The next morning, Ayla was just finished dressing, when there came a knock from the door. Ayla looked at her friend Dilli and her other maids, whom she shared the room with while the castle was under siege.

"Are any of you expecting someone?" she asked.

"Lord, no, Milady!" Dilli shook her head so her brown locks flew in all directions. "We would never presume to invite someone to your chambers!"

"Well, let's see who it is, then. Enter!"

The door opened and a soldier stuck his head in through the crack.

"Forgive me for disturbing you, Milady, but Sir Reuben asked me to enquire whether you would be so kind to join him on the outer east wall—if you can spare the time, of course."

"Really?" Ayla raised an eyebrow. "Those were Sir Reuben's exact words?"

"Um... no, Milady." The soldier cleared his throat, his face reddening. "His exact words were, um... 'Tell her ladyship to get her bonny behind up here, right away', Milady."

"I see. That does sound more like Sir Reuben. Lead on, soldier. Dilli, can you come with me? I don't know what Reuben wants me for, but I might need you."

Reuben awaited them on the wall, striding up and down like a caged tiger—if there were such a thing as red, metal-clad tigers that is—and glaring off into the distance. The minute he caught sight of them, he pointed at Dilli.

"What did you bring her for?" he growled.

"In case you managed to get yourself shot again," Ayla retorted. "So there would be someone to hold your hand while I patched you up."

Reuben told her, in very graphic words, what he would do to anyone who would try to hold even his little finger, let alone his hand. Dilli blanched and retreated a few steps.

"You seem to be in fine fettle this morning," Ayla remarked.

"Yes, well, I didn't get a lot of work done yesterday. Somebody interrupted me just as I was about to start on the important parts."

The glare Reuben directed at Ayla was impressive, but she had gotten used to it by now. In return, she just smiled at him. "I'd say I'm sorry to hear that, but I usually don't lie."

"And," Reuben continued as if he hadn't heard her interruption, "as if that weren't enough, now the Margrave has presented me with that!"

Violently, he stabbed his armored fist over the crenels, towards the distant eastern riverbank. Following his outstretched arm with her eyes, Ayla searched the bank for any possible threat. Yet she couldn't see anything except the enemy camp with its high palisades and fluttering black banners. It looked threatening enough, but what could a camp do to harm them?

"I thought they would need a while to recover after yesterday's little showdown," Reuben growled. "I thought that we had at least a couple of days. But no, that would have been too easy. Of course, the Margrave would manage to entrench himself on the eastern bank in just one night, the brain-boiled son of a..."

He began uttering a series on profanities which, under normal circumstances, would have made Ayla stuff her ears in abject horror. But she was too deep in thought to care right now. She couldn't for the life of her fathom why the enemy camp provoked such an extreme reaction in Reuben. It was just a camp, after all. Yet the fire she saw burning in his eyes told her that it was more—much more. And that knowledge sent a chill of fear through her.

"I don't understand," she said, softly. "Why are you so upset about the camp? Isn't it a good thing if the enemy has decided to stay on the opposite bank for a while and recuperate from their defeat? It gives us more time to prepare and replenish our supplies."

A grim smile twitched at the corners of Reuben's mouth. "Ordinarily, I would agree with you. But look at the palisades, how high they are, and how thick! Do you see how carefully the logs have been sharpened into stakes? Do you see the ditch they dug around the camp? This is no temporary resting place. It's a fortification."

"But..." Ayla frowned. "They're here to attack us, aren't they? Why build a fortification? Aren't those things usually used for defense?"

"Unless some genius has invented a fortress on wheels since I last fought a battle, yes."

Ayla's gaze was drawn to the enemy camp again, and this time, she looked at it with different eyes. There was something menacing about the fortress, about how it sat on the riverbank, like a rabid bear, ready to pounce. But no! A fortress couldn't pounce... could it?

Tock... tock...

The noise was very faint, so faint that Ayla hardly heard it. Still, it made her shivers expand until she felt cold all over. Stepping forward, she leaned over the parapet.

"What's that noise?" she demanded to know. "That noise from the forest?"

But she already knew the noise. Knew it all too well.

Reuben met her eyes and nodded.

"They're felling trees."

