The Robber Knight by Robert Thier

Silently, Reuben berated himself. Why on earth did he have to be so rude to the girl? After all, he still had an arrow stuck in his chest. Why couldn't he wait until it was out of him? Then he could be as rude as he wanted.

  Despite her anger, he could tell that she was doing her best to follow his orders. However, it was difficult to change the direction of the arrow while it was slicing through his flesh, and just before the head left his body, he could feel it catching on the lowest of his ribs.

  “Oh!” Behind him, Reuben heard Ayla take in a quick breath. “It's stuck, isn't it? Oh, Reuben, I'm so, so sorry! I'll...”

  He started at hearing his name from her lips. It sounded strange. Maybe because she had no idea who he really was, and could never know. So it was strange hearing her say his name as if she knew him.

  “It's all right,” he said gruffly. “It didn't get stuck. It just caught on the lowest rib. Push a bit harder, then it'll slide sideways, and that'll be it.”

  “But... won't that hurt?”

  He almost laughed. “Don't worry about that. Just push.”

  He was expecting to have to argue with her for some time, but she just took a deep breath and said: “All right. I'll do my best.”

  Hm. She really had guts.

  She pushed. Reuben could feel the arrowhead slowly sliding along his rib—and then it suddenly was free and pierced his skin, sliding halfway out of him in one go. Ayla fell forward with a gasp and landed on top of him. He could feel the warmth of her small body pressed against his back and stiffened at the unfamiliar contact. Though he had to admit, it didn't really feel bad...

  Before either of them could move a muscle, they heard a knock on the door and a deep, gravelly voice: “Milady? Milady, it's me, Burchard. May I come in?”

  Among Enemies

  Reuben had to admit, it was really impressive how fast Ayla could move when she put her mind to it. She was off him and across the room in a matter of seconds.

  He turned and looked at her. Her smooth satin cheeks were suffused by a blush almost as deep red as the blood that stained the front of her dress, where she had landed on his bloody skin. He grinned at her, and in return she gave him a glare that could have made a general quake in his boots.

  “Yes, you can come in, Burchard,” he called.

  Her mouth dropped open in astonishment at his affront, which only made him grin wider.

  A massive elderly man with thick, black hair and beard entered the room. He glowered at Reuben as if he was breaking the law just by breathing. The knight thought it best to turn to the wall again, but still regarded the newcomer out of the corner of his eyes.

  “I see our guest has recovered consciousness—and insolence,” the black-bearded man grunted. “Who are you, if I may ask?”

  Reuben was spared an answer by the girl. She stepped forward and said: “Burchard, can't you postpone the interrogation for five minutes? Can't you see that he's bleeding heavily?”

  “I can. Actually, I’d hoped that fact might speed his tongue. Bandages are very hard to come by.”

  Burchard's eyes narrowed as they focused on Reuben. That look told it all. Reuben realized that here was a man as hard as flint, who wouldn't rest until he knew every single little thing about his unexpected guest and had confirmed he was no danger. Not good.

  “Burchard!” Ayla chastised the man. Reuben wondered what position he held. Adviser? Weapons master? “How can you say such a thing! Unless you can control yourself, leave immediately!”

  “Tell me,” Burchard demanded of his mistress, completely ignoring her orders, “how that got on your clothing.” He pointed to the bloodstains that surrounded the delicate neckline of her dress.

  Ayla turned a lovely shade of red again, and Reuben quickly looked away.

  “I had to get the arrows out of him,” she said, sounding as if she were defending herself. “It got a bit... messy.”

  “Messy, eh?”

  With a grunt, Burchard dragged one of the chairs into one corner of the room and sat down astride it, all the while not taking his eyes off Ayla. “I think I'd better stay. Just in case things get messy again.”

  Peeking, Reuben saw the girl roll her eyes. “Fine, if it makes you happy. Just don't get in my way.”

  Ayla went to the table and fetched a bowl of water and some clean linen.

