by Robert Thier
So he just repeated his stupid question. “What's the matter?”
“Nothing, nothing.” She waved away his concerns. “It all got a bit too much for me, I guess. I'll be right as rain again in the morning.”
No, you won't. Because, before the morning, I must tell you what I discovered.
But he didn’t say that. Instead, he murmured, “Yes, of course. Let's go back to the keep, though, all right? After two attacks on the castle, I'm taking no chances. I want you in the safest place possible.”
She looked up at him then, her sapphire eyes wide open, questioning. “You want me safe?”
He nodded, feeling his heart swell painfully. Satan’s hairy ass! Why did love have to be so damn painful? It was supposed to be a good thing, wasn’t it?
“Always,” he whispered.
“I want you safe, too,” she whispered back, reaching up to touch his cheek, once, briefly. It was the first time she had touched him so deliberately in a long time, and it made Reuben's heart swell even more. The pain drained away to be replaced by a flood of heat. This! This was what love was supposed to feel like! “I just wish,” she continued, still looking up at him, “that this whole feud was over and everybody were safe and you and I could…”
“Yes?” Reuben hardly dared to breathe. “Could what?”
She bit her lip. “Nothing.”
For a moment, Reuben thought about persisting, but then she swayed again, and he reprimanded himself for being so selfish. But then, it was hardly surprising. Being selfish was his favorite pastime, and it would take some effort on his part to break the habit where Ayla was concerned.
After only a few more minutes, they had reached the steps of the keep. At the door, Ayla hesitated, looking up at Reuben again and smiling weakly.
“I hope you don't mind what I said.”
“What you said? I don't understand?” Reuben shook his head in confusion. “Do you mean your speech to the villagers? But Ayla, you were magnificent.”
“I meant that thing… That thing about Isenbard being a knight the like of which we shall never see again. I didn't mean to belittle you or anything. It just seemed appropriate.”
Of all the things she could be worrying about, she was concerned about offending him! He returned her smile and pressed her hand.
“Don't worry. You said it yourself—Sir Isenbard was an honorable knight. So he was definitely better than me, because I am not.”
A noise came out of her throat. He wasn't exactly sure whether it was a little laugh or a sob. Maybe both. Or maybe neither.
“Let's get you inside. You look exhausted.” Reuben reached out and held the door open for her. Then, as she started to move, he gently shouldered her aside and marched into the hallway before she could.
“That's not very courtly of you,” Ayla muttered.
“So?” he replied with a smirk.
“So you’ve proven your point. Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For the attempt to cheer me up.”
He smirked at her. “Did it work?”
In return, she gave him her best attempt at a smile. “Not really. But it's nice to know that somebody cares enough to try.”
“I care.” Taking her hand again, he pressed it gently. “I care very much.”
One of her eyebrows rose enquiringly. “Enough to be a courtly knight and let the lady through the door first the next time?”
“Hmmm…” With his free hand, Reuben scratched his chin. “Let me think…no. Not that much.”
“I thought so.” She returned his gentle squeeze. “You are a scoundrel.”
“An abominable one.”
In companionable silence, they walked up the stairs together, holding hands. Then, in front of Reuben's room, they halted.
“Well…I suppose…” Ayla hesitated for a moment. “I suppose you'll stay here? The racket is over, I have well-rested guards in front of my chambers again. So I don't need your protection around the clock anymore.”
She didn't seem all that pleased about it. At any other time, Reuben would have smiled, pleased as the devil on holiday in Babylon by the fact that she didn't want to let him go. But now—now he actually wanted to go, to escape before he had to tell her the painful truth. But it was impossible. It had to be now. He could not delay any longer.
“Come in for a moment, will you?” he asked. “There's something I have to talk to you about.”
He could see that he had taken her slightly off guard with that. So he just entered his room and held the door open for her to follow. She did so eventually, a puzzled expression on her face.
“All right.” Reuben firmly closed the door behind her, then went to the window to pull close the wooden shutters that normally were used to keep the cold night wind out. In this case, they would be used to keep prying ears from overhearing what he had to say. This information was too dangerous to be spread around. If just one other person besides Ayla got wind of it, the rumors would spread like a wildfire and do untold damage.
“Reuben?” Ayla's look of bewilderment had increased. Reuben could see that even in the near total darkness that now filled the room. With two flints, he lit a candle on the table and, as its light cut through the darkness, sat down on one of the chairs.
“Reuben? What are you doing?”
Without answering, he motioned for Ayla to take the other one. She did so, looking at him intently, trying to read his face.
“You remember the night you were almost abducted?” he asked. “The first night mercenaries intruded into the castle?”
Her lips twitched. “I'm not likely to forget it, am I? You saved my life that night.”
Reuben shrugged. He wasn't looking for praise. Not right now, anyway.
“Do you remember how the mercenaries managed to get into the castle?”
“Some kind of large metal hook, wasn't it?” Ayla asked, frowning slightly. “They had a rope attached to it.”
“Exactly.” Reuben gave a nod. “A grappling hook. We thought they had thrown it over the wall to get in.”