For a few moments, ominous silence descended over the trio on the wall. Ayla looked serious. Dilli looked terrified. Reuben looked as if he wanted to tear someone's liver out with his teeth.

"M-milady," Dilli's voice was hardly more than a whisper. "Milady, last time they cut trees, they nearly came over the river. Oh, Milady, what are we going to do? If they're making boats again—"

"They can't be." Ayla shook her head. "It wouldn't make sense. Why build such a massive fortification on the eastern bank, and then try to cross to the other side?"

Reuben nodded grimly.

"They're cooking up something else. Something worse, if you ask me."

Dilli looked as if she now wished she hadn't asked. Ayla tried her best to keep a brave expression on her face, but wasn't sure she managed.

"How do you know that?"

"You said it yourself, Milady: why build such a strongly fortified position on the opposite riverbank, hundreds of yards away from the castle? It looks not as if they were preparing to march on us—that we could deal with. It rather looks as if they were preparing for a defense themselves. But that doesn't make sense! Why defend their position, when they've come to conquer? Unless... unless they have found some way to attack us from this far away, from behind their walls."

Reuben's face turned even grimmer than it already had been.

Ayla didn't know how it happened. One moment she was standing a several feet away from him, the next she had crossed the distance and was in his arms, hiding her face against his chest. It wasn't really comfortable to press one's face into hard steel covering possibly even harder muscles. But just in that moment, it felt like the best place in the world.

"What's going to happen?" Why on earth was her voice so weak and wobbly? She was supposed to be a leader, a strong liege lady! Yet right then and there, not knowing what devilry the Margrave might be planning to throw at them, she was incredibly grateful that Reuben's arms were around her, being strong for her, giving her hope.

"I don't know, Milady," he murmured into her ear, and the title sent a wave of warmth through her. He often used it in a tone that was dripping with sarcasm, showing about as much respect as a eagle would show for a worm. But just now he spoke it not with his usual devilish mockery, nor with respect, but with love. "I don't know. But nothing will happen to you, I promise."

Out of the corner of her eye, Ayla saw Dilli making herself scarce. The maid actually tip-toed away, as if afraid to rouse the red knight's wrath if she walked too loudly. Ayla smiled.

"I love you," Ayla whispered against Reuben's chest. "I love you so much."

Say you love me too. Please say you love me too; I need to hear it right now.

When no answer came, she looked up towards him. Reuben had lifted an eyebrow and was grinning down at her, the devil dancing in his eyes.

"Well... thanks."

Ayla gasped, involuntarily. It took her a moment to figure it out, and remember her reply to his first confession of love, all those weeks ago. When she did, she glared up at him, pulling back her arms from around him to put her fists on her hips.

Reuben's grin widened, the devil in his eyes now dancing a tarantella. "Don't look at me like that, Milady. It was just a little payback, remember?"

Ayla felt warmth flood her cheeks.

"I wasn't thinking when I said that," she snapped. "I had to worry about saving my people's lives from bloodthirsty marauders at the time, remember?"

"And I have to worry about saving the life of a beautiful maiden," Reuben purred, winking at her, and drawing her back towards him with one arm around her waist. His eyes were burning with mirth and other, far more sinful thoughts. "You can't blame me for not being adequately romantic, now, can you?"

More blood rushed to Ayla's cheeks, but she didn't soften her glare, and didn't say anything.

"Oh, all right." Bending forward with a dramatic sigh, he pressed a long, lingering kiss on her lips. "I—love—you," he growled, putting emphasis on each word. "I love you like the devil loves his pitchfork. I love you like the angel loves his wings. I love you from here to heaven, through hell and back again. But then, you already knew that."

Ayla gazed up into his beautiful, burning gray eyes. Then why won't you ask for my hand?

"I like to hear it anyway," she mumbled, quickly suppressing that thought and trying her best to keep the glare on her face. She managed it for about two seconds before she melted into his kiss and let him pull her up against his chest again.

It was quite some time before her slumbering conscience awoke. It wasn't until Reuben's hands, always keeping busy, started to venture down her waist to an area Ayla wouldn't even name in front of another lady, that she realized what was happening.

"W-we shouldn't be doing this," she mumbled.

