Ayla marched into the main hall, past a startled servant and towards the windows. She couldn't see Reuben and his one-hundred and fifty new recruits from here—the inner ring of castle walls that separated them was too high for that. But she could hear his voice, barking commands which, no doubt, would immediately be obeyed.

"Da—"

She caught herself just before a curse escaped her lips. Instead, she smashed hand onto the stone windowsill, clenched into a fist.

How could he? How could he do something so brutal, devious and dastardly? She should never have made him commander of her army. She should definitely never have fallen in love with him. The man was a monster!

Somewhere deep in the back of her mind, she knew that with one stroke, he had just created an army which, for the very first time in this struggle, actually gave them all a chance to survive. But she was perfectly able to ignore that for the moment and concentrate on her boiling rage at his devious methods.

"Um... Milady?"

The male voice behind her was far too timid to be Reuben's. That fact alone saved the man from being decapitated on the spot. Ayla turned and saw the servant standing in front of her, nervously twisting his cap in his hands.

"Yes, what is it?" she asked, trying to reign in her anger.

"There's a young man to see you, Milady. He says his name is Theoderich."

"Theoderich?"

For a moment, Ayla frowned, at a loss. Then her expression cleared and she remembered.

"Ah, yes! The young man that was Sir Isenbard's squire. He will be wanting to return home now that... " Faltering for a moment, Ayla had to clear her throat to carry on. "Now that Sir Isenbard is dead."

She felt a shadow of sorrow pass over her and tried not to let it show on her face. The young man would be crushed enough by his knight master's demise. It was the duty of a squire to fight by his master's side, to help and to protect him. Sir Isenbard had been killed in a surprise attack, a nocturnal raid on the castle, and Theoderich not been there when it happened. Ayla couldn't imagine how the young man must feel. The quicker he got away from here and back to his parents, where he could put all those dark memories behind him, the better.

Ayla strode over to the raised platform in the middle of the hall, and, taking a deep breath, settled herself down in the lord's chair. She nodded at the servant.

"Please send him in."

"Immediately, Milady."

The servant left, and only a few moments later returned, leading a tall young man of maybe sixteen years into the hall. His large blue eyes and blonde hair, still cut in the page-boy haircut, made him seem much younger than he was, and Ayla's heart immediately warmed to him. She was determined not to make him feel guilty in any way, and, if she could, send him home with a clear conscience. The night attack had come as a surprise to all of them. Isenbard's death, terrible tragedy though it was, was nobody's fault, and certainly not the fault of the young man, just a boy really, standing now in front of her.

"Milady."

Theoderich knelt, bowing his head deferentially, and thus blocking his face from her view.

"Rise," Ayla said gently.

He stood up. But even now that she could clearly see his face, Ayla was not able to interpret his expression. He didn't look all that sad or guilt-stricken. More... determined. But that couldn't be, could it? Determined to do what, exactly?

"Move faster, you beslubbering, hell-hated mangy dogs!"

Startled, Theoderich turned toward the window through which Reuben's gentle encouragement to his men-at-arms could still be faintly heard. His cheeks took on a distinctly apple-like, reddish glow.

"Um... is something the matter out there, Milady?"

Ayla was distinctly aware of the fact that her own cheeks, too, were glowing. She quickly waved a hand.

"Nothing that need concern you, Theoderich. Now, what was it that you wanted to see me about?"

"Now, not like that! Just because I called you mangy dogs doesn't mean you have to act like you have paws for hands, you idle-headed wart!"

Carefully, Theoderich took a step away from the open window.

"Well... it is about my future, Milady. As you know, I was Sir Isenbard's squire, and he... he is..."

The young man's voice trailed off into nothingness.

"Dead," Ayla said, her voice still gentle, betraying nothing of the pain in her heart.

"Yes." Theoderich swallowed. "And a squire has only one task: to serve his knight master. Now that he is gone..."

"You wish to return to your parents, until they can find another knight master for you," Ayla finished the sentence.

But the second she saw the expression that came over the young man's face—the same determination, only increased a thousand fold, she knew she had finished it wrong.

"No." He shook his head. "I want to stay here as squire."

"But..." Ayla frowned. "Sir Isenbard is dead."

"I know that, Milady. I still wish to stay."

"I don't understand. Theoderich, life in Luntberg is about to become very dangerous. We're just experiencing a brief respite. Soon, war will resume, fiercer and bloodier than ever before. Why would you stay?"

The young man fixed her with his earnest, blue-eyed gaze. "Milady, I've seen what you've been doing over the last few months. You haven't just fought to protect your own lands. You have fought to protect the weak and helpless, women and children. You have stood up to evil and lead your people as if the Virgin Mary herself were showing you your way to greatness. Yours is a cause for which every good, Christian knight should aspire to fight. That is what I wish to become one day—and that is why I cannot leave."

