by Robert Thier
Ayla pressed her hands, looking deep into her eyes.
“Really?” She lifted an enquiring eyebrow. “Anything?”
On the Wall
Distant thunder disturbed the quiet of the night. Ayla shivered in the cold wind that was blowing clouds in from the east and stepped nearer to Reuben to be closer to his warmth.
“Tonight, a storm is coming,” she muttered.
“Yes.” Reuben nodded grimly. “But then, we already knew that, didn't we? After all, we're the ones who've set it loose.”
Ayla shivered again, though this time it wasn't from the cold. Of course he was right. There was another storm coming, besides the one in the sky, and that one would be by far the more ferocious one. And the first lightning bolt had already been lit.
There he is!
With trembling hands, she watched as the lone figure of Hans crossed the courtyard, a flaming torch in hand. At the gates, he paused a final time to turn around and look up at the wall.
Was he looking at her, she wondered? It was nonsense to think so, of course. He couldn’t see her. He couldn’t see anything up here on the wall, as dark as the night around them was. But she could see him.
She would dearly have liked to know what thoughts were going through his mind. Would he do as he had sworn to do? A part of her laughed at her naiveté. He was a traitor! Why should he care about sworn oaths? Another part of her simply hoped.
“If that miserable little worm betrays us again, I'll chop him into a hundred pieces,” Reuben growled, and a smile flitted across Ayla's face. Of course, there was always a third part in her that was too busy thinking of Reuben to do anything else.
“He won't,” she said with more confidence than she felt.
“Oh really? And how do you know that?”
“I'm just sure.” Though she wasn't. Not really.
“We could have been sure,” he said harshly. “We could have made sure he would do as we told him to do, if you'd only listened to me. If we'd used the three as—”
“No!” Ayla cut him short in a tone of voice that would brook no argument. Amazingly, it actually worked. Reuben shut his mouth. “I will not have women and children taken hostage in my castle, even if they are the family of a traitor. It is barbaric!”
“It is a tried and tested tactic of war,” he mumbled defiantly.
“Then tactics of war are barbaric.”
Reuben looked at her as if she'd lost her mind. “Of course they are! They're about war, which means they are about killing people!”
Ayla raised her chin, meeting his incredulous stare head-on. “I still won't condone it.”
Reuben growled with frustration. Then he suddenly swept his arm up and drew Ayla close to his side.
“You are the most wonderful woman on earth!” he snarled into her ear. “If anybody ever says different, tell me. I'll cut their throats where they stand!”
Ayla felt a warm glow grow inside her that was more than sufficient to chase the cold away. She clung to Reuben, desperately seeking to prolong their contact when she knew that, soon, he had to leave, and she might never see him again.
“I figure you'll have your share of throat-cutting to do soon enough, without my help.” She smiled up at him sadly.
“That's true.” He gave her a thoughtful nod. “It's going to get very bloody soon. I might stain that beautiful handkerchief of yours.”
Raising his arm, he showed her the blue piece of cloth tied around his wrist, and the warm glow inside her intensified. Her token! He was wearing her token! “Are you sure you don't want me to take it off, so it doesn’t get dirty, Milady?”
“Extremely sure,” she whispered.
They lapsed into silence as their gazes were drawn back to the gate again. Hans had entered the gatehouse by now. The two of them waited, breathless—then it came. A high, screeching wail that was carried up by the wind all the way from the gatehouse to the top of the inner wall where Ayla and Reuben stood watching. Slowly, under their intent eyes, the portcullis rose skyward.
Finally, it reached the top and stopped.
Not long after, Hans stepped out of the gatehouse again. He didn't look up at the wall this time, and a shiver of fear and worry went down Ayla's back. She had no idea what was going through his head. She had no idea what he would be telling the soldiers. Maybe she should think about Reuben's suggestion. It wasn't too late to get his wife and children and—
No! I am my father’s daughter! I’m not going to do something wrong out of fear and weakness! And neither am I going to do it because I think it’s good fun, like that blaggard I’m in love with! Hans will keep his oath!
Yes, he would. He had to! Hadn't he?
Hans stepped towards the gate.
It still wasn't too late. She could call to him, tell him that, if he didn't do as she had commanded, his worst fears would come to pass.
No! If I do that, I’m no better than the Margrave: forcing people to do my bidding instead of giving them the opportunity to do what was right and just.
Still, if it might save lives…
And then Hans was at the gate and put his hands under the huge beam of wood that barred it, trying to lift the thing. It didn't move an inch, so he stepped forward and bent to put his shoulder underneath the beam for leverage. It still didn't move.
“Wimp,” Reuben muttered.
“Yes,” Ayla muttered. “I'm sure you'd do a much better job of letting our enemies into my castle.”
“Ayla?”
“Yes, Reuben?”
“Shut up.”
Ayla harrumphed and poked him into the ribs with her elbow. Since he was wearing armor, that wasn't a very smart move and only led to her bruising her elbow.
“Do you think that, if we survive this,” she mumbled, “you could maybe learn to be a bit more polite?”
“No.”
“I didn't think so.”
