The Robber Knight's Love

by Robert Thier

  She stopped, because Reuben had burst out laughing.

  “Reuben!” she whimpered in embarrassment, her blush reaching astronomic proportions. “I'm trying to be serious here!”

  “S-sorry! You're just so…so…”

  “Funny?”

  “Well, yes.” He chuckled again. “I swear by the devil because I haven't had very good experiences with the servants of God on this earth, Milady. But no, I have not sold my soul to the fiend below, if that's what you're afraid of.”

  “Oh, thank God!”

  Ayla slumped back against the tree, covering her face with her hands.

  “Shouldn't you rather be thanking me?” She heard Reuben's voice somewhere from her left. “After all, it's my soul. I can do with it whatever I want.”

  “Keep hold of it for my sake, will you?” she muttered. This covering of her face with her hands was a great idea! He couldn't see her burning hot blush this way.

  “I've got a better idea, Milady. I'll give it to you, and you can take care of it for me.”

  The words fell on Ayla’s heart like Manna on the desert. Slowly, she let her hands slide down her face and peeked between the tips of her fingers. The corners of her mouth moved up in a small smile.

  “That sounds nice,” she ventured.

  Reuben grasped her shoulders. “I think so, too.”

  “But it doesn't answer my original question.” Ayla steeled herself. “I need to know, Reuben. Before I…commit myself to anything, I need to know who and what you are.”

  His face darkened.

  “You didn't think you had me distracted, did you?” Somehow, Ayla actually found the strength to grin at him, although her heart was pounding fast again. “I'm not so easily sidetracked.”

  “No,” he growled. “That would make things far too easy.” There was tension around his eyes. Ayla could see it as clearly as the love that burned in their gray depths. “Satan's hairy ass! Can't you just forget about this? For me? Please?”

  “Don't swear! And…no, I can't, Reuben.” A shudder ran down her body, and there was nothing she could do to keep him from feeling it. With her mind's eye, she once again saw his hand, firmly grasping the burning wood, unmoving, unflinching. “For you, I would do almost anything. But forget…that? No, I can't, I'm sorry.”

  He bowed his head. “I understand.”

  “So will you tell me?”

  His lips opened. Ayla could see them tremble slightly. Was he going to answer? She couldn't tell. His tongue darted out to moisten his lips.

  “Ayla, I… “

  “Milady!”

  Ayla's head whipped around at the sudden shout. She had been so focused on Reuben that she hadn't noticed the rider coming up from behind. Only now did she see the man with the Luntberg crest on his jerkin, galloping towards them on a light gray mount. The animal was exhausted, and at another time, Ayla might have chided the soldier for riding so hard on an animal that obviously wasn’t used to it, but when she caught sight of the soldier’s face, she bit back her words and came to her feet.

  “What's the matter?” she demanded. “Speak up!”

  The soldier sprang from the horse's back and ran the last few yards towards her. Coming to an abrupt halt, he just stood there, wringing his hands frantically and turning his head back and forth between the castle behind him and Ayla, at whom he stared imploringly.

  “Milady,” he gasped. “You have to come to the castle now!”

  Putting her fingers to her lips, Ayla called Eleanor to her with a loud whistle. Quickly, she picked up the saddle and strapped it onto the mare's back as Reuben did the same with the horse who must not be named.

  “Why?” she demanded, swinging herself into the saddle. “What is happening?”

  Suddenly, a horrible possibility occurred to her—one she had almost thought impossible now that they were all supposed to be safe.

  “Are we under attack?” she demanded.

  “Well…” The soldier hesitated, looking back at the castle again. “I'm not sure, exactly.”

  “What do you mean, you're not sure?” Reuben barked at the man. He was in the saddle now, too, doing his best to control the excited stallion beneath him. “It can't be that difficult to tell, can it? Are the soldiers being attacked or aren't they?”

  The man looked from Ayla to Reuben, and then quickly back to Ayla. There was helpless, shameless pleading in his eyes as he stared up at her.

