by Robert Thier
“Did he, now.” Thoughtfully, the old knight stroked his white beard. For a moment, she could have sworn his eyes flickered towards the keep, to the window of Reuben's room. But no, he couldn't possibly…
“How did the intruders get in?” he asked suddenly, breaking her train of thoughts.
“That I don't know,” she admitted, frowning. “Captain Linhart and a few of his men started to search the perimeter last night. I haven't gone to inquire after the results yet, so I don't know what they might have found.”
“I think we're about to find out,” said Burchard, pointing along the allure. “Look!”
A few dozen feet away, Captain Linhart and two soldiers were hurrying along the battlements towards them, grim expressions on their faces.
The Rathole
“We've found it,” were Captain Linhart's first words, as soon as he was close enough to be heard. “Come.”
He led Ayla, Burchard, and Isenbard along the battlements, until they reached a section that was out of sight of the main tower. The perfect spot for an attack. Between two of the crenels, a strange metal object was fastened: hook-shaped and sharp, like several giant serpent-teeth fastened together, it looked like it wanted to bite its way right through the stone of the castle wall. In the very center, a rope was attached, falling down on the outside of the wall.
“What is that?” asked Ayla, aghast.
“It's called a grappling hook,” said Isenbard darkly. “They're not as common in sieges as they used to be. As the walls of castles got higher, it's been getting harder and harder to throw them high enough—that’s why armies use siege towers nowadays. I wouldn't have thought a grappling hook could be thrown this high, or I would have mentioned the matter. They must have a man in their army with an arm like Hercules, or they have one of those confounded new machines, like a giant crossbow on wheels. I've heard they can shoot grappling hooks incredibly high.”
Slowly, Ayla approached the thing and viewed it from different directions. “So…it's thrown or shot up, over the wall. And then? How do the people down there know it will catch on something?”
“They don't. If it slides back over the wall and falls, they have to throw again. And it's a quite dangerous way of climbing a wall, because you never know whether whatever your hook is holding onto will be strong enough to hold your weight. You can pull at it, test it to a certain extent, but, in the end, the rope might still give way, and you will fall to your death.”
Ayla shivered. “All right. Have that grizzly thing removed immediately. Is there any way we can prevent these from being used again?”
“Apart from keeping a closer watch? No, Milady, I'm sorry.”
“Don't be sorry, Uncle,” she told curtly. Saying that there was no need to apologize wouldn’t be any good. He wouldn’t believe her. Better work in the penance he thought he deserved. “Just make sure it never happens again. I hereby declare you fit to serve me again and reinstate you as commander of my guards. I am sure you will keep a good watch and prevent such a thing from reoccurring.”
The old knight bowed.
“As you command, Milady!” Then he hurried off, shouting orders to some nearby guards.
I will have to force him to sleep regularly, Ayla thought with a wry smile. But it was worth it. If I'll see another grappling hook in my lifetime, my name is Rumpelstiltskin.
She looked over the wall. It really was very high up—so high it was hardly credible that any human could have thrown that massive metal hook all the way up here. Had they used a machine? But there were no tracks of any such machine down on the ground. Squinting, she stepped closer to the breastwork. Suddenly, the distant ground seemed to move all on its own: it fled backwards, then rushed forwards again.
Reaching out to grab the wall, she missed and grasped empty air instead. She stumbled and grabbed again, just managing to get a hold on one of the crenels to steady herself. Burchard jumped forward and grabbed her by the shoulders.
“Milady! What's the matter?”
“Nothing. I just feel a bit odd… Maybe it's the height.”
“You've never been afraid of heights. What is really up?”
“Nothing, I…”
Her stomach rumbled, both interrupting and betraying her.
Behind her, she could feel Burchard stiffen. The hairs of his mustache tickled her neck as it bristled, dangerously.
“When did you last eat?”
“Err…”
“When did you last eat, girl?”
Maybe Ayla should have been offended at his address, but she suddenly felt like she was five years old again and being scolded for not finishing her dinner.
“Um…there was this apple…”
“When, exactly?”
“Two or three days ago.”
This time, the hairs of his mustache bristling tickled her so fiercely, she almost laughed. Almost. She did her best to suppress it. Showing levity right now would definitely be unwise.
“And,” he growled in her ear, “this apple that you ate two or three days ago, how big was it? Melon-sized? Because you better hope it was!”
“Um…now that you mention it, I didn't actually eat it. I gave it to Eleanor as a treat.”
“You gave it to…Good God above, girl, have you lost your mind? What were you thinking, trying to starve yourself to death?”
“We are besieged,” she defended herself. “We must ration our food!”
“There is a difference between rationing and starvation! In case you don’t know, the difference is that, after the former, you’re still alive. You're coming along with me right now and won't go out of my sight until you've got a good, square meal under your belt, understand?”
“Burchard, you're my steward,” she tried to assert her authority. “You can't just…”
He turned her around, and…Oh dear. His mustache was really bristling, like a cat’s tail in a thunderstorm. This wasn’t a good sign.
“Do. You. Understand?”
“Yes, Burchard.”
