Fritz the soldier didn't like the way things had been going for him lately. Being stabbed in the leg during the battle of the breaking bridge had been bad enough, but that was to be expected. Wounds were part of a soldier's job. Even being captured by the Luntberg soldiers being thrown into their lady's dungeon he didn't mind so much. It was quite a nice dungeon, all things considered. There were fewer rats than in Fritz's cottage back home, and the food wasn't covered in mold, which Fritz had believed was more or less mandatory for dungeons. And even if Luntberg's dungeon had been a rat-infested hovel, Fritz wouldn't have complained. He was a warrior of stout heart, and was used to the privations of war.

But this...

This was something entirely different.

Horrified, Fritz watched as the dungeon door opened and women—actual, honest-to-God women, with children milling all around them, started filing into the windowless room What was this? Where were the torturers, the enemy soldiers that spat in your food, the merciless executioners? Those he could deal with. Those were simply part of a soldier's life. But a flock of chattering females and their howling little brats? That was a low blow! Did people around here have no conscience, no mercy whatsoever?

One of the little brats, sensing his rising panic with the unerring instincts of a child, detached herself from her mother's hand and marched over to him. She stopped about two feet away from him and tilted her head back to stab him with her accusing glare. At least Fritz supposed it was a she. All he could really see was a scowling little face behind a tangled curtain of black hair, and two small fists clutching a doll each.

"Are you one of the baddies who want to chop off our heads?" the little girl demanded, glaring up at him.

"I, um... can't chop off any heads," Fritz replied, desperately praying for an angel to come and rescue him. "See?" He held up his manacled wrists. "My hands are tied."

"Aye. Because Sir Reuben caught you down at the bridge, before you could start trying to chop off our people's heads! He won't let any baddies chop off any more heads!"

This little monster apparently had a one-track mind. Fritz tried his very best to think of something to say that didn't involve severed heads. Finally, he asked: "Who is Sir Reuben?"

"My knight. Here, that's him!" She held up the uglier of her two dolls, proudly. It looked like cross between a squirrel and pile of scrap metal, with a blackened mop for a wig. "He's the handsomest and bravest knight in all the world. He's going to skin you all alive and then roast you slowly over an open fire. Maybe he'll even spice you up with a little pepper and mustard."

"Err... how nice of him."

"And then he'll feed you to the crows, and they'll eat you veeery slowly. They'll go for the eyeballs first, you know. I heard a bard sing a song about the crusades and there was this great battle, and afterwards the crows came and ate all the squashy bits and..."

"You there!" A woman appeared in front of Fritz, glaring from him to the child and back again. From her face he would have thought she was normally a kind and gentle woman. Just now, however, she more resembled a fury from hell. "You monster!" Trembling, she shook a finger under Fritz's nose, and he retreated against the wall to which he was chained. "How dare you frighten my daughter? How dare you! Come, Fye! Let's get away from this evil man."

Picking up the little girl, the mother hurried away, leaving behind a bedraggled, lonely soldier. Over her mother's shoulder, the little girl threw him an evil grin.

*~*~**~*~*

It took Ayla a while to make sure that everyone was settled peacefully. People stepped on each other's feet, lost their children, complained about the smoky air, pestered her with questions—the problems seemed endless. Once or twice, Ayla considered whether it might not just be simpler to chain her own people to the walls next to the captive soldiers, but in the end, she managed to make everyone calm down and stop bickering.

Maybe she shouldn't even have tried, though. Because, once everybody had quieted down, they couldn't help but hear the thuds and crashes from overhead, getting closer and closer. That made people even quieter, and then they could suddenly feel the ground shake under their feet and hear the mortar trickling down from the ceiling with every impact.

After some time, she noticed people drifting to the corners of the room, huddling in the dark. She heard one or two children starting to cry. Fear had sneaked among them like a snake, ready to bite anyone who came too close. Close to crying. Close to praying. Close to breaking.

Only a few people managed to keep their spirits up: Sir Rudolphus, who was sitting in a corner, happily calculating the number of impacts it would take before a part of the ceiling would cave in; the old woman Ayla had rescued from falling down the stairs, who seemed to view every minute of life after that as a gift, an extension to a life that was really already over; and a fat villager, who sat propped up against a wall, snoring so loudly he nearly drowned out the impacts above.