  “Well, yes. And no. And yes. I guess we are. Can you please just come? And quickly? We don't know what to do!”

  Under Attack

  “Stand and fight, you mangy, weather-bitten cur!”

  The mangy, weather-bitten cur, who was actually quite a pleasant-looking young soldier, had no intention of doing anything of the sort. He backed up until he stood with his back to the barrack wall, then ducked out of the way of the next upcoming blow. The stick wielded by his opponent missed him by an inch or so, bouncing off the wall with a dull thud.

  “Coward! You flee from my prowess with the blade!”

  “Um…it's not a blade,” one of the horrified onlookers dared to mention. “It's just a stick.”

  He regretted his words immediately. In an instant, the attacker’s attention shifted its focus to him. The people around the unfortunate speaker stepped back. Nobody wanted to be this close to deadly danger.

  “Only a stick, is it?” The attacker started forward. “Oh yes, it’s only a stick. And do you know why it’s only a stick? Because none of you will let me have a real sword!” The attacker quickened her pace. The man who had been so foolish as to open his mouth tried to step back, but found a solid wall of people behind him.

  “Well,” he began cautiously, “you see, maybe it's not a good idea for you to have a sword. After all, you're only five years old, and…”

  That remark would probably have caused him some serious bruises, but at that very moment, a voice cut through the clear morning air of the courtyard.

  “What in the name of Saint Peter and Saint Paul is going on here?”

  All heads turned. The endangered soldier almost collapsed with relief.

  “Milady! Thank God you're here! She won't leave us in peace and keeps meddling in our training!”

  Accusingly, he pointed at a defiant Fye, who was standing in the middle of the courtyard, her stick raised to strike with both hands.

  Jumping from Eleanor's back, Ayla rushed forward and gathered Fye up in her arms. She gave the soldier a cold look.

  “You let a five-year-old participate in soldier's work? How could you!”

  The soldier’s chin dropped. “We didn't let her do anything. She just came along and demanded to practice with us!”

  “And why, if I may ask, did you not make her leave, soldier?”

  “Well…um…Milady…because…because we… “ He closed his mouth, but his eyes said it all. Ayla sighed.

  “Return to your training, soldier. I will take care of this.”

  “Yes, Milady! As you command, Milady. Thank you, Milady!”

  Ayla walked a little way away from the soldiers and settled down on an empty barrel, putting the little girl on her knee. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Reuben following her, watching the goings-on with interest. But right now, her attention wasn't focused on him, but on Fye.

  “Fye?” she said in as cautious a voice as possible—the kind of voice you would employ to talk to a cornered wolf cub. “Will you give me the stick, please?”

  A hopeful expression lit the little girl's face. “Will you give me a sword instead?”

  “Um…no. I don't think so.”

  “Why not? I want to have a sword!”

  “I heard that.” Frantically, Ayla searched her brain for the right words. There weren't any available, so she went back on tradition. “But you see, Fye, girls, especially little girls like you, aren't supposed to have swords.”

  “Why not?”

  At last, Ayla was on firm ground. “Because there are three estates,�
� she declared. “The commoners, the clergy, and the nobility. Only the men of the nobility may carry swords.”

  Fye frowned. “Why?”

  “Because that's the way it has always been.”

  “So why don't you change it?”

  This was getting a bit too much for Ayla. She looked around for any help, but there was only Reuben, standing a few feet away, trying very hard not to smirk.

  “Are children always like this?” she hissed in his direction.

  He raised and lowered his shoulders. “I wouldn't know.”

  “What should I do?”

  “How about giving her a sword to shut her up?”

  “You shut up!”

  “As you command, Milady.”

  Turning back to the child on her knees, Ayla decided to try a different approach.

  “Why would you want a sword, anyway?” she asked, trying to make her voice reasonable and soothing. It didn't quite work.

  Fye rolled her eyes. “To play with, of course.”

  “But I thought you liked playing with pretty dolls, like all other girls. What about Agnes? Don't tell me you've forgotten Lady Agnes so soon. Why would you want to play with something as sharp and dangerous as a sword when you have a nice, pretty doll like Agnes?”