“So where are we going now?”
“To the kitchens, Burchard.”
“Exactly. Come along.”
*~*~**~*~*
There was a knock at the door.
“May I come in?”
Reuben sat up on his bedstead. He'd know that voice anywhere.
He knew it! A grin flickered at the edges of his mouth. He knew she’d come running! No woman on earth could resist his charms. Hmm…How long would it take for him to get her to change into her paradise costume?[12]
Not long, probably. He could hear how weak her voice was. Obviously, his words out in the courtyard had done their work. She was ripe and ready to be plucked.
“Sure,” he said jovially. “It's your castle, after all.”
She opened the door and just stood there for a moment. “Yes, I know. But it's your room. I couldn't just come in without knocking. You might not have been decent.”
A grin spread over Reuben's face. “I'm never decent,” he whispered, laying all the innuendo into his words that he could summon. And he could summon quite a lot. “Dressed, maybe, but not decent.”
He expected a retort, or maybe a slap in the face, which could lead to more intimate contact—instead, she hardly seemed to notice his words. Blinking, as if concentrating on standing upright, she walked over to him, teetering every now and again.
Reuben frowned. She didn’t look like the lust-ridden creature he’d been expecting and hoping for. She didn’t even look remotely desiring or passionate. Instead, she looked rather queasy.
At his bedside, she hesitated for a moment. “May I sit down for a little while?” She swayed again, putting a hand on her stomach. “I…think I need to sit down. I feel a little full at the moment.”
“Um…sure.” Not quite sure what she meant by that, Reuben gestured to the space beside him. “It's your bed, too. By all means.”
“Thanks.”
She slumped down onto the bed beside him, leaning her head aga
inst his shoulder, closing her eyes and groaning with relief. Reuben would have liked to believe the reason for the groan was her incredible, insuppressible sexual attraction to him, but somehow, he doubted it.
Still, things could always change. Carefully, he snaked his arm around her shoulders and held her. She didn't seem to mind. But she didn’t throw herself at him either. How disappointing.
Another groan escaped Ayla’s throat. “Have you ever been forced to eat an entire loaf of brown bread, six sausages, and one roasted chicken?”
“Can't say that I have,” mused Reuben, caressing her shoulder with a thumb. Her dress didn’t sit very tightly, there. Maybe he’d be able to work it off her shoulder if he was patient. “I have been forced to eat rats, once, though. Does that help?”
Her eyes flew open, and she jerked, pulling the shoulder of her dress out of his reach. God’s toenails!
“Rats? Real rats?”
He smirked. This had apparently impressed her. If she’d only let him impress her in other ways…“Well, they weren't imaginary ones.”
“Dear me,” she muttered, still looking dazed. “In that case, I guess I should feel lucky. If you don't mind me asking…how did they taste?”
“The rats?”
Slowly, he started moving his hand up towards her shoulder again. The strap there was still hanging temptingly loosely.
“Yes.”
He shook his head solemnly. “Sorry, I can't tell you.”
Ayla scowled at him and sat up straight. Again, the strap was outside his reach. God’s toenails, and fingernails, with all the dirt of a thousand years!
“And why not?” she demanded.
“Because I would have to use certain words in the description—words that, I've been told recently, are not fit for the ears of a lady.”
Her adorable scowl deepened, and Reuben was just beginning to have fun, in spite of her still being dressed, when her expression was replaced by one of pain.
“Why were you forced to eat rats?” she whispered.
Reuben’s hand stopped halfway to her shoulder. An image flashed in front of his mind's eye: dirty walls, rusted shackles, clotted blood…No! He didn't want to think of the dungeon. Not here, not now, not while he was with her. For the first time in days, she was looking at him without hatred and suspicion. He couldn’t shatter that with the darkness that was inside him.
“I've been in a lot of tight places,” he replied with an evasive wave of his hand. “Nothing to worry about now.”
She was about to contradict him—but he didn't want to waste their time worrying about troubles of the past. They had more than enough troubles of the present to deal with. Sighing, he let his hand fall away from her shoulder. Now wasn’t the time. There were things he needed to find out.
“So, tell me,” he asked, “have you found out how those bastards got into the castle, yet?”
“Yes. Captain Linhart came and showed me—” She suddenly broke off and glared at him disapprovingly. And he wasn’t even trying to take her clothes off right now.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“What did I tell you about using foul language in my castle?”
“Hmm…actually, I can’t remember.”
Her glare intensified, and she crossed her arms. But Reuben was not to be outdone by a girl. He glared back at her, knowing full well that his glare was ten times as potent as hers. All those years of intimidating people on the road into giving him their money with just a wink of his eye paid off now. He was not going to allow her to sidetrack him. Not when her safety was at stake.
“How did they get in?” he repeated sternly.
Ayla sighed. “Well, it’s like this…”
Reuben listened intently, while Ayla explained about finding the grappling hook. Even before she ceased speaking, he could feel worry creeping up in him. He had taken a close look at the castle wall. He always took a close look at anything connected with war and battle. What Ayla told him didn't quite add up.