Both his and her tone were light and teasing. But Ayla could feel the tension in his body and knew what he was thinking. It was the same thing she was thinking:
This might be the last night we can be together.
Down in the outer courtyard, Hans finally succeeded in lifting the beam out of its holders. It clattered to the ground, and the noise made Ayla jump.
Reuben hissed. “This is it.”
She nodded, just as Hans gripped the left wing of the great gate and began to pull it open. It scraped over the cobblestones, resisting the efforts of the lone man.
“Yes,” she whispered. “It is.”
“Ayla…”
“Yes, Reuben?”
“This might be last night of our lives.”
He had said it. He had actually said it. She swallowed.
“Yes. It might.”
“This might be the only chance we ever have.”
Chance? To do what? Ayla frowned.
Then, her frown was replaced by an expression of utter shock as Reuben's hand let go of her shoulder and slowly began to travel down her back, stroking as it went. Down. Farther down. And even farther.
Her mouth went dry. Mary, mother of God! He wasn't suggesting that…that they…
Of course he can! He’s Reuben!
“What…” Her voice broke and remained broken. She tried to wet her lips, to clear her throat, but she couldn’t get another word past the giant lump blocking the way.
“Well…” Reuben’s voice was husky and even more diabolically seductive than usual. “What exactly we do depends on you. We'd have to hurry up a bit, because I'm sure the enemy won't be long. But I won’t need long to take you to heaven and back.”
Says the devil!
His hand touched Ayla in a spot where she had never been touched before, and she gasped.
“So, what would you like?” he asked.
“What I would like,” she managed to get out somehow, her voice hoarse, “is to be able to step before my maker with a clear conscience, if I meet him tonight.”
“Are you sure?” He turned
his face to look at her, the fire in his gray eyes almost incinerating her. “Don't you want to get it just a tiny little bit dirty?”
“Um…no?”
He smirked. “You don't sound very certain, Milady.”
Ayla straightened her back and raised her chin, trying to ignore the feel of his hand at that place, which was almost making her swoon with pleasure.
“I…I am. I don't want a guilty conscience.”
“Why not?”
“Because I'm a good Christian.”
He sighed. “That must be awfully boring.”
“I'm sure it has its benefits. Like not burning in purgatory for a few millennia.” She cleared her throat and waited a few moments until she could be sure her voice would sound steady again. “Now, can we please concentrate on the siege?”
Reuben halted his hand. Then, very, very slowly, he began to move it upwards again, just as tortuously slowly as he had moved it down. Ayla nearly collapsed with relief when his fingers were safely out of range and she was free from temptation. He grasped her shoulder again, and, bending over her, he pressed a light kiss on the top of her head that sent delicious shivers through her body.
“As you command, my sweet lady,” he murmured.
He raised his other arm, and, as it encircled her, Ayla didn't resist. She went into his embrace and soaked up all the warmth, strength, and courage he willingly gave her with each passing second. Maybe he was doing the same with her.
A scraping noise echoed across the courtyard, and they sprang apart, looking around wildly.
It was Hans, who was dragging open the second wing of the gates.
“The time is approaching,” Ayla heard Reuben’s voice close to her ear. He still hadn’t let go of her.
When the second wing was fully open, Hans stood for a moment under the open, exposed archway. Then he stepped out into the dark, without looking back.
“I'd better go and tell the men to prepare,” Reuben told her, letting go of her. The feel of him suddenly not there was like having her own heart ripped from her body! Ayla thought she might have cried right there and then if she hadn't needed to keep up a facade for his sake.
He still had hold of her hand. He let it slip from his, one finger at a time. Only when it fell limply to her side did he turn and completely step away.
“Reuben?” she asked suddenly.
“Yes?” He stopped but didn't turn back.
“Will Hans keep his oath?”
“I thought you were so sure, Milady.”
“I was—until a moment ago.”
For a moment there was silent.
Then, “Reuben?”
“Yes?”
“Please tell me our plan is going to work.”
He stood still and silent for a moment longer. Then, without answering her question, he strode off towards the tower and, having reached it, threw the door open.
“Tell the men to ready themselves,” he called down into the dark, his voice rough with tension. “Battle is approaching!”
Thunder and Lightning
The sound of footsteps came from the dark interior of the tower. Only moments later, Burchard stepped out onto the wall, bowing to Ayla and, much more reluctantly, nodding to Reuben.
“The men are ready,” he told them, his voice just as tense as Reuben's. “They only await your signal.”
“Good.”
As the three of them stepped closer together and turned east to watch the outer gates, another clap of thunder sounded. It was closer this time. With a little “plink,” the first raindrop hit Reuben's helmet. Another followed, and another. Burchard put the hood of his cloak up. Reuben unfastened his helmet from the leather strap on his belt and put it in place over his head. He suddenly looked a lot less human and a lot more like the monster Ayla had met in the forest so long ago.
Shivering, Ayla put her arms around herself. She should have remembered to bring a cloak. Now it was too late. Now, she couldn't get off this walkway. She was transfixed by what she knew must be happening beyond the outer wall.