“We thought?” Ah. She had picked up on the emphasis in his words right away. Even in the dark, Reuben could see the frown forming on her face. “That's what happened, isn't it?”
“I went down into the dungeon…examined the grappling hook.”
“Yes, and?”
Reuben took a deep breath, remembering her oration earlier tonight, remembering her extolling the loyalty and bravery of her people. He couldn't do this, couldn't tell her! But he had to. There was no other choice.
*~*~**~*~*
Ayla stared at Reuben's face intently. Something was going on. Reuben wasn't behaving normally. Well…of course he wasn't. After all, he was Reuben.
But he wasn't even behaving strangely in the usual way. He wasn't cursing, wasn't cutting people into pieces or making lecherous remarks. He just sat there, looking grim.
“Reuben? What is it?” She grabbed his hand. “Reuben, please. If you suspect another threat from Falkenstein or something, you must tell me.”
His lips twitched for a moment.
“No, not from Falkenstein, I'm afraid, Ayla.”
“I don't understand. What do you mean?”
“Ayla…I'm so sorry. The grappling hook could not have been thrown over the outer wall. It is too high.”
Ayla's confusion only increased. Was that all?
“So? If it couldn’t have been thrown, they used a catapult.” She frowned. Why was he bothering her with such trivialities?
“No, they did not.” He shook his head, his eyes burning as if besieging her for forgiveness. Forgiveness for what? “As I said, I went down there to examine the grappling hook. It's not the kind that can be thrown by a siege engine. It could not have been thrown or shot up from below.”
“And?”
“Ayla, don't you see?”
A cold shiver ran down Ayla's spine. Not from below… If not from below, then from where? There was only one possible answer.
“Reuben…what are you saying?”
But, even as she asked, she already knew the answer. She knew from the tortured expression in his eyes.
“Ayla, I'm sorry, I don't know any other way to say this…” He swallowed, once, hard. “There's a traitor in the castle.”
Terrible Truth
The man on the wall looked back and forth between his comrades right beside him and the slowly dispersing crowd down in the orchard beside the keep. Now was not the time to act. The old knight’s funeral was only just over. Everyone was still agitated, and all the other guards were doubly cautious because of Sir Isenbard's death. Now was not the time. Not yet.
But soon, an opportunity would present itself. And then the castle would fall.
Another guard strolled up the allure and nodded to him. “Seen anything suspicious?”
“No,” he answered. “Nothing at all. The night is quiet, and we are safe.”
*~*~**~*~*
Ayla stared at Reuben, uncomprehending. Oh, she had understood the words he had said, all right. All of them were perfectly normal words. But together, in that order…?
There's a traitor in the castle.
It didn't make any sense. Surely her ears were playing tricks on her.
“What?” she asked. “What did you say?”
He must have meant something else than what it had sounded like. He must have.
“A traitor. In the castle,” Reuben repeated.
“But…I don't understand. A traitor to what?”
“A traitor to us, Ayla. A traitor who fastened that grappling hook from atop the wall and let down the rope to the mercenaries. A traitor who wants to hand you and everybody else in the castle over to the Margrave on a silver platter.”
Reuben's voice had turned grim at the end, and he spat on the ground. At any other time, Ayla would have reprimanded him sharply for that, but not now. Not with what he had just told her. There was room for nothing else in her head. Cold claws gripped her heart and squeezed painfully, making her whole body shudder.
“No! No, no, no! That cannot be! I refuse to believe it!”
Tears ran down Ayla's face. They weren't tears of grief now, as they had been during the funeral. They were tears of anger, and in her anger, she lashed out. Her fist slammed into Reuben’s chest.
“You! How dare you suggest such a thing? You of all people dare accuse another of lies and treachery?”
She could see the flash of anger in Reuben's eyes as her words hit, but at the moment, she didn't care. She wasn't going to let him do this. She wasn't going to let him slander the people who had sacrificed so much to protect her. She was not going to let him cast even the slightest shade of doubt on their loyalty!
Reuben swallowed. In his eyes, pain fought for control with his rage.
“How I dare?” he asked in a dangerously low voice. “Well, let's just say that I am an expert at treachery and lies. You yourself should know that all too well. So one might say I am the person best qualified to spot treachery.”
“Oh, an expert in treachery, are you?” Ayla shot to her feet. She was so furious, she needed to look down on him, not up to him! “Just because you have no honor doesn't mean the rest of us are traitors and criminals! My people are loyal and brave, every last one them! Do you hear me? Every last one!”
Reuben, too, shot to his feet. His steely gray eyes glinted threateningly. “Oh, really? Every last one? Even the one who sold you to the mercenaries?”
“Stop saying that! It isn't true!”
“It is. There's a traitor in the castle, and no matter how much you shout, that fact isn't going to change!”
Ayla felt moisture in her eyes. But she couldn't cry now. Not when she had to stand up for her people. Not when she had to fight for their honor. She couldn't believe Reuben was doing this to her, on this very night, when the earth over Isenbard’s grave was still fresh. She felt as though her heart was being ripped in two.
“It is true,” Reuben repeated.
“Liar!” she shot at him.
