Reuben's eyes wandered over to the window to gaze out into the valley. Yet he didn't really see it. He saw the glittering roofs of a distant city, shining almost painfully bright under the hot sun of the south. He saw the woods of cypress trees, stretching forever and ever. He saw the bay hugging the startlingly blue ocean in a warm and welcoming gesture.

So far away...

jSo long gone...

"How to best to begin..." he murmured. "I wonder... Do you know Sir Galahad?"

"The best of the knights of the round table," Ayla responded, rather hesitantly. Apparently, she wasn't all too sure where he was going with this. "Of course we know."

"Back then, all those years ago," Reuben told her, "I was a lot like Sir Galahad."

Ayla frowned. "You went on a search for the Holy Grail and threw your father off a horse?"

Reuben felt his lips twitch. "Actually, I meant that I was pious, virtuous, courteous and demure."

Ayla's cocked her head in one of the most delectable movements Reuben had ever seen her make. Out of the corner, he heard Burchard make a derisive snort.

"Um... really?" she asked. "I'd find it a lot easier to believe that you went on a search for the Holy Grail."

His lip quirked up a little farther.

"You wound me, Milady."

She jabbed at his blood-stained arm. "Someone else already did that for me! By the way... It wasn't all about piety and virtue. I seem to remember that Sir Galahad was the best warrior of his time, too."

Reuben shrugged. "Of course I was that, too. I could easily beat any other knight my age into a pulp. But the important thing is that I was a young fool. I had wild dreams in my head about adventure, and romance, and fighting dragons and giants and the Devil knows what else. It was in this state of juvenile insanity that I came to the city of Palermo, looking for adventure."

He gazed into the distance again, once more seeing the shimmering city on the coast in front of his inner eye.

"You have to have seen it to understand," he whispered, reverently. "The great azur sea hugged by the coast, like a beautiful child by its mother. It was a wonderland. And then, at the center of Palermo, there was the Royal Palace—the court of Emperor Friedrich. They don't call him the 'Wonder of the World' for nothing. His court is like something out of a fairytale: beautiful animals from distant lands, sparkling fountains, exotic fruits to taste, and even more exotic people. I was sucked into a wild dream and didn't want to wake up."

He paused, tracing the line of flight of a hawk outside in the sky with his eyes. The animal was plunging down, down, down towards its prey on the ground. It vanished from sight, and Reuben took a deep breath.

"It was at the court," he finally continued, his voice darkening and his eyes flashing up to meet Ayla's, "among all the splendor and might of innumerable realms, that I first met her."

*~*~**~*~*

Ayla felt the words pierce her heart like a poisoned arrow with thousands of tiny barbs. She stared at Reuben, moisture suddenly at the corners of her eyes. He didn't look back at her.

Never in a thousand years had she expected his story to include another girl—to be about another girl. She bit her lip, trying to hold back tears.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! Of course he has met other girls. He probably did a lot more than just meet them. How many? Dozens? No, probably hundreds! Maybe thousands...

She had known that. Had known she wasn't the first one to catch his eye. Usually, she managed not to think about it much. But to hear him talk about one of them like that, to have him make her real, brought all her her insecurities to the surface.

Now she understood why he had asked her if she wanted to know this at all, why he had warned her she might want to kill him. She definitely wanted to kill someone.

Him?

No, probably not.

Her, whoever she is?

Definitely!

"Her name was Salvatrice," Reuben continued, in a voice so dreamy it made Ayla want to reconsider where it might not be a good idea to strangle him, first, after all. "She was the daughter of the most respected noblemen in Sicily. Not that she was rich, of course—her family had lost most of its possessions long ago—but highly respected she was, and the fairest maiden in all of Sicily. Raven-black hair, dark green eyes, and a smile that made you want to fall on your knees and start reciting soppy love-ballads.

Yes, Ayla thought, her eyes narrowing to slits. The idea of killing him is definitely worth reconsidering...!