Of course, she couldn't see it, but she could feel it. She could feel the enemy scout spotting the light from Hans’s torch. She could feel him running back to his camp, as fast as his feet would carry him. She could feel him stumbling into the camp, drunk with excitement. She could feel the rising bloodlust of the mercenaries at hearing the news that their enemies' defenses were down. She could feel Sir Luca de Lombardi stepping out of his tent and activity spreading through the camp as he gave the order they had all been waiting for: the order to attack.
The enemy was coming.
So she just stood there, as the rain fell faster and faster, and her dress only provided a rudimentary protection against the elements.
“I can't persuade you to go back into the keep, can I?” Reuben asked.
“No.”
“It will get dangerous up here.”
“I'm fully aware of that.”
She heard him sigh. Without taking his gaze off the outer gate, he shrugged the cloak off his shoulders and hung it around hers. Gratefully, she snuggled into the cloak, which was coarse compared to her usual linen garments, and far too large for her, but oh-so-warm and comforting. And it smelled of Reuben—a wild, manly smell that, when she closed her eyes, almost made her forget where she was. She could roll herself up into a little ball of warmth and pretend that she was safely back at the castle, that the danger was over, and that she and Reuben were alone in a cozy little room, while raindrops pattered on the roof outside…
The harsh noise of metal on stone woke her from her nocturnal daydream. Her eyes snapped open, and she stared in the direction of the gate, where the noise had come from.
She saw only darkness.
“What is it?” she whispered. “What was that noise?”
“Look.” Reuben pointed, but Ayla still couldn't see anything. Only after a few more seconds did she begin to distinguish several black shapes in the grayness of the rain.
“One of them must have bumped against the gate in the dark,” Reuben muttered. “Blundering fools! If you leave your torches behind to be stealthy, you should at least be able to see in the dark, or you had better leave your armor behind to stop making such a racket!”
Ayla squinted sideways at Reuben in his monumental red plate armor and a great helmet on his head with only one thin slit to see through. He could hardly be more armored if he tried. He seemed to hear her unspoken question.
“I know how to fight at night,” he growled. “This is not my first battle in the dark. Brescia, Faenza, Taillenbourg…I have gotten used to it over the years.”
Ayla squinted at the black shapes again. “Can you see what they are doing?”
He snorted, and his breath escaped through the slit in his helmet out into the open, forming a small cloud in the cold air.
“I do not have to look in order to know what they're doing. They're securing the gatehouse, making sure all the guards are gone. Then…”
Suddenly, lightning flashed, and the night was lit in brilliant white. For one moment, Ayla didn't need Reuben's descriptions anymore: She could see it all for herself. The enemy soldiers, about two dozen in total, had spread out on either side of the gatehouse, forming a bridgehead for the enemy army. More soldiers, many more, column upon column, were marching up the hill toward the gates, the pounding of their heavy boots even beginning to be audible above the rain. The lightning shone on the tips of their spears and their cold steel armor.
Ayla was paralyzed by the sight, until Reuben grabbed her shoulder and jerked her down.
“Down! Down with you!”
With a surprised gasp, Ayla felt her legs give way, and she landed roughly on the stone walkway. Looking startled from left to right, she realized that both Reuben and Burchard were already kneeling, concealed by the crenels.
“It’s not just we who can see by the light of the lightning! If they catch sight of us,” Reuben growled, “all is over. They must not suspect we're here.
Surprise is everything.”
Ayla was breathing rapidly. The sight of the enemy soldiers inside her walls had hit her like a fist of iron.
“Reuben…are you sure this is going to work?” There was moisture in her eyes. She wasn't exactly sure whether it was tears or the rain, though she hoped very much it was the latter. “If they take control of the courtyard…”
“It will work,” he cut her off, his jaw taut. “Just as long as you stay down and stay quiet!”
He was nervous, she could see that. He wasn't as sure of this plan as he’d like to be. But they had to take this chance. It was the only one they were ever going to get.
Ayla nodded. “I understand.”
“Good. Remember—stay down!”
Reuben let go of her shoulder. He pushed himself up from the walkway and, without rising, peeked over the top of the crenels.
“What's happening?” Ayla demanded in a low voice.
No answer. The only thing Ayla heard was the increasing torrent of rain. Water now stood in little puddles on the walkway and was beginning to soak through her woolen cloak. She shifted, pushing herself further up against the crenels, which afforded her at least partial protection against the cold sheets of water.
“Reuben!” she repeated more insistently. “What's happening?”
When she still got no answer, she turned and stretched her legs, attempting to get up. But a big hand clamped down on her shoulder.
“Stay down,” Reuben growled. “I'll tell you what I see when there is something to see. The lightning blinded me. I have to wait for my eyes to adjust.”
Impatiently, Ayla cowered beside him, staring up at the blood-red metal monster she still had trouble identifying as Reuben. Rain ran down his helmet and in through the slit, but he didn't seem to mind. He sat as still as a raptor, waiting to spring.
Then, another flash of lightning cut through the darkness. And another. And another. Thunder began to roll, not just as individual, distant explosions of sound but as a continuous assault on the eardrums. The thunderstorm had arrived in full force.
“They're coming in.”