“Liar? You think I am lying to you?”
“It wouldn't be the first time!”
“Right! That's it!”
Reuben took a step forward and before she could move, he had gripped her by the forearms. For just a moment Ayla was afraid of what he intended to do to her—but he just turned her to face the chair.
“I'm going to prove it to you,” he said in a low, dangerous voice. “I will not have you think of me as a liar. Never, ever again! Look at this chair! Do you see how the backrest is lowest in the middle and goes further up left and right?”
“Yes?” Ayla whispered, cautiously. Where was he going with this? She had seen this old chair a hundred times before.
Reuben was now standing behind her, facing towards the chair with her. He bent over her back, and whispered in her ear, “Imagine the higher parts on the side are the crenels, and the middle is the indentation between them.”
“Yes?”
“Now imagine this!”
Suddenly letting go of her, Reuben darted around the chair. Kneeling down on the other side, he thrust his arm out from below, between the two higher parts of the backrest.
“Imagine the grappling hook coming from below. Do you know how a grappling hook is used?”
“It can be thrown by hand.” Ayla's voice was hoarse. The way Reuben was staring at her, so intense, sent her heart hammering.
“Yes, it can. But this particular specimen is too heavy to be thrown by a man. Do you believe me when I say this?” His steely gaze bored into her. “Or do you think I'm a liar?”
She shook her head. “No. Isenbard said much the same thing to me before…before he…”
She couldn't finish the sentence.
For a moment, the anger vanished from Reuben's eyes, and she saw a flicker of something she had never seen there before. If she hadn’t known him better, she might have thought it was compassion. But then it was gone, and the rage came back in full force.
“Excellent! So what else could have happened?”
“The grappling hook can be thrown by a catapult.”
“Ah!” Reuben raised a finger. “Quite right. But not any kind of catapult. It can only be shot by a ballista.”
“A what?”
“A grappling hook is not a stone or some other sphere-shaped missile that can just be thrown through the air. It needs to be aimed precisely, and the only way to do that is to shoot it like an arrow from a giant metal bow. There's only one kind of catapult like that, and it’s called a ballista.”
He jumped to his feet and, with two steps, was over at the wall, from where he took a hunting bow that hung there for decoration. Striding back to the chair and kneeling again, he quickly drew back the string and pointed the weapon at Ayla.
She flinched. She couldn't help it. Even though there was no arrow put to the string, the sight of Reuben regarding her coldly over a potentially deadly weapon was too intense to not shake her to her core and far too familiar.
“You see?” He said in a low voice. “Like this.”
He turned the bow until it was horizontal.
“Except for the fact that the bows of ballistas are level, not upright, they work exactly the same as a normal bow. You pull the string back, and…wham!”
He let go of the bowstring, and it snapped forward. Again, Ayla flinched, and this time took a step back.
“The ballista’s giant bow,” Reuben continued unperturbed, “is laid sideways on a wooden construction. The string, which is too strong to be pulled back with just the strength of your arms, is pulled back by a lever and various mechanisms, and a giant metal arrow is placed on the bow string. This can be anything—from a normal arrow which is simply of abnormal size, meant to wreak havoc in an enemy army, to a grappling hook such as the one which the mercenaries used to enter this castle.”
“So?” Ayla demanded, trying to keep her voice from quivering. “That only proves what I’ve been saying: that the g
rappling hook must have been shot from below!”
“No, it doesn't.”
Reuben sprang up again. Throwing the bow aside, he came towards her and gripped her by the shoulders. “Don't you see, Ayla? In order to be shot by a ballista, the grappling hook must be part of a metal arrow.”
“And why couldn't it have been an arrow?” Ayla protested. She could feel where this was inevitably leading, and she was determined to struggle against it with all her might. Tears stung her eyes again, and she blinked them away. “It looked pretty arrowish to me!”
“It was no arrow because it had no notch.” Reuben's eyes were merciless. He took something from behind his back: an arrow, which he had picked from the wall along with the bow, without Ayla realizing it. “See?” Flipping the arrow around, he showed Ayla the notch, a small indentation which was used to fix the arrow on the string, right at the back. “Without this, any grappling hook isn’t an arrow, but simply a sharp piece of metal.”
He took a step towards her, holding her captive with his gaze. “A piece of metal that had to be fixed between the crenels of the wall from above, by a traitor among our own soldiers. That is the only possible solution.”
“No,” she whispered. “No, it's not possible. You…you're lying, you…”
His hands came up, gripping her by her shoulders so tightly it hurt.
“I'm not lying!” he shouted. The roar of his voice made her ears ring.
“It's not true!” she shouted back, pounding on his chest. “It's not true! It can't be true!”
That was when the tears started in earnest and dashed down in waterfalls over her cheeks. She collapsed forward onto Reuben’s chest and, a moment later, his arms were around her, holding her close, rocking her.
“It…can't be…” she sobbed.
“I'm so sorry,” he murmured into her ear. “Oh Ayla, I'm so terribly sorry.”
That night, Ayla didn't return to her chambers. There were some things that you just couldn’t handle without being held.
