work to do!”
They didn’t hear a word she said.
Finally, she just stopped her useless protests, put on a brave smile, and let them carry her around. Apparently, they didn't seem to think it was enough to carry her to the Lord's table. They carried her three times around the room in an improvised victory parade, calling out her name and blessings on her house.
Shaking her head, Ayla lovingly looked down at the motley mix of faces: bearded wood-cutters and farmers, the old crone of a cook that had been here since her grandfather's days, young boys and girls of every size and shape. She felt a warmth blossom in her heart.
They have a right to celebrate, a thought shot through her mind. They and their families are alive when they thought they would never see the living light of day again.
Finally, the victory parade was stopped by Dilli, who called out, “Shame on you! Shame on you! Milady hasn't had any more to eat than the rest of us—probably less!—and you keep her from her meal! Set her down and get back to your places!”
Chastened, the crowd set Ayla on her feet again.
“Sorry, Milady,” said Bardo the carpenter, twisting his cap in his hand. “We didn't mean no harm. We was just…”
She couldn't help laughing. “Yes, Bardo, I know. I know you didn't mean any harm. On the contrary, you meant good, and I thank you.” She clapped her hands. “Everybody! Back to the tables. Tell the cooks to serve everybody a full meal! Rationing is over. And besides that, everybody will get one cup of my father's best mead!”
A cheer went up.
“Everybody?” Squeaked an excited boy, who was sitting on his father's shoulders. He had to be no more than five years old.
“Everybody except the children, of course,” she corrected herself, which got a few grumbles from the younger people in the room. “For them, it shall be an extra slice of salt pork instead,” she added, an announcement that was greeted with a second cheer.
Soon, the food was ready, and its warm smell filled the hall. It was by no means a real feast laid out before them. even though the siege was over, they still had to be careful, with autumn and winter approaching. But, to the people of Luntberg, every slice of pork was a roasted boar, every sip of mead a bottle of the finest wine.
Ayla, who had contented herself with her usual bowl of gruel, found that it tasted much better than she would have expected. It was still the same gruel, still the same plain fare, but there was a sweetness to it: the sweetness of victory, seasoned with the mustard of peace and the pepper of companionship. Around her, Ayla saw people happily chatting with one another, anticipating a speedy return to their homes down in the valley. Ayla knew that it wouldn't be so easy, but she also knew that the day would come, sooner or later. She would make sure of that. These people deserved a home.
At the very end of the guard's table, she saw two quiet figures: Hans and his wife Madalena. The guard bore a new scar on the left cheek, where a blade had nearly missed his eye during the fighting. She looked at them. They looked at her. Then, slowly and deliberately, they bowed their heads to her, and she nodded in return. Madalena reached down, and from between raucously laughing guards, picked up two girls: tiny little things with shy smiles and identical little pigtails. Anna and Katherine. The moisture glittering in their mother's eyes as she held them and looked at Ayla said more than words ever could.
Ayla ate slowly that day, enjoying her first relaxed meal in weeks. She was one of the last to leave the hall. Having already seen to the wounded that day, she made a tour of the castle, checking how the families that were camped out everywhere were doing. Wherever she went, she was welcomed with warmth and exuberance. The people bowed, laughed, cheered, and, in some cases where familiarity had worn down the feudal distinctions, gave her a hug—a thing she treasured more than all the bows in the world.
“Milady,” one of the women whispered, grasping her hand, “if I may be so bold as to ask…what will become of us now? Our village is still in ruins.”
“Don't be silly,” Ayla told the woman with a reassuring squeeze of the hand. “You'll stay here in the castle of course until all the repairs are completed. It's a bit cramped for so many people, but I think it will be all right, don't you worr—”
Before she could finish, the woman had pulled her into her arms and hugged her tightly.
“Thank you, Milady!” Ayla could hear the half-suppressed tears in her voice. “Thank you! May St. Matilda bless you and all your children!”
“Um…I don't have any,” Ayla pointed out, her ears turning red again.
“Not yet,” the woman replied with a twinkle in her eye. “That’s what Saint Matilda’s for, after all—and that young man of yours.”
