"Halt! Halt, you fools! You do not know what you are doing! Do not imperil your souls by touching the devil's tools!"

Ayla heard the voice as clearly as everyone else in the courtyard. The whole crowd froze in place. She saw Reuben's eyes shoot to a spot at the front of the crowd. Inwardly, Ayla muttered a fine lady's equivalent of a curse. What the heck was going on over there?

If she only hadn't stayed at the other side of the courtyard! But this had been Reuben's plan, and his performance. She had known that she had to get out of the way and allow him to do his job

"Excuse me, can you let me through please? Please, I need to get through!" As fast as she could, Ayla began pushing through the crowd. It wasn't going very well. People were tightly packed, and they were so focused on whatever was going on at the other end of the courtyard that they needed some time to realize who she was, before they made way for her. "Excuse me, please, good people, let me through."

"Do not listen to the deceiver!" a voice called from the other end of the courtyard. "He wants to tempt you into mortal sin! His words are poison!"

What is going on there?

Gritting her teeth, she pushed two peasants apart and squeezed through the gap. Quickly, she glanced up at Reuben, still standing on the keep steps above the crowed—and when she saw his face, she redoubled her efforts. She had to get there before any necks were broken or skulls smashed in.

No, no, no! Why did this have to happen? It was all going so well!

Taking two quick strides to the edge of the stairs, Reuben jumped, and disappeared into the crowd, which scattered, screaming. Then there came one scream that rose above the others, shrill and panicky.

When Ayla finally broke through the last lines of the crowd out into the open, she saw a scene before her that made her stop in her tracks.

Reuben was standing there, grasping another man by the throat. The man was perhaps five feet tall, and his feet twitched ineffectually in the air. His face was turning red like a beetroot, but still, Ayla recognized him.

"Gernot?" she exclaimed. "Reuben, let the poor man go!"

Reuben didn't move.

"He said my words are poison," he pointed out in a low, dangerous voice. His arm was perfectly still, holding the peasant up with no apparent effort. His eyes were slightly narrowed. But other than that he showed no signs of the rage that Ayla could feel radiating off him. "Perhaps I should find a couple of crossed vipers. We could let them into the dungeon we're going to throw this worthless piece of dung into, and I'm sure he'd soon know the real meaning of the word 'poison'."

"We're not going to throw him into a dungeon!"

"We aren't? Milady, how irresponsible of you. We can't just set the vipers on him out here. There are children running around who could get injured."

"We're not going to set vipers on him either!"

"Oh. You should have mentioned that. Are you sure?"

"Yes! Now let go!"

Reuben opened his hand, and the man dropped to the ground like a stone. He lay there, sprawled and gasping for breath. His face only slowly returned to its natural color.

"Gernot, what is the matter?" Stepping forward, Ayla knelt beside the prone figure of the peasant. "Why do you speak up against Sir Reuben? He only wishes to save all. We both do."

Gernot looked up at her. It was not the look a peasant normally gives his liege lady. There was not an ounce of respect of it. Instead, there was something like... fear? Distaste?

"I used to respect you, Lady Ayla!" Gernot croaked. "I believed that you were a true lady, and a good Christian. Now you've shown yourself for the vile creature you really ar—arrgh!"

"I'd be careful with your words," Reuben poined out, pressing his foot down a little harder on the peasant's hand and eliciting another groan of pain. "It's not a very wise thing to do, calling Milady names."

"God gives me the strength to withstand your torture," Gernot exclaimed. "He gives me the strength to withstand all—aaargh!"

"Does he, now?" Reuben mused, twisting his foot from left to right. "Then why are you screaming? Can it be that God has forgotten to supply you with fresh strength? How neglectful of him."

"Reuben," Ayla hissed. "Take your foot off his hand"

"Do you think I should put in on his face instead, Milady?"

"No! I think you should let me handle this."

Sighing, Reuben stepped back. "And I was already looking forward to a bit of fun. You are a cruel woman, Milady."

He stepped back. It didn't escape Ayla's notice, though, that his hand rested on the hilt of his sword. She had no doubt that if necessary, it would be drawn and ready in a fraction of a second.

"Gernot, what is this?" she asked, turning back to the peasant on the ground, who had propped himself up on his elbows now, massaging his maltreated hand, and glaring at Reuben. "What is this madness that has taken you?"

"Madness? It's no madness!" His eyes narrowed when he turned to look at her. "I heard you! I heard all of your vile plot to deceive us! I heard how you want to force the devil's instruments into our hands!"

Ayla felt her breath catch.

"Y-you heard?"

A moment later she felt like punching herself. Why couldn't she had have kept her mouth shut! Now, the entire village was staring at her, their eyes wide with sudden fear. And she, to make it worse, was sure she had an expression on her face that was guilty as hell itself.

Anger at herself surged up inside her. It wasn't even as if she had something to be guilty for! She was a faithful Christian, but this papal edict was simply against all reason! To forbid the use of a weapon that could help the weak defend themselves against overwhelming evil? How could that be just or right?

Gernot used her moment of hesitation to push himself up onto his feet and stagger over to the chest of crossbows.

"These things," he called out, taking the crossbow that lay on the edge of the chest and holding it up for all to see, "are the devil's! His Holyness the Pope himself forbade their use against fellow Christians because they are the weapons of robbers and assassins! If we touch them, we will all be damned!"

Whispers spread through the crowd. Some moved back from Ayla, as if she had the plague.

Gernot looked at her, scornfully. It cut right into her heart. She had known him all her life. Not very well—he had been one of many faces in the village—but still, she had known him ever since her childhood. And now he looked at her as if she were worse than dirt.

"Are you so depraved that for a mere worldly victory, you would cast all our souls into hell?" Gernot shook his head in disgust—then he took a step forward and spat on the ground, right in front of her.

Reuben growled, and started to move. But before he could even draw his sword, suddenly, another man's voice rang out over the courtyard:

"And are you so depraved, Gernot, that you would accuse the one who has saved all our lives more times than we could count of heresy and deception?"

A peasant stepped from the crowd. With a flood of warmth spreading through her heart, Ayla recognized Gelther. Gelther, Father of the little girl Fye. Gelther, whose family she had herself warned of the Margrave's attack and brought safely back to the castle, months and months ago.

"The Pope's edict may forbid the use of these things against Christians," Gelther continued, sending a hot glare at Gernot, "but who says that those monsters out there still are Christians? Does it not say in the Good Book that 'You shall love your neighbor as yourself?' Is that how the Margrave has treated us? No! He has trampled the commands of Christ again and again! He does not deserve to be called Christian!"

He looked around at the other villagers, raising his voice until it echoed from the walls.

"This is the man who burned down your homes and destroyed your fields, my friends! We do not owe him anything! And certainly not mercy if God gives us the means to destroy him!"

Cries of ascent rose from crowd. People rushed forward, shaking spears and axes in the air.

"And now, in our darkest hour, who is it that, with God's help, again rescues us from certain doom?" Gelther made himself heard over the uproar. "Lady Ayla! By God, I am no knight, but let anyone step forward and accuse her of heresy, and I will challenge him to a duel here and now!"

"You'll have to get in line," Ayla heard a gruff voice from behind her. "Because I'll fight the bastard first!"

Ayla sagged with relief. A bulky arm encircled her shoulders, and she saw the bristly ends of a big, black mustache out of the corner of her eye.

"I'm sorry, girl," Burchard's gruff voice murmured in her ear. "Can you forgive your steward for being a stubborn old fool?"

"That and much more," Ayla whispered back, her voice cracking. She had to work hard to keep from starting to sob.

"Forgive me, too, Milady, I beg you."

That was Captain Linhart's voice, from right behind her, backing her up. "I... I was blinded by fear of the unknown. You are the only true brave one among us."

"No, Captain," she said, laying a hand on his arm. "There's Gelther, and Reuben, and Burchard, and that old woman who is clutching the crossbow to her—and there's you. You overcame your fear in the end, didn't you? I forgive you."

She felt the others behind her: Sir Waldar, Sir Rudolphus, and more people whose faces she couldn't see, but whose presence she didn't doubt. Taking a deep breath, she proudly raised herself to her full height, and met Gernot's eyes.

The peasant, by now, had gone red in the face. He saw his triumph slipping away. "You heretic!" he yelled, focusing his anger on Gelther. "You defy the words of his Holiness the Pope with your sophistry! Your words are unchristian!"

"Are they now?" Gelther growled, cracking his knuckles. Ayla had never seen him like this. He normally was the sweetest, kindest men on earth—a loving husband to his wife, and the best father his children could wish for. But now, he looked ready to kill.

"Well, why don't we let a higher authority decide that, my dear Gernot? After all, we have an expert on Christianity right here in our midst."

Turning, towards the crowd, he called: "Father Jone!"

From one moment to the next the calls for and against Ayla that had been coming from here and there, ceased. The crowd parted, leaving the lone, diminutive figure of the priest standing in the focus of everyone's attention, looking decidedly uncomfortable.

"Um... me?" Father Jone asked, taking a step back.

"Yes, Father you."

Gelther stepped forward, and knelt, bowing his head before the priest.

"I humbly subject myself to your authority. You are the man of God among us. Tell us your ruling. Can we take up these weapons and defend ourselves against our enemies, or are we to die defenseless?"

The priest swallowed. Ayla could see his Adam's apple bobbing. He was used to preaching before those people—but that usually meant reading a lot of Latin to an audience which displayed wonderful disinterest. Never before in his life had he been actually asked for his opinion on Church Law. Never before in his life had it happened that his words could decide whether people lived or died.

Please, Ayla sent a prayer skywards. Please, if you are truly the God I have always believed in, have mercy with us! Please, speak to us. Speak for us.

Father Jone stepped forward, past Gelther, towards Gernot.

"You are a devout churchgoer, and a good Christian, Master Gernot."

Ayla's heart plummeted.

No! No!

"But," the Father continued, "In this case, I think you have strayed from the path."

Everyone sucked in a collective breath. Everyone except Reuben, that is. He was leaning against the keep wall, cleaning his fingernails with a dagger and seeming supremely bored with the whole business.

"I know of the Pope's edict," the priest told his breathless audience earnestly. "It forbids the use of the crossbow, since it is the preferred weapon of assassins and robbers. Its aim is to limit crimes of those villains."

Ayla couldn't help glancing at Reuben. He was still cleaning his fingernails, but now there was the suggestion of a grin on his ruggedly handsome face.

"I ask you, my brothers and sisters in the Lord, are we assassins?" The priest looked round. "Are we robbers? No, of course we aren't!"

Ayla managed to nod along with all the others without starting to grin. But it was hard. Very hard.

"I cannot see that there is anything evil about using this weapons if they are wielded by good Christians in a just cause. Nor, I think, would his Holiness abject to their use under such circumstances.

"I wouldn't put it past him," Ayla heard Reuben mutter. "But who cares?"

Fortunately, no one but her caught his words.

The priest hesitated for a moment, then barged on, bravely. "Any risk that remains I will take upon myself. I will bless each and every one of these weapons. If there truly is sin in using them, it will fall upon me, not you."

Ayla's eyes widened. So did those of the villager's. They stared at the quiet, unremarkable figure of the priest in their midst. Never in her life would she have believed him capable of such bravery.

"You are only a priest!" Gernot's face wasn't red anymore. It had turned deathly pale. It was clear he had expected his priest to back him up. "You are the least of the Lord's servants. Your word cannot overrule that of the Pope himself!"

"True," Father Jone told him, now a hard edge in his voice Ayla had never heard there before. "But it can overrule yours, Master Gernot!"

Gelther, grinning from one ear to the other, took up a position beside the Father, daring Gernot to object. He didn't. He just stood there, pale and filled with anger.

Ayla judged the time right to take the reins back into her hands.

"Listen to me, good people of Luntberg!"

Passing the priest, she climbed up the keep steps until she stood beside the chest full of crossbows.

"You heard Gernot. You