"Why not? Because it's 'sinful'?"

"Yes!"

"I admit, it is a little more brazen than what you usually do," Reuben conceded, "considering the crowd that is watching us from the courtyard."

"W-what?"

Ripping herself away from him with all her might, Ayla stumbled back and hastily turned towards the castle courtyard, several dozen feet below.

There wasn't a soul in sight.

Slowly, very slowly, Ayla turned back to Reuben. He was leaning against the parapet and seemed suddenly very interested in the enemy camp once more.

"Reuben...!"

"Yes, my gracious liege lady?"

"There is nobody down there!"

"True. But, in my defense, I've definitely managed to get your mind off the Margrave, haven't I?"

"At risk of your life, yes! Do you want to make me kill you?"

"Oh, I'm not afraid of you, Milady." He gave her his devilish grin again, and Ayla felt her bones trying to melt. She ordered them to stay solid!

"Really, Sir Knight?" She narrowed her eyes. "Are you sure?"

"Oh yes. I'd joust with you any time." He winked again. "Even without wearing armor, or anything else, for that matter."

It took a moment for the meaning of his words to sink in.

"Can you please keep your mind, tongue, and remaining parts out of the gutter?" she demanded.

"No," he replied, jovially. "I like the gutter. It's a very nice place, particularly if you want to..."

Ayla fled, leaving Reuben standing there, looking off towards the east. She knew that if she stayed, she would hear or do something she simply would have to confess to the priest next Sunday. The thought alone made her want to faint with shame.

Besides, she had the running of the castle to attend to, and had to let him do his own job. She knew he would do it well. He had even managed to drive most of her worries about death and destruction out of her mind, replacing them with other, far more tempting thoughts.

Yet in spite of Reuben's efforts, the image of the banner of the silver falcon on black fluttering high above the enemy camp, over land that had belonged to her family for untold generations, didn't leave her. It haunted her for the rest of the day and deep into the night.

*~*~**~*~*

"How dare she leave us down here like that? She hasn't even bothered to come down here for days!"

"Yes, Blasius."

"Three days! We are knights of the Empire, not some pair of bandits she may maltreat with impunity! I swear to you, Blasius, there is deeper evil in this creature than at first appears. Did you notice how she stuffed that rag into my mouth?"

"Oh yes, Blasius. I noticed."

"No good, Christian woman could treat a knight like this in good conscience! I will stake my name on it, she is a witch, and consorting with demons and devils who whisper evil advice into those apparently so innocent ears."

"Hmm."

Gregor wasn't really listening. He had picked up a piece of bread he had saved from the tray of food a guard had brought in earlier, and was holding it out to a little white mouse, sitting just a few paces away on a cracked floor tile.

"That's probably why the Margrave began the feud, Gregor. His Excellency has always been wise in such matters. It wouldn't surprise me if he had spotted her evil witch's ways before anybody else, and decided to put a stop to it."

"Hmm."

"And we're doomed to be her captives! We will probably be sacrificed by that red demon of a knight in a horrific satanic ritual! What shall we do, Gregor? What shall we do?"

"Come here, little mousy. Look what I've got for you."

"What?"

"I wasn't talking to you, Blasius."

Blasius turned to look at Gregor, for the first time in hours ripped from the dreadful contemplation of his captivity. He caught sight of the mouse and pulled a face.

"Gregor! What are you doing with that beast?"

"Trying to make friends, if you really want to know," Gregor said with a smile. It wasn't meant for Blasius. The mouse had started to approach by now, her nose twitching.

"And you decided to waste our last morsel of food in this desperate hour of need on such vermin?" Blasius demanded, his voice quivering with indignation. "Once we are near starvation, what you are throwing away on that beast could make the difference between life and death!"

Gregor took a good look at the piece of bread that was lying on his open hand. It measured about one inch in height, the same in width, and half an inch in breadth.

"I don't know about you, Blasius, but my stomach is a lot bigger than that."

"You don't know what you're talking about! You've never starved before."

"And neither have you, I believe." Turning back to the mouse, Gregor continued: "Come here, little one. It's all right. I won't hurt you."