Ayla saw the absolute earnestness in the young man's eyes.

I can't stop him, the thought shot through her head. I can't stop him from throwing his life away. Except... maybe...

"But as a squire, you need a knight master," she pointed out, hurriedly, hoping that this formality would save her. Save him.

But no.

"Yes, Milady," Theoderich said with a nod and another smile. "And you have a knight under your command who lacks a squire."

"Who? Sir Waldar has a squire and I hardly think that Sir Rudolphus will need one. Wild horses couldn't drag him on a battlefield. Apart from them, there's only... oh."

The penny dropped.

"Oh." Ayla covered her mouth and looked at the young man in front of her—a look of mingled doubt, respect and pity.

Theoderich raised his chin, which wasn't prominent enough to make the movement noticeable.

"Milady, I humbly ask your permission to enter as a squire into the service of your vassal and chief commander, Sir Reuben von Riffgarten."

"Oh," Ayla said again. For the moment, she didn't seem capable of saying much else.

"Stand straighter or I'll shove a poker up your ass, damn you!" a distant voice drifted in through the window. "You there! Yes, you, the greasy little puttock! Bring me a poker, now!"

"Err... Are you sure about this, Theoderich?" Ayla threw a glance towards the window. "I mean, you don't really know Sir Reuben. He might be... different from what you imagine."

Theoderich smiled at her, and bowed his head respectfully. "Given that you have made him your vassal and commander of all your armed forces, he can only be a knight of good heart, firmest conscience and most upright principles, Milady."

Ayla cleared her throat.

"Well... about that..."

*~*~**~*~*

Reuben gazed at the boy standing in front of him, his glare hot enough to melt iron. There was silence. Theoderich swallowed. He managed to hold Reuben's gaze for about half a second, then his eyes fled and turned desperately upwards and sideways in search of something less threatening. Only when they didn't find a thing did they return to his prospective knight master.

High up on the ceiling, a spider scurried past, each of its footsteps clearly audible. Somewhere in the distance, a cockroach coughed. There was some more silence.

"So," Reuben finally said, leaning forward and trying to nail the boy to the opposite wall with his glare. "You want to be my squire."

Theoderich swallowed again, then nodded.

"Yes, Sir."

"Tell me, boy, do you enjoy a life of misery?"

"N-not particularly, no, Sir. Why?"

"I was just trying to figure out why you would want to be my squire. And, boy, if you serve under me, you will not ask questions, only answer them when asked, understood?"

"Yes, Milord. Of course, Milord." Apparently, Theoderich didn't consider the traditional"Sir" to be a significant enough title for this particular knight anymore.

"Are you any good?"

"Pardon me, Milord?"

"The question is not such a complicated one. Are you any good as a squire?"

"I... would not hazard an opinion on my own skills, Milord, but Sir Isenbard always told me that I am most conscientious in my pursuit of the twelve chivalric virtues."

"Conscientious in your pursuit of the twelve chivalric virtues? I see. That's not what I was asking."

"No, Milord?"

"No. What I wanted to know is: are you any good at killing people?"

The young man paled.

"That's what war is mostly about—killing people," Reuben informed him, drily. "Just in case you hadn't noticed."

"I-I've noticed, Milord."

"Good! An observant lad! You know that you have to kill people. Now, do you actually know how to do it? Have you had experience? Ever hamstrung someone? Gutted a fellow? Chopped somebody's head off?"

By now, the young man's face was slowly changing color from white to green, and Ayla felt it was high time to intervene.

"Reuben!" she hissed, leaning over towards him. He looked over at her. Although she was sitting on the massive, high lord's chair and was actually seated quite a bit above him, his towering height meant they were on equal eyelevel, which was quite infuriating.

"What?" he asked, innocently.

"You know very well what!"

"It is only far to let the lad know what awaits him. His enemies aren't going to be gentle with him in battle, so I have to warn him."

"Yes. But do you think you could maybe not enjoy yourself quite so much?"

A devilish smirk flicked across his features and was gone again in an instant. "That, I'm afraid, would be impossible, Milady."

"I thought as much."

Theoderich had regained a few remnants of his composure by by this time. He was standing upright, and while not quite able to look Reuben straight in the eye, he at least looked him straight in the nose, the chin, or some other less aggressive part of his face.

"I'm ready to do what is necessary to protect the innocent from harm," he declared.

"How perfectly heroic of you. And can you think of any way that might be accomplished?"

"Um... Milord?"