  The little girl sized her up and was clearly dissatisfied with the result. It was obvious from her expression that this adult didn't know what the heck she was talking about.

  “Don't be silly,” she explained. “They go together. If I don't have a sword, what should I use to defend Agnes’ honor from baddies?”

  “I thought Sir Reuben did that.”

  Instead of pulling out her Reuben-doll, Fye's eyes wandered to the real thing standing behind Ayla.

  “Well, yes,” she allowed. “But he's not good enough to do it on his own. He needs my help.”

  From behind her, Ayla heard a noise. She wasn't exactly sure whether it was a snort or a strangled laughter. Maybe both.

  “Well, we'll see about that,” Ayla replied, trying very hard to keep a straight face. “I'll watch how he does over the next week or so, and if he doesn't come up to scratch, I will see that he has some assistance.”

  “Thanks so much,” murmured Reuben behind her. Ayla didn't turn.

  “But really,” she continued, hugging the little girl close for a moment and trying to impress all the safety and warmth she possessed on her, “you don't need to worry. Agnes is perfectly safe. The evil man is dead. You…you saw it yourself.”

  “Well, yes, but…”

  “But what?” Ayla inquired, stroking Fye's wild locks.

  “There could always come another. The world is full of baddies.”

  “She actually does have a point there,” Reuben commented. Turning her head, Ayla hissed, “Don't encourage her!”, then went back to ignoring him again.

  “We'll keep you and Agnes safe from all the baddies,” she told Fye. “Don't you worry. We'll…”

  “Fye! Fye!”

  Ayla looked up to see the girl’s mother, Margaret, hurrying over the courtyard, straight towards them.

  “Oh Fye, where have you been! I've been looking all over the place for you. I… Milady!”

  Only then did she recognize Ayla and dipped a hurried curtsy. “Begging your pardon, Milady. I hope she hasn't inconvenienced you?”

  “Not in the least,” Ayla assured her and handed the daughter to her mother. “She is a wonderful little girl. You should be very proud of her. Only…if I were you, I would probably keep her away from any sharp objects.”

  “Sharp objects, Milady?”

  “Don't ask.”

  “Yes, Milady. Thank you for the advice, Milady.”

  When Ayla turned, relieved to be free of her contrary charge, she found Reuben, not looking at her, but still gazing with interest after the child being carried off by its mother. She was having some difficulty trying to pry the stick from Fye's hands.

  “What is it?” Ayla asked, suspicious.

  “She's got courage, that one,” Reuben remarked, nodding into the direction where the little girl and Margaret had just disappeared behind one of the outer buildings.

  “And a streak of madness, Reuben! Who ever heard of a girl fighting with a sword?”

  “Oh, I don't know.” Stepping closer, he grinned at her lasciviously. “I could probably teach you how to do a few interesting things with my sword. Only, I'm not sure whether you could handle such a mighty weapon.”

  Ayla contemplated his statement quietly for a few moments, taking into account all she knew of him. Then she asked, trying to keep her voice relaxed,“We're not talking about actual sword fighting anymore, are we?”

  “You get to know me better and better every day,” Reuben agreed cheerfully.

  “Reuben?”

  “Yes, Milady?”

  “You are a gutter-minded rogue.”

  “Yes, Milady.”

  “That doesn't disturb you in the least, does it?” she asked, slightly vexed.

  “No, Milady.”

  As she studied him, the grin on his face slowly faded until it was replaced by an expression of such indecipherable yearning that it cut her heart. Slowly, he raised his hand and touched her cheek, just once.

  “Does it disturb you?” He wanted to know.

  “Sometimes.”

  “But not all the time?”

  “No. Definitely not.”

  How quickly they had returned from teasing to serious talk. Ayla threw a look over her shoulder. All the soldiers were busy with their training and out of hearing range. Raising her hand to her cheek, she took his hand in hers and squeezed it gently. Standing up on her tiptoes, she leaned forward.