Ayla pressed her hand one final time and hurried away before her ears could burn off from embarrassment.
Feeling she needed some fresh air to clear her head and cool off her ears, she went into the courtyard. She expected to see some people there—maybe a few soldiers lounging about, recuperating from the exhausting battle last night. But she saw not a single one. Only at the gate there stood two soldiers, as straight as rulers, their eyes wide open, spears clutched firmly in their hands.
“Your sense of duty is very commendable,” she said, approaching them with a smile. “But I would have thought you had earned a day in bed. The enemy is beaten, after all.”
They bowed simultaneously, their backs stiff enough for a parade.
“The enemy is never far away, Milady!” declared the one on the left, as if it were one of the ten commandments.
“We must be always vigilant, Milady!” exclaimed the other in the exact same tone.
Their eyes never moved. When they had finished with their bow, they just stood mute, staring forward.
“Um…I'm sure you do,” she said hesitantly.
“It is our greatest honor to serve you, Milady,” they proclaimed in unison. “We would die for you if you commanded, Milady. Your word is our command.”
“Well, thanks.” Bewildered, Ayla looked from one impassive face to the other. What was going on here? “Do you know where everybody is?”
“Outside, Milady.”
“Thank you.”
The soldier bowed again, even deeper this time. “There is no need to thank me, Milady. It is the greatest honor in the life of this unworthy worm to serve a lady such as yourself!”
Quickly, Ayla hurried out through the inner gate in search of the rest of their soldiers. Had they all been struck by a strange epidemic? Some form of madness? She couldn't explain this strange behavior any other way. And what of Reuben? He had recently come into contact with the soldiers a lot. Had he contracted the same illness?
In the outer courtyard, she found Reuben. He was standing there in his red armor, hands on his hips and a self-satisfied grin on his face as he oversaw his work. Ayla's eyes widened, and she stopped in her tracks when she saw what was going on:
Several soldiers, armed with broomsticks and dustpans, were clearing the courtyard of all remainders of the battle in record speed. Others were atop the wall, running laps around the castle in full armor. A third group practiced archery at an improvised range erected against the soldiers barracks. Ayla noticed that the targets were arranged in such a way that if the soldiers wouldn't hit them, their stray arrows would punch through the wall of their barrack and probably bury themselves in one of their mattresses. That would yield uncomfortable nightly surprises.
What in God’s name…?
“Reuben,” she demanded, marching forward to stand beside him, “what is going on here?”
“Ah, Milady.” Smirking, Reuben gave a little bow. Then he turned to the soldiers again, with a proud look in his eyes. “I'm glad you have seen fit to visit us. Everything is coming along wonderfull, don't you think?”
“Well, I can't really say, because I still don't know what exactly is happening here!”
“Isn't it obvious? We are training.”
“We?” inquired Ayla, looking at Reuben, who, unlike everybody else in the courtyard, leisurely leaned against a barrel, not moving a muscle.
“Of course,” Reuben said, not getting her meaning. “These fellows were quite lax at the beginning, but it is amazing what a little discipline will do. You there!”
Ayla jumped back as Reuben suddenly turned his voice into a deafening roar that could be heard across the entire courtyard. His shout seemed to be directed at a man who had just entered the gate. Ayla frowned. The gate? But hadn't the portcullis been inoperable? Now, it seemed to be perfectly fine. It was raised for the man to enter, and then immediately closed again.
“Report!” Reuben yelled, his voice slightly, but not very much, lower. The soldier came running over and stopped abruptly about five feet from them, bowing first to Ayla, then to Reuben.
“Greetings, Milady. Greetings, Sir Reuben. All has been done as you wished, Sir Reuben, Sir.”
“The scouts?” the red knight growled.
“Are out searching the country in all directions. One has been sent to the village and one to the enemy camp. Men stand ready to retrieve them from danger if they do not return at the set time. A party to plunder the enemy camp of any useful weapons and items is being assembled as we speak, Sir!”