"Can you think of an idea that will help us win this feud? I need somebody with brains, boy, not just another piece of arrowfudder. If you're nothing more than that, you can go and join the farmers out there right away, because you won't be worth more than any of them to me when the time comes. Didn't your knight master teach you anything about tactics and strategy?"

"He taught me that if you are outnumbered, you should assume an easily defendable position, Milord."

"Is that all?"

"No. He also instructed me, in such a case, to pray most fervently, Milord."

Reuben closed his eyes and covered his face with his hand.

"There's nothing wrong with a good and honest prayer from the heart," Ayla told him, sternly.

"I'll make a note of it," Reuben said from behind his hand. "Next time the margrave's men shoot arrows at us, I'll try and deflect them by the power of my devotion. Satan's hairy ass...!"

"Reuben!"

"I see we're going to have to attend to a few things." Slowly, Reuben let his hand sink and fixed Theoderich with an even more fiery glare than before. "Listen! This is my first order as your new knight master!"

Theoderich snapped to attention and his chest swelled with pride. "Yes, Milord?"

"Forget everything Sir Isenbard ever told you about strategy."

"W-what, Milord?"

"And this," Reuben continued, ignoring the deflation of the lad's chest, "is my second order as your new knight master: listen to me very closely. I will now tell you the plan with which we are going to win our first battle against the Margrave von Falkenstein. You will memorize every detail of it, and then you will help me execute it. Understood?"

Ayla saw the hesitation on Theoderich's face, saw his gaze flit uncertainly over the huge, muscle-bound form in red armor lounging in the chair next to her. He probably wasn't so sure anymore about Reuben's good heart and upright principles.

"Think about how many innocents you will be protecting from harm," Reuben suggested. "Widows and orphans, sweet young virgins, cowering in a corner just waiting to be saved by a brave young knight in training such as yourself..."

Ayla threw him a very pointed look and he shut his mouth quickly.

Theoderich raised his chin again. "I shall be delighted to enter into your service, Sir Reuben." Taking a step forward, he sank to his knee, this time not in front of Ayla, but before Reuben. "I shall fight at your side and not one of your enemies shall get even close to you while I am there."

"All right, all right, get up off the floor," Reuben growled. "I accept your service. But don't you dare get between me and my enemies when there's a fight going on. I want the joy of slicing them into bloody bits all to myself, is that understood?"

"Yes, Milord!" Theoderich jumped to his feet, hurriedly.

"Good. And now listen." Standing up, Reuben withdrew a large roll of parchment from beneath his surcoat and unrolled it, so it was clearly visible to both Ayla and Theoderich. Ayla sucked in a breath—it was a map of Luntberg and the surrounding lands. "I had Sir Rudolphus make this for me, so we always know exactly what terrain we're dealing with. The enemy is going to come in this way."

He made a brief gesture.

„Now, here is what we are going to do..."

Reuben took a while to explain every little detail. When he was finished, it was Ayla who was sitting slumped back in her chair, her face hidden in her hands.

"Th-that's diabolical!" Theoderich exclaimed.

"Yes, it is, isn't it?" Reuben said smugly.

Ayla sighed. „I don't think he meant it as a compliment, Reuben," she pointed out.

"Oh. And why not, pray?"

"It... it is deceitful, and unchivalrous, and... and..."

"...strategically sound?" Reuben suggested.

"I... forgive me, Sir Reuben," Theoderich said in a low but steady voice, "but I don't believe any true knight could ever come up with a plan such as this."

The laugh that came from Reuben's throat then, Ayla thought, was both quiet and terrible.

"Exactly. And, my young squire, do you know who commands the enemy's forces?"

"N-no, Milord?"

"Knights, my squire. The enemy forces are commanded exclusively by knights. They will fall before us like autumn leaves before the storm."

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Good Morrow, Milords and Ladies!

What do you think of Theoderich as a character? He made a small appearance in book one, but just as my newly introduced characters Sir Gregor and Sir Blasius, I think he'll have to play a bigger role to play in the days to come, and most especially in the battle that is brewing on the horizon.

It's time for Reuben's devilish plans to be put into practice!

Ready for some Robber Knight Action? ;-)

Your medieval scribe (arming for battle)

Sir Rob

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GLOSSARY:

Squire: A Squire is what you could describe as an apprentice knight. Young noblemen who were to be trained as knights (really the only career option for a nobleman except for the Church) began their training as pages when they were seven years old by running errands and polishing the boots of their knight master, who was often a friend of the boy's family who had agreed to train him. At fourteen, boys became squires, and from then on had to fight alongside their knight masters in battle. Somehow makes the contemporary school system appear much more fun, doesn't it?