  “I love you,” she whispered into his ear. “I don't ever want you to forget that. But I want to know someday, Reuben. About your past, I mean. Someday, I will need to know.”

  Letting go of his hand, she turned and was just about to move away when Reuben's voice halted her in mid-step.

  “Ayla?”

  She took a deep breath. “Yes, Reuben?”

  “What I told you was true. I didn't sell my soul to the devil.”

  She heard the unspoken word in the air.

  “But?” She prompted, her voice hoarse.

  “But he might be taking a special interest in me nonetheless.”

  For a moment, Ayla just stood there. Then, she slowly turned, but only half-turned, so Reuben could just see her stubbornly raised chin and her mouth, quirked up at the corners.

  “Then I'll deal with him when he comes!”

  Embarrassing House-Building

  Time passed quickly as all the castle inhabitants kept themselves busy. One of the most pressing tasks was the final disposal of over five hundred bodies of slain enemy soldiers. Under Reuben's orders, the castle guards had had to carry them out of the castle to a distant, arid piece of land first thing after the battle. But there were so many of them that this task alone had taken days to accomplish. By that time, the air around the corpses was unsavory to say the least, or, as Reuben preferred to express it, “Like a fart out of hell!”

  At first, Ayla had wanted to give all of them a Christian burial.

  “Have you lost your mind?” Reuben roared at her.

  They were assembled in the great hall, which was, by now, free of village refugees. Not all of the castle’s commanders were there. Burchard, Captain Linhart, Reuben, and Sir Waldar were all gathered around Ayla, but Sir Rudophus was still happily employed, stockpiling and counting sacks of grain.

  “As much as I hate to admit it, for once I have to agree with Sir Reuben.” Burchard made a face that clearly showed it caused him physical pain to say this. His mustache was bristling like an angry hedgehog.

  “You don't even know if they are Christian,” Reuben pointed out.

  “That's the point,” insisted Ayla. “If they are, they should not be denied the chance of heavenly forgiveness and entrance into heaven. And if they’re not…it can’t hurt.”

&
nbsp; The four men in the room shared a look. Apparently, it was not only Reuben and Burchard who were in agreement over this issue. Ayla stamped her foot, feeling her temper rise.

  “What's the matter?” she demanded.

  “Well…” Captain Linhart began, “it is just that they are murderers and pillagers. I doubt very much that they will repent posthumously and have a shot at heaven.”

  “You don't know that!” Ayla's tone was defensive. “They might very well. There's good in everybody somewhere, you know. No matter what kind of life they've led before, people can repent and gain forgiveness.”

  She glanced at Reuben. The others missed it, but he apparently noticed her quick look in his direction and rolled his eyes.

  “All right,” he growled. “I concede that they might be Christian. But how about this reason for not doing it: giving them a Christian burial would mean digging five hundred individual graves. By that time, all that will be left of the corpses will be mush and bones. Stinking mush and bones, covered with flies!”

  “We should still do it,” Ayla insisted stubbornly.

  The debate between the mistress of the castle and her vassals remained at this impasse for several days. In the end, Reuben resolved it by creeping out of the castle one night, emptying a barrel of pitch over the bodies, and setting it ablaze.

  Ayla wasn't very pleased with his actions and remonstrated with him in no uncertain terms. When the castle towers had stopped shaking, Reuben remarked how happy he was that she had enlarged her vocabulary of obscenities. Some of the terms she used had undoubtedly originated with him, and he was very proud of his pupil.

  Thus, peaceful times went by in Luntberg castle. The leaves, only tinged with a spot of red and yellow here and there, really began to take on the colors of autumn. With the permission of Ayla, who, as the castle mistress, held all the wood-rights of Luntberg, people began going out into the forest to cut wood for the rebuilding of the village.

  She was more than happy to grant this small help to her people when she herself could do little else. They had to hurry if they wanted to rebuild their homes before winter came. Ayla was sure they would have started earlier than they did if Reuben hadn't stubbornly insisted they should hold off the rebuilding effort.