  “Here.” She held out a linen cloth to Reuben. “I'll need you to press this on your chest, so that it won't bleed that heavily. Can you do that, in spite of the pain?” Despite the brusqueness of her voice, it wasn't an unkind question.

  Reuben just nodded and pressed the cloth on his chest.

  Ayla, meanwhile, began to methodically clean his back wounds. He was amazed that she still didn't seem deterred by his injuries. Now that the arrows didn't conceal the wounds anymore, they had to be a pretty grizzly sight, and bleeding heavily, if those on his chest were anything to judge by. Yet Ayla never hesitated, never wavered. Reuben could feel her small hands caressing his back through the wet linen—but no, he reminded himself, cleaning, not caressing. Cleaning.

  “So,” Burchard grunted, “start to talk, fellow. I'm mighty curious about you. What's your name? Who and what are you?”

  Reuben opened his mouth.

  “He's a merchant, and his name is Reuben,” Ayla said.

  “I didn't ask you!”

  “No. And it was so rude of me to interrupt, since you asked so nicely.”

  Reuben was glad he was turned to the stone wall, so neither of them could see the grin on his face. Perhaps he wouldn't have to worry about answering questions, after all. He could just quietly lie here and listen to those two bite each other's heads off.

  However, he was not so lucky. Burchard just ignored Ayla's retort and returned his attention to him.

  “So, Reuben. What would a merchant be doing out alone in the forest?”

  Pensively, Reuben stared at the texture of the stone wall. What on earth was it that merchants did? They always seemed to be rich when he robbed them, and trying to get richer, but how did they do it? What did they do to get all their money?

  “Looking for people to trade with?” he suggested.

  “Wouldn't a market be a better place for that?” Burchard's voice undoubtedly contained traces of sarcasm.

  “Well, that was where I was heading, actually. I was going to... Frankfurt with a few bags of rare spices, when I ran into this group of mercenaries. They demanded that I give them all my wares and become their prisoner.”

  “And did you?”

  “I probably would have,” Reuben said, slipping increasingly into his role. “After all, I'm just a cowardly, helpless merchant. What was I to do?”

  “Yes, very helpless,” said Burchard, and Reuben could feel the man's gaze boring into him, examining the thick bands of muscles around his legs, arms, and torso. “And how exactly did you end up with three arrows in your back, helpless merchant, if you didn't fight?”

  “I don't really know. Suddenly I heard screams, and these other men came charging out of the forest, attacking the mercenaries. They must have been robbers, I think. The next thing I can remember is waking up here.”

  “I'm sorry, Reuben,” he heard Ayla's voice. He almost didn't recognize it, because her tone was so soft and hesitating for a change. “That must have been a terrible experience. I... I realize the things they did to you must hurt very badly. I'm doing my best to fix it as quickly as possible, I promise. I'd be quicker if he,” she shot Burchard a look, “didn't interrupt me all the time.”

  “And that is all?” Burchard asked, not paying any attention to her.

  Hmm... Reuben thought. Burchard still seemed skeptical. How to make them both believe his story? How best to play his role? Well, there was one way... “No, not really. There's one thing: you didn't by any chance find my wares, did you?”

  “No, we didn't,” Ayla said. “I'm sorry. The robbers must have carried them off.”

  Reuben sighed. “That is unfortunate. I guess, in that case, I
have no choice but to demand compensation.”

  “Compensation?” Now the girl's tone was suspicious. “From whom?”

  “Why, from you, of course, Milady. After all, you are the lady of these lands, are you not? As such you are responsible for upholding law and order within your domain. May I not expect compensation when I am wronged?”

  She gasped and her hands flinched away from his back.

  “You... you... ungrateful piece of...” she stuttered. “I just saved your life today!”

  “And I'm very grateful for that,” he said, in a pleasant voice. “However, if you had done your job properly and upheld law and order in your lands, there wouldn't have been any need to save my life in the first place, now, would there? But, as I said, I'm very grateful. If I now receive the compensation that is my due, I will have nothing to wish for.”

  She uttered a sound that was somewhere between a moan and a growl. It was cute, and he couldn't suppress a grin, particularly when he heard Burchard's laugh and knew that his strategy had worked.