Throwing a grappling hook up that wall sounded incredibly hard, if not impossible. Yet, if it wasn’t thrown, there was only one alternative. One he didn’t like to consider.
Satan’s hairy ass! Let me be wrong. Please, let me be wrong!
Sir Reuben the Coward
Ayla watched Reuben anxiously. She had just finished telling him about the grappling hook, and now his forehead lay in creases. He was obviously worried about something.
“Reuben? What is it?”
“How high is your castle wall, exactly?” he suddenly demanded.
“The outer wall?”
“Yes.”
“I couldn't say… You would have to ask Isenbard. Why?”
Reuben shook his head. “It may be nothing, but I'd like to talk to him. Could you send him in here to talk to me?” He grinned. “I don't think my guards would take kindly to me wanting to take another stroll out of my room, considering the rather forceful way I asked their permission last time.”
“You mean bashing in their faces?”
He grinned. “Yes, exactly.”
Ayla had to fight the urge to grin back at him. This wasn’t supposed to be funny. But it still kind of was, in a way she felt very guilty about.
But then the urge to smile left her. He still thought he was being guarded. She took a deep breath. This was the moment to tell him of her decision.
“There will be no more guards stationed outside your room from this moment on.”
There was a moment of silence, during which Reuben looked at her steadily. “So you finally trust me?”
“Trust you?” She let out a choked giggle. “Never in a thousand years! I just don't want any more of my men to have their ribs squashed and noses broken!”
Reuben let out a bark of laughter, Ayla joined in, and soon they were both howling with laughter. It felt good to laugh again, after so long a time.
“A very wise policy, Milady,” chuckled the robber knight.
Ayla tried to contain her mirth and look at him sternly. “We shouldn't be laughing about this. And you should apologize to the men you injured.”
Reuben snorted derisively. “Why in the Devil's name would I do that?”
“Because you injured them! And I told you not to swear in my castle!”
“They were in my way. And I'll swear wherever I damn well please!”
“You could have asked them to step aside. And this is my castle, and you will abide by my rules.”
“Considering that you had a knife at your throat at the time, I didn't think it was the time for polite conversation. And I don't follow the rules of God, the Pope, or the Emperor—so why should I follow those of a little lady like yourself?”
“If you had explained everything, they would have helped you. And as for your question…Let me think…hmm, maybe because the little lady will have you put in the stocks if you don't?”
He quirked an eyebrow. With tangles of dark hair hanging into his face, he looked unbelievably devious and desirable. Ayla ached to reach out and touch him, hold him—but she restrained herself. Last night, she had only sought comfort in his arms, but she knew that, if she touched him now, it would be for more than comfort. For things that were forbidden.
“They would only have been in my way,” Reuben told her. “And your threats of punishment are getting less impressive day by day. First, it was hanging, then being thrown out of a window, and now only the stocks?” He smirked at her. “You should really try to be more creative.”
Ayla pouted and glowered at him, although there were other things she wanted to do far more. “I will only be too happy to oblige!”
“If you can't think of anything else, being put on the rack is always a classic people are glad to see. Or you could use a brazen bull, if you want.”
“What in God's name is a brazen bull?”[13]
His smirk didn't waver, nor did his voice as he said, “You wouldn’t want to know.”
The way he said that told Ayla more than a
ny horrible description ever could. And yet, the way he said it was so cool, so off-hand, as if it were nothing special to die a torturous death.
With a shiver, the memories came flooding back into her mind. Memories she had done her best to forget: Reuben standing on the wall, holding fire in his hand. Reuben forcing the fire down on the mercenary, lord of the flames, like Satan himself. How had he been able to do that without collapsing from the pain? What dark, demonic secrets were there in his past?
She glanced at him.
Should she ask? Could she dare? What if he wouldn't tell her? Worse even—what if he would?
“Would you scream in pain from this brazen bull?” The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could hold them back.
He regarded her intently.
“That depends. Do you mean 'you' as in ‘somebody,’ or ‘you’ as in ‘you.’”
She took a deep breath. “The latter. If it were used on you, Reuben, would you scream?”
There was a moment of silence.
Finally, he said, “I didn't the last time.”
Oh dearest Lord above, thought Ayla, hardly able to keep her tears from flowing. What must his eyes have seen?
She could have asked him in that moment. Yes, she could have. She felt almost certain he might have answered.
Instead, she softly asked, “How's your hand?”
He looked at her with an emotion she couldn't quite decipher. Then, his devilish grin reappeared on his face, and he shrugged. “Quite well, actually. The gauntlet protected from the heat better than I would have expected.”
“Then why are you hiding it behind your back?” she asked suspiciously.
“I'm not hiding it. I just happen to hold it there, that's all.”
“Then why don't you hold it somewhere else for a minute? Under my nose, for example, so I can examine it.”
“Really, it's fine. You don't need to…”
“Reuben?”
“Yes, Milady?”
“Hold out your hand this minute, or I'll wrestle it from behind your back!”
His grin widened. “That might be fun. I'm all for it. Who knows, we might end up passionately fornica—“