"At the time she came to Palermo," Reuben continued, unaware of the mortal danger he was in, "I had already risen to the ranks of the best knights at the Imperial Court. I had won several tournaments in a row, and the Emperor himself had showered me with gifts and honors."

Ayla felt Burchard stiffen at her side and suck in a breath. She supposed the news that Reuben had once been the Emperor's favorite came as something of a shock to a shock to someone who had basically already decided he was a cross between a demon from hell and a rabid mongrel. Her own mind, however, was busy with for more important matters than silly kings and emperors.

Salvatrice...

So that was the witch's name!

"I had just won a great tournament in the Emperor's honor, and deposed the former champion of all Sicily, when I first saw her." Reuben sighed, and Ayla felt hands twitch with the desire to hit something. It was too infuriating to know that if she slapped him, he'd not feel a thing!

Still, it might feel nice to her, anyway...

"It was a sight to behold, I tell you. She was sitting in the Emperor's box, high up above the rest of the crowd, an elegant hat crowning her hair and a veil falling down over her shoulders over which you could just see her dark eyes, full of mystery. When a breeze picked up and tore the veil from her face, I thought I had been struck with a hammer between the eyes. The dark, wild beauty in her features—you have to have seen a Sicilian maiden to understand. They are all beautiful, and she was the most beautiful of them all. And she smiled at me."

Reaching out, he grabbed a goblet from the table, filled it with water from a jug and took a deep gulp. With another sigh, he set the goblet down.

"Of course I fell in love with her immediately."

Slapping his face? No! That was too good for him! Her hands balled into little fists, Ayla let her gaze wonder over his body, considering alternatives. Surely that had to be something better than simply slapping his face. There had to be some place the torturer hadn't thought of, some place that would really, really hurt if she just...

Reuben shrugged. "Like I said, I was a silly young fool back then."

At those words, Ayla's eyes jerked up to his face. He still looked into the distant past, an unusual expression of melancholy on his face. Was he just sad about whatever horrible thing had happened to him, or was he also unhappy about the affairs he'd had with other women?

Well... maybe, if that was the case, she wouldn't try to maim or murder him just yet.

"Forget about the soppy love story!" Burchard growled. "We don't want to hear how many women you've done it with!"

Ayla had already opened her mouth and was just about to say "I do!", when she remembered that she was supposed to be a lady. Quickly, she lowered her face to let her hair hide her blush.

Reuben didn't get angry. He didn't even give Burchard a glance. His lips just twitched a little.

"Unfortunately, the soppy love story is tied up with the infernal tragedy. One wouldn't exist without the other."

Ayla tensed again. "How so?"

"Lady Salvatrice was not alone when she came to the Emperor's Court. There was a man with her, a great noble, and an even greater admirer of her."

"And let me guess," Burchard asked, "the two of you didn't exactly hit it off?"

"Oh, I don't know. I definitely remember hitting him, on numerous occasions and with a variety of weapons, including sword, lance, mace, and on one occasion, a table."

"Sounds very friendly, I'm sure."

"We had our differences. But that's only to be expected, if two men are vying for the favor of the same young lady."

"Salvatrice?" Ayla could hardly get the name out. Her voice sounded strange in her own ears.

Reuben turned his gaze away from the window to look at her. His gray eyes were steady. Deep. Full of mysteries.

"Yes."

"You competed with this other noble for her attention? For her... love?"

"Yes, Milady."

Ayla took a deep breath preparing to ask the question she had been working up towards. The one she was most terrified of asking.

"Did you marry her?"

"Um..." Burchard cleared his throat. "Aren't we slightly getting away from the subject of demons, evil powers and swift but necessary executions? Milady, you—"

Ayla's hand shot out towards Burchard, her finger pointing at him like a dagger. "Burchard, shut up! Just shut up for a minute, will you?" She focused her attention back on Reuben. "Well? Did you? Marry her, I mean?" It would explain everything. It would explain why he had never proposed marriage to her, why he was so haunted by his past. If he still still had a wife living somewhere...