  “All right,” the elderly man chuckled. “You really are a merchant. As for your compensation...”

  “...We won't throw you out of the window,” Ayla finished the sentence. “How's that for compensation?”

  He dipped his head, graciously. “Most generous, Milady. Exactly what I would have expected from you.”

  Burchard sniggered again, and Ayla returned to washing Reuben's back, with considerably more force than before.

  “Burchard,” she said, “be a good steward and go and tell Dilli that I will be needing another bowl of water. Don't worry about what will happen while you're not here to watch. I promise I won’t kill him—for now.”

  Burchard grunted and went to the door. Apparently, he was satisfied enough with Reuben's story to leave him alone for the moment—a fact that would have pleased the knight considerably, were it not for Ayla's words.

  I promise I won't kill him—for now.

  Reuben's throat went dry because the words were all too close to reality for his liking. She could kill him at any moment, if she chose to. All she had to do was call her guards. In his weakened state, Reuben would not be able to resist them.

  Yes, she could kill him—and she would, if ever she found out who he really was.

  Angrily, he clenched his teeth together. How come he had almost forgotten that? How come he had felt relaxed, amused, even somewhat at home here in this castle, in this room? He was in the midst of his enemies! It was not like him to forget something like that.

  It wouldn't happen again. She was his enemy. He had to remember that.

  A Pot Full of Devil

  Reuben was so deep in thought that, at first, he didn't notice when Ayla spoke to him. Only when the girl tapped him on the shoulder did he realize it.

  “Hello, are you listening to me?”

  He looked up at her, for some reason annoyed. “Not really, no.”

  She scowled. “You know, I am tempted to give you your compensation right now.”

  That made him grin. “You promised your steward not to harm me until he gets back,” he reminded her.

  “I'm sure he wouldn't mind. I don't know whether you've noticed, Reuben, but he doesn't exactly like you.”

  “Whatever gave you that idea?” he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

  “Ha!” She laughed a short, humorless laugh. Again, why was there no real amusement in her laughter? Was something troubling her?

  “What's his problem with me?” Reuben asked to distract himself.

  Ayla sighed. “He doesn't like what he saw in the clearing where we found you. You know, what those robbers did? If it really was robbers. Whoever attacked the mercenaries must be quite vicious.”

  A grim smile tugged at the edges of Reuben's mouth. That I am, he thought to himself. Oh yes, that I am. And she must never know.

  “He's an overprotective fool, really,” the girl continued. “He seems to feel that keeping everything and everyone that has been in that clearing at arm’s length is the best thing to do.”

  Overprotective, perhaps, Reuben thought. But no fool. I will have to watch out for that old man.

  Another knock came from the door—much more timid than before. Obviously, it wasn't Burchard. Reuben opened his mouth, but before he could say a word, Ayla called, “Come in, Dilli!” and gave him a superior smile.

  That annoying little minx!

  The screaming servant girl from earlier entered, carrying a bowl of water. Her hands were shaking so badly that little waves appeared on the surface of the water. She looked as if she would like nothing better than to run away again.

  “Come here, Dilli,” Ayla ordered, “and put the bowl on the table.”

  “Y-yes, Milady,” Dilly stammered.

  She did as her lady had ordered, then curtsied hurriedly and almost ran out of the room.

  “What is the matter with her?” Reuben wanted to know.

  “You tell me,” Ayla said. “Earlier today, I sent her to look in on you. Five minutes later, she came running back screaming 'MiladyMiladywalkingaroundheisthreearrowsthreearrowsthree! Soakedinbloodheisthedevilwehavethewalkingdeadinourcastle!' and then ran off again.”

  “I see.” Reuben felt her hands leaving his back.

  A moment later, he heard the sound of the bowl being moved from the table to the floor, and Ayla's gentle ministrations began again.

  “Mind explaining what that means, master merchant?”

  He shrugged. “How should I know? She's just a silly serving girl.”