Giving a little squeak, the mouse jumped onto Gregor's hand and started nibbling. For a moment he considered petting her, but then decided to put that off until their second meeting. It was never a good idea to be too forward with a lady.

When she was finished, she jumped off Gregor's hand again and squeaked in an appreciative manner.

He gave her a smile. "Did you enjoy your meal?"

A few feet away, Blasius sank back against the dungeon wall with a groan. "God have mercy on me! I've been cast into a dungeon to die, and now I have to spend my last days in a cell with a madman!"

"Die?" Gregor raised his eyebrows at the other knight, courteously ignoring the "madman" comment. "What makes you think we're going to die?"

"That vixen threw us into a dungeon, Gregor, and hasn't been here to see us in three days! What more evidence do you need that she means to leave us here until we rot?"

"Well, look on the bright side: the red knight hasn't been down here, either."

Blasius blanched and looked over to the corner where the bowl of hot coals used to stand.

Indeed, the red knight had not been down to see them again, and Gregor was profoundly thankful for that. He had met only a few people in his life who scared the hell out of him—the red knight, though, did something worse. The fiend put the fear of hell into him. Every now and again, Gregor couldn't help but raise his hand to the spot on his face where the red hot iron had nearly burned his skin. And every time he did, he saw him—the red devil who had nearly disfigured him. And behind him, he saw her—the young girl, the lady, his enemy, who had saved him from torture and death.

She also hadn't come to see them again, and Gregor wasn't quite so pleased about that fact. For some reason, he had waited for another visit, hoped for it even—but she hadn't come.

Nobody at all had come, until finally, after hours and hours of Blasius endless chatter, a guard bearing two earthenware bowls full of dry bread and cheese in one arm and a pitcher full of water in the other had entered the cell. He marched over to them and placed his load unceremoniously in front of the two knights. Blasius shut up just long enough to cast a derisive look at the bowl.

"That is what your mistress calls food? Take that muck away and bring us something real to eat, you villain!"

Gregor himself was a bit surprised by the meagre meal. He wouldn't have figured the Lady of Luntberg for an ungenerous host. But the expression on the guard's face stopped him from saying something. Without a word, the man in armor turned and headed back to the door.

"Hey, you! Didn't you hear me? Come back at once and take that filth away!"

The guard had just reached the dungeon's exit. Slowly, he turned and regarded Blasius through narrowed eyes.

"That 'filth' is the same food that has been on our lady's table ever since your Master invaded her lands. I'd watch your tongue, Sir Knight, if you want to keep it."

The guard stepped out into the corridor and slammed the door shut behind him. Gregor could hear his heavy footsteps recede. With a heavy heart, he reached for his piece of bread and examined it cautiously. It looked as dry and unappetizing as bread possibly could—not at all remarkable in any way. How deceptive looks could be.

Three days later, he had gotten used to his meagre meals and started to share them with the various furry inhabitants of the dungeon. What had looked like a repulsive piece of crust had already helped him make friends with the white mouse, two curious and rats and a ferret. By now, Gregor was looking forward to his daily meals immensely. Blasius, however, wasn't quite as content with his lot as a prisoner.

"...will come down here again, sooner or later, I tell you," he was just lamenting. "I saw his eyes—the devil was dancing in them! That red fiend won't give up so easily! He won't rest until he has ground us into dust and dragged our souls to hell. We have to—"

Thump.

The deep, dark noise, travelling up to their ears from the deep within the earth, cut Blasius off in mid sentence. The white mouse stopped nibbling on what was left of Gregor's bread and looked up, her nose twitching, her little black eyes wide.

Gregor slowly turned to the east, from where the noise had come.

"What the—"

Thump. Thump.

Without uttering a single sound, the mouse dropped the rest of the bread and streaked over the floor, into her hole and the safe darkness beneath Luntberg.

Gregor and Blasius exchanged a look. Both their faces had gone ashen.

"It has begun," Gregor breathed.

*~*~**~*~*

Sir Reuben was not in a very good mood. First, Ayla had forbidden him to torture those two worms in the dungeon—what a typical female thing to do! Women never understood that men needed to indulge in an innocent hobby now and again!—then, his new squire, Theoderich, had started following him around like an overgrown puppy, expecting Reuben to actually teach him something, and now this!