“You have done passable work. You may now join the archery practice. Stay an hour longer than the others. Just because I had an errand for you does not mean I can afford for you to be a worse archer.”
“Yes, Sir Reuben! Thank you, Sir Reuben! It is my greatest honor to serve, Lady Ayla!”
Bowing two more times, he turned on the spot and ran off towards the archery range. Ayla looked after him, open-mouthed.
“Beautiful, don't you think?” Reuben asked as he proudly watched the soldier snatching up a bow and arrow, sneaking an anxious glance over his shoulder at his new commander.
“Um, yes, I'm sure…but don't you think this is a bit harsh?” Ayla indicated. “After all, we've won the feud. It's peacetime.”
“The best time to prepare for a war is when there isn't one going on,” Reuben declared. “When there is, you're often too busy fighting.”
“Yes, but maybe…”
“What?”
Maybe you should do what I say because I'm the mistress of this castle.
But then again, she had put him in charge of defense, and he probably knew what he was doing. She would give it two weeks, she decided. If none of her men had collapsed from exhaustion by then, it was probably all right.
“Nothing,” she said brightly. “Carry on. Just one more thing…”
“Yes?”
“Would you like to come on a ride with me later? I have to survey the damage outside the castle.”
Plus, that would give her men at least a small rest break. While he was gone, he couldn’t hound them.
He smiled his most ravishing smile and indicated a bow. “It would be my pleasure, Milady. As soon as my patrols have returned and assured me that the enemy camp is empty and all of Luntberg is completely safe.”
“Wonderful.” Once again, a warm feeling rose in Ayla's heart. “It has been far too long since I have ridden Eleanor.”
“The same goes for me and Satan.”
The warm feeling disappeared in a puff of sulfur. Ayla scowled. “Are you going to rename him or not?” she demanded.
His smile widening into a devilishly handsome grin, Reuben shook his head. “Not ever.”
“You will! I'll make you, you'll see. I'll think of something.”
“I shall look forward to it, Milady.”
Turning, Ayla went back the way she had come. She made sure that Reuben was out of hearing range before she allowed the giggle that had been building up inside her to burst forth. Somehow, suddenly, the fact that his horse was named after the lord of the pit and king of demons didn't seem like such a horrible thing after all. Not if he smiled at her like that.
As she stepped into the inner courtyard again, both guards bowed deeply.
“Did you find everything you wished for, Milady?” they asked in unison, eyes straight.
“Yes, I did, thank you.”
“There's no need to thank us, Milady. It is the greatest honor for us unworthy worms to serve…”
“Don't worry,” Ayla interrupted them with a mild smile. “Sir Reuben is busy hounding the others. He can't hear you.”
The guards halted.
“Really?” The left one asked hopefully, raising his gaze to meet her eyes. Before that, he had been looking deferentially at the ground.
“Really,” she assured him.
“Oh, thank God!” He slumped against the wall behind him, wiping sweat from his face. “You don't know how it's been, Milady! Always thinking he's behind you, and just when you don't, he's suddenly there and starts shouting in your ear 'Stand straight!' and 'Eyes Front!' and what else he comes up with! It's been hell on earth, Milady, let me tell you!”
“You have my sympathies,” Ayla offered. “I'll take him out for a ride later. You can sneak off for a mug of ale.”
The guards sighed in contentment.
“Heaven's gifts are plentiful,” the left one remarked.
“And varying in quality,” the other guard reminded him. “Don't forget he'll be coming back.”
“That's right.” The left guard made a face. “I'd better learn to stand with a board tucked into my tunic.”
“This fellow, Reuben,” the other guard wanted to know of Ayla, “will he be moving along soon, now that the siege is over? Or will he be staying longer?”
Ayla blushed. “I think so. At least, I hope so. Much longer.”
The left guard, who seemed to be the quicker of the two, must have picked up on the dreamy, far-off look in her eyes. His eyes widened.
“Milady! You aren't going to…with him?”
“If he wants me.”
The two guards looked at each other.
“And we thought we had something to complain about,” the left one said. The right one nodded, and then bowed to Ayla again.
“May God have mercy on you, Milady.”