The most surprising thing in all this, though, was not Sir Rudophus, or the old woman, or the fat man. No, it was the behavior of the captive enemy soldiers. They, who, unlike everyone else, should be happy about the bombardment, because it foreshadowed the victory of their master, sat in miserable silence, their heads bent, now and then exchanging looks Ayla couldn't decipher.

Then she saw one of the soldiers stand up and walk over two steps, to where a young widow sat cowering against the wall. He stood there for a moment—then sat down beside her and put his arms around her shoulder.

Ayla watched, her heart contracting painfully. The young woman didn't flinch away. She didn't scream, or slap the man who, for all she knew, might have killed her husband. She just sank against his shoulder and started crying, quietly.

"E-excuse me? Milady?"

With difficulty, Ayla tore herself away from the sight of the crying woman. But when she saw who was speaking to her, her attention immediately came into focus. In front of her stood a little boy, with his arms clutched around an even smaller baby in his arms.

"I-I'm sorry to have to disturb you, Milady, b-but..."

Ayla bent down and forced a smile on her weary face. "That's no problem. What's the matter, little man? Where are your parents?"

The flash of pain that crossed the boy's face was all the answer she needed.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, kneeling and taking both the boy and baby into her arms. "My mother died when I was five. I know what it's like."

"M-mum's been dead ever since I can remember," the boy stuttered. "She died when Karl was born, they say, when I was just three. And now... now... dad died just a few days ago. Died like a hero, they said, fighting in the battle down at the bridge."

Ayla felt a chill go through her heart. "You and your brother have been alone all that time?"

"Folk have taken care of us, Milady. Given us a place to sleep, and we got the rations, same as everyone else."

"But nobody took you in? Took care of you?"

She felt the boy shake his head. "N-no. And Now I don't know what's happening, and I'm scared. And I'm hungry, and haven't had anything to eat since yesterday. And Karl..."

Ayla's gaze was drawn to the baby. "Karl is your brother's name?"

"Y-yes, Milady."

"And yours?"

"Bodo, Milady. I... I don't know what to..."

"Psht. It's all right. I'm going to take care of you. Come with me."

At that very moment, the baby in the boy's arms began to cry, his wails rising above the thunder of breaking stone above.

Like the angel of revenge, Ayla rose, her eyes flashing, searching for a victim. Her eyes fastened on someone on the opposite side of the dungeon. Someone she had been watching before. Without further hesitation, she marched towards him, boy and baby in tow. "You!"

The soldier looked up, and flinched back when he saw Ayla's finger pointing directly at his nose.

"What's your name?"

"L-Launas, Milady."

"Very well I've got work for you, Lauas." She pointed to the squalling babe in the boy's arms. "Take him and calm him down."

"But... Lady, I am not one of you." The soldier held up his arms, revealing the thick chains around his wrists. "See?"

"Do you think that gives you an excuse to laze about? Take him, now, or I'll be really displeased."

Without further discussion, Ayla pressed the screaming infant into the enemy soldier's arms. The man stared down at it as if it might explode at any moment.

"B-but Milady, what am I supposed to do with it?"

"Rock him, sing to him, whatever you can think of!"

"Sing?"

"Yes, sing, soldier. Don't you know any songs?"

"I know a song," one of the the man's chained companion said in a deep, gravelly voice, stepping forward with a grin on his face. "It's called Look, ain't the barmaid got two really big boo—aargh!"

His friend, who was apparently a really quick thinker, had given him a good kick against the shins.

"I'll find a song," he assured Ayla hastily. "Don't you worry, Milady."

"Good. You!" She pointed to the young woman beside the soldier, who immediately stopped crying and straightened herself. Ayla jerked her head towards the baby and the soldier. "Keep an eye on the two of them. Make sure the baby gets everything he needs. And you—" She turned towards the baby's big brother, who had watched the whole proceedings with awe. "Keep an eye on the three of them. Make sure that they don't do anything stupid while I'm away."

At her words, the boy smiled and grew about five inches. "Yes, Milady! As you wish, Milady."

"I've got to go now, but I'll be back soon."