Yes. It would explain everything. It would also break her heart.

"Married?" Reuben was staring at her as if she had grown three additional heads. "Satan's hairy ass, no! Even back then I wasn't that stupid! And even if I were, what would it matter?"

"What would it matter?" Now Ayla was the one staring. "Married people promise each other fidelity!"

"Your point being?" he enquired, raising an eyebrow.

"That means you... you couldn't..." She felt the color rise to her cheeks. "You couldn't get involved with someone else. Or marry someone else."

"Excuse me!" Burchard growled. "But I think we should be getting back to what we were actually discussing! You know? The possibility that he's a warlock or demon? The execution that is to be scheduled?"

They both ignored him.

"Of course I could!" Reuben declared. "I'd just have to brake my promise."

Ayla gasped. "You would... no! Not even you would do such a thing! Break a vow made in the presence of God? No! Not even you could sink so low!"

"Of course I could." He shrugged. "Promises and vows aren't hard to brake, trust me. Much easier than the skulls of enemy soldiers, in fact."

Ayla raised a shaking finger.

"That... that's despicable! For breaking a vow you could burn in hell for eternity!"

"Well," Reuben mused, leaning back and counting on his fingers, "it would actually be the... wait a moment... twenty-two, twenty-three... thirty... and then there was that time in Pamplona... yes. It would be actually the two hundred and thirty-seventh vow I've broken. So one eternity more or less doesn't really matter, I think."

"You're a devil!" Ayla snapped.

"Does that mean we can execute him?" Burchard wanted to know.

"No! Be quiet!"

"I don't see," Reuben said, his voice holding an undeniable note of danger, "why you are so angry about me not being already married."

"I'm not!"

"Really? You could have fooled me."

"That's not why I'm angry!"

"Why are you angry, then?"

"I'm angry because... because you..."

I'm angry because I've been worried sick over the couple of weeks because you haven't proposed to me, and I thought it meant you don't love me! And now it looks like you might actually love me, but you think marriage is just about as necessary as a hole in the head, and you just want to jump me in sinful sexual desire and... and... well, I might actually want that too, but I was brought up to strict moral standards, and there's still the fact that I don't know who or what the heck you are and I'm not exactly ready to have my virginity taken by a demon from hell and... and... this is all getting too much for me to handle!

Ayla slumped down in a chair, and hid her face in her hands. "I'm not angry, Reuben. Continue with your story, will you? I have to know what happened."

"All right."

She heard Reuben take a deep breath. "My story... Well, where was I? Ah yes, Salvatrice, and the Duke."

"The Duke?" Ayla let her hands sink.

"The other nobleman," Reuben explained, darkly. "The one that came to Palermo with Lady Salvatrice. It wasn't long before he and I were known all over the city as arch-enemies. We argued, insulted each other, faught... Oh, I can't even remember how many times we fought for her. Always for her. Our duels were the highlight of any tournament—and I won most of them, dedicating each and every victory to Salvatrice."

"You... mean you tried to impress her by bashing another man's head in with a sword?" Ayla demanded, horrified.

"Of course," Reuen told her, as if this were the most natural thing in the world. "That's how courtly love works."

Behind him Theoderich nodded. "In this, Sir Reuben is correct, Milady. I have studied the great Arthurian ballads, and it is indeed always the greatest knight who may hope to be favored by the lady of his heart."

"You didn't think to maybe try bringing her flowers?" Ayla inquired. "Complementing her on her hair, and the color of her eyes?"

Reuben and Theoderich exchanged a meaningful look.

"No," Reuben said, firmly. "Smashing someone's brains in is definitely the way to go."

"Really?" She raised a sceptic eyebrow. "Did it work, then? Did she fall into your bloody arms and forget all about your rival?"

"Well... not really. There were special circumstances in the Duke's favor."

"Special circumstances?"