  Ayla pressed an accusing finger into his back. “She may be a serving girl, but she's certainly not silly! And if I were you, I would be a bit more careful with remarks like that while you're under my roof!”

  Reuben cursed himself. He should have guessed the girl would be a peasant-lover on top of everything else! Why should life be easy on him for a change by giving her an iota of sense and pride of rank?

  “Of course, Milady,” he said.

  “When she came running to me earlier, I went to your room immediately and found you lying in the corridor in a pool of blood! If it weren't for her, you probably would have bled to death out there. What possessed you to try and get up with the arrows still in your back?”

  I wanted to find out whether you wanted to help or kill me, he thought. And apparently, you want to do both, you just don't know it yet.

  Instead of saying that, he nodded gravely. “You are quite right, Milady. It was foolish of me.”

  “You aren't trying to placate me, are you?”

  “Of course not, Milady. I would never do something like that.”

  “Hmm.”

  She was quiet for a bit. Finally, she said:

  “I've finished cleaning the wounds now. Next, I'm going to apply some ointment that should help ease the pain.”

  Reuben almost laughed—but since that would have been a very odd reaction, he stopped himself. She was not to know what he was. Better to let her apply the ointment. What could be the harm?

  A moment later, when the smell of the mixture reached his nose, he had his answer to that question.

  “W-what is that?” he coughed, and whipped his head around to face her. “Satan's hairy ass! Girl, what is that?”

  All he got for an answer was a resounding slap in the face. His hands automatically clenched into fists and started to move. Not that the slap had hurt, of course, but he hadn't allowed someone to slap him since he was five years old.

  Calm, he told himself. Just stay calm. She's not even worth the effort.

  “Don't you dare swear in my castle!” she growled. “I never want to hear such foul language again, understood?”

  He blinked at her, at the fire in her blue eyes, and his hands relaxed out of pure surprise. That was why she had hit him?

  “I'll swear as much as I want if I have cause enough,” he said. “Besides, it wasn't a curse, it was a description—the only thing I could think of that could smell remotely as foul as what
you've got there.” He pointed to the clay pot in her hand. “What kind of hellish mixture is that?”

  “It is a tried and tested recipe for ointment, and it does not smell like Satan’s hairy a— like the devil's piliferous[28] rear end. I got the recipe from a wise sister in a nunnery where I used to live.”

  “I never knew nuns were on such good terms with the one in the pit.”

  Again, the girl stabbed him with a threatening finger. “Do you want me to hit you again or do you want me to finish fixing you up?”

  “Would fixing me up include applying that grizzly mixture to my back?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I think I would prefer being hit again.”

  Wordlessly, Ayla scowled and placed the lid of the clay pot on the floor beside her.

  Reuben sighed. “How did I know that wasn't going to work?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Perhaps you could just bandage me without smearing that mixture on me first. I'm sure my wounds will heal fine, and the pain isn't really that bad, take my word for it.”

  She ignored him, and he felt something cold touch his back.

  Cursing again, he flinched away. “I said bandage me without it!”

  “And I say hold still! If you don't stay where you are, I'm going to call a few men to hold you down.”

  Reuben could hear in her voice that she meant it. Of all the people to rescue him, why did it have to be such a Xanthippe?[29] Why couldn't he have ridden past another castle, with a lady that was obedient and demure and all the things females were supposed to be? But then, such a lady might have run away screaming if she'd found him in the forest instead of stopping to help. He would just have to take the rough with the smooth.

  The only problem with that, he thought, as the smell of the foul ointment invaded his nostrils and made him want to puke, is that there seems to be significantly more rough than smooth.

  “Roll over,” she commanded.

  “Why?” Reuben asked, suspiciously.

  “Because three guards are waiting just down the hall, ready to roll you over if you don't do it yourself.”

  Reuben nodded to himself. That seemed like a good enough reason. He had to respect someone who knew how to use their threats. Slowly, he turned so that he was facing her. She had a very odd expression on her face, one he couldn't place right away. There was a little crease between her eyebrows, and her lips were puckered. Was she angry at him? Well, he thought wryly, she had reason enough.