"Yes, Milady!"

"Just one thing before I go... how hungry are you, exactly?"

*~*~**~*~*

Ayla found Burchard about half an hour later.

"I've asked around," she cut right to the chase. "Some of the children here haven't had anything to eat or drink since yesterday."

"A little fasting is good for you," he growled. "Why are you bringing this up?"

"Because we have no idea how long we will be stuck down here. We have to get some supplies so we at least can hold out a couple of days. By that time, things should be decided one way or the other."

"Supplies?" Burchard's eyebrows smashed together to form a single, impenetrable, bushy line. "You want to go out there into that hell to get a few chunks of bread for the village brats?"

Ayla's eyes narrowed. "For hungry children, yes, Burchard."

"The hell you will! The devil can take the brats, for all I can. You're staying here!"

"Burchard!"

"Don't you look at me like that. I learned that kind of language from our new commander in chief, whom you appointed."

Ayla blushed.

"Well, curse all you want. I am going to go out there and get food for the children."

"Over my dead body, you are." He raised a finger to point at her, and his mustache twitched accusingly. "This isn't about food for some imps with growling stomachs. You want to go out there in some pointless act of heroism. What do you think you can do? Stop two-hundred pound stone missiles with your bare hands?"

"No," she told him, raising her chin. She wasn't ashamed of the decision she had come to. "I can't do that. But neither can our soldiers, and they are out there anyway, protecting us from enemy soldiers. What do you think they will think of their liege lady if she cowers in the dark while they risk their lives?"

"They will think that she has a good head on her shoulders."

"Maybe. But maybe they'll take me for a sniveling coward. That's not a risk I'm willing to take."

"But you're willing to risk being squashed to death?"

"If it's the right thing to do, yes."

"I won't let you!"

"And how do you propose to stop me?"

The steward snorted. "Forgive me, Milady, but you're not exactly a match for me, physically. And you don't have a horse to ride away on like last time you did something stupid. I just have to grab you, and you won't move one step out of here. And I will restrain you, if it should be necessary."

She nodded. "I thought as much. That's why I took precautions. Men?"

Two pairs of arm shot past Burchard, grabbing his wrists and holding them tightly. Cursing, he tried to free himself, but the men didn't let go.

"Please don't befoul the air, Burchard," Ayla asked, holding up a hand as if to ward off his curses. "There's no need for that."

"There bloody well is, and I'll curse and blaspheme all I want until you tell these fools to let go of me! What did you do? Did you bring our soldiers down here, just to restrain me?"

"No, of course not. Our soldiers are needed outside."

Burchard stopped struggling. Ayla saw his eyes travel down to the hands of his captors, and further, to their wrists. Wrists encased in bands of iron. Twisting his thick neck around, he tried to catch a glimpse of them, and when he saw the two prisoners, his mouth fell open in incredulity. "You're leaving me in the hands of the enemy?"

Ayla waved his words away. "Well, they aren't as bad as we thought, really, once you get to know them a bit. Burchard, meet Walahfrid and Launas. You two, let me introduce Burchard, my steward."

"At your service, Sir," Walahafried rumbled in his deep voice, grinning and bowing to the man whose wrists he was holding.

"Mostly, at least," Launas added. "Except for letting you go, of course. The lady made that quite clear."

"Not as bad as we thought?" Burchard turned back to Ayla, and she felt herself blush under his glare. "Yes, I can see how they're not as bad as we thought. They are quite polite and friendly, when they don't try to conquer your lands or slit your throats! How the hell did you get them to do what you want, all of a sudden?"

"I explained the situation, and asked them nicely." She looked up at the two men and smiled. "Thank you very much. You are a great help."

The two men turned red in the face and muttered something about it being their pleasure to do a kindness to such a gentle lady. If they were red in the face, however, it was nothing compared to how Burchard looked.

"Ayla! I demand that you tell them to let me go, now!"

She started towards the door.

"When I'm back, Burchard, I promise."

"Ayla! Milady! You have to—"

But she was already out the door.

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Greetings, my Lords and Ladies,

Ah, do you think Lady Ayla is starting to win over the enemy? Do you think she'll survive the danger outside?

Farewell for now,

Sir Rob