"Yes. He was stinking rich."

Ayla's took a deep, calming breath. It didn't really work. "And that didn't make you think that maybe the lady in question was a little rump-faced, money-grabbing strumpet?"

"Milady!" Reuben' flashed her a grin that almost made all Ayla's anger melt away. Almost. "Such words from your sweet lips? I am shocked!"

"Liar."

"You're right. I'm not shocked, I'm delighted. It was high time that some of my language lessons stuck with you."

"Don't try to change the subject! You were just telling us how your Salvatrice was running after this Duke."

"She's not my Salvatrice," growled Reuben. "She hasn't been for years, if she ever was. And she wasn't running after the Duke—she made him run after her, which requires much more skill and determination."

"Oh, am I supposed to admire her now?"

"No! You're supposed to listen. She is not what my story is about. She's just a footnote."

Ayla wanted to argue, wanted to say that to her, Reuben having loved another woman before her was definitely more than just a footnote. But she saw the dangerous glint in his eyes and closed her mouth. Now wasn't the time.

Taking a deep breath, Reuben made a grab for the goblet in front of him. He took aother swig and made a face.

"You wouldn't happen to have any honey wine, would you?"

"No."

Giving a tragic sigh, Reuben turned to the window again.

"Oh, all right... The duke and I fought for Salvatrice's favor. He had his his superior connections and enormous wealth on his side, and I had my breathtaking good looks, impeccable manners and charming personality."

A strangled snort came from Burchard's corner of the room. Reuben chose to ignore it.

"Our conflict went on for weeks and weeks. It was on the eve Michaelmas that it finally came to a head. There was another tournament, and we both were determined to win the price and give it to Lady Salvatrice as a present."

He sighed again. Was it in melancholy? Regret? Ayla couldn't tell.

"I was confident I would win... so confident."

Silence followed his words. Ayla wasn't brave enough to voice what she was thinking.

"I had good reason to be confident, too. Nearly all the knights against whom I was to compete I had beaten before. The ground was familiar. My equipment was in perfect order. My horse was the best. And so was I."

Reuben's eyes got that distant look again, and Ayla, who had just been about to chastise him for his lack of humility, stopped herself. There was something something hanging in the air... an intangible feeling of anticipation and of doom, inextricably linked.

"It was hot that day," Reuben murmured. "That was what I remember the most—the heat. Have you any idea how hot it gets under the blazing sun of Palermo when you are stuck in full armor, not counting the five layers of padding? I can see him now—the Duke, a little figure at the other end of the lists, glittering because I was trying to blink drops of my own sweat out of my eyes. The herald gave the sign for us to start. I gave my horse the spurs. We galloped towards each other, lances held high."

He took a deep breath, as if telling this was costing him more strength than he had. Ayla could sense there was something coming. She could feel it. Something big. But what it was she had no idea what it might be.

"My horse raced down the lists like a comet. Everything was going perfect. My lance was coming down just right. I knew I had him! And then... then..."

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Milords and Ladies,

I apologize for the delay in updating! Having to face a future where I'll have to earn my own money is getting increasingly time-consuming :(

I'm doing my best to get more time for writing. I'm both publishing my book 'Storm and Silence' and I'll soon start posting on a platform called 'Radish', where all of you can support my writing through small contributions per chapter! If I manage to scrape a living by writing, I'll have more time for my stories again.

So, my dear fans - the future of my dream is in your hands! Please consider supporting my efforts and help me continue writing stories for your enjoyment :)

Yours Truly

Sir Rob 

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GLOSSARY:

Sir Galahad: The purest and most religious, but also best of the Arthurian knights. Monks in the 13th century were despairing at the popularity of the stories around King Arthur and his knights, who kept having ilicit affairs with married ladies or disguise themselves by magic to steal a maiden's virtue, or similar antics. So the monks invented Sir Galahad and added him to the Knights of the Round Table as a sort of example of what all the knights should be like, in their opinion.