Thump.

Reuben hurried towards the outer wall, with Burchard, the castle steward, following a few feet behind, huffing and puffing like an old farm ox asked to compete in the joust as a knight's charger.

"Where is it coming from?" Reuben demanded, not slowing down one jot. The steward needed to lose a little fat, anyway.

"Don't... know..." Burchard managed from behind him. "Sounds... like east! Margrave's... camp!"

"Amazingly I figured out that much for myself. I mean from where inside the camp! Get a move on, you rump-fed old ox! I haven't got all day."

With a satisfied grin, Reuben listened to the footsteps behind him doubling their pace. It could be that the steward was only trying to catch up to bash Reuben's head in for the insult he had just delivered, but in Reuben's experience, reasons didn't matter. Results did.

Thump. Thump.

Reuben's grin evaporated, and he doubled his pace as well, rushing along like a red bolt of lightning.

Thump.

They reached the top of the easternmost outer tower only a few minutes later, and stepped up to the parapet. Reuben heard Burchard stop in his tracks. The red knight, however, didn't stop, because he had already suspected what sight awaited him here. Resting his fists on the crenels, he gazed out over the land towards the distant enemy camp.

There, high above the tops of tents and trees, rose an immense structure of dark wood and taut rope. From the midst of the encampment it grew towards the sky, like the web of a giant spider that had decided to emulate the hubris of the Babylonians and build so high as to challenge God in the heavens. You could almost believe it really had to be the work of some giant monster, so tiny in comparison to the structure were the humans clambering up and down its sides, expanding it, fastening bolts, tying ropes, hammering pegs into place.

Thump.

The whole structure shuddered, as deep down between the tents, massive stakes were driven into the ground, holding it more tightly in place.

Thump. Thump.

Behind him, Reuben heard footsteps approach, now no longer quick, but slow and hesitant. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Burchard step up to the breastwork beside him. His face was impassive, but his mustache was bristling with tension.

"May the Lord have mercy on us," the steward breathed. "What in God's name is that?"

Reuben's hand went to his sword and tightened around the hilt reflexively. He knew exactly what it was. And God had absolutely nothing to do with it. On the contrary.

Thump.

Reuben felt wroth uncoiling in the pit of his stomach—right where other people kept their fear. He didn't think much of fear, so instead of wasting space on it, he stored an extra portion of battle rage there, which he only called upon in dire situations.

Situations like this one.

Thump.

Narrowing his eyes, Reuben regarded the distant construction closely.

"Two wheels," he muttered. "Two weels, and a central axis... wind the rope, and then... yes! It should work. It's the only way."

"What?" Burchard asked, obviously not having the faintest clue what Reuben was talking about.

"All right," the red knight growled, not taking his eyes off the monstrous thing rising above the enemy camp. "Listen to me, Burchard, and listen to me closely."

The older man straightened and the instinctive hostility which he always displayed around Reuben vanished from his face. He knew that tone of voice. It was a tone of voice Reuben only used when he was concerned for the safety of the one person they both cared for deeply.

"Yes, Sir Reuben?"

"Send a guard to Captain Linhart. Tell the captain to assemble a force in the courtyard—five, no, better just three men—and wait there until I arrive. I'll also need a smith with clever hands who can do what he's told without asking question. And make sure the men Linhart chooses are the best we have."

Burchard hesitated. His moustache twitched nervously. "And where will you and those men be going?"

Reuben's eyes flicked to the enemy camp. It was just a tiny movement, over in a flash, but Burchard had seen it.

The red robber knight smiled grimly. "There's something that needs to be done. Do me a favor, will you? Don't tell Lady Ayla about this until after I've left the castle."

Burchard nodded, turned to go—and froze.

"Don't tell me what, exactly?" Ayla's voice came directly from behind Reuben.

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Greetings, Milords and Ladies!

Phew! :) I managed to cling long enough to a borrowed PC to post this update. My own had completely broken down, and I'll have to get a new one. Curse this modern technology! Medieval knights don't know how to repair computers! :-/

Reuben has got something in store for him now! Can anybody guess what he or the Margrave are planning...? ;-)

Farewell till next time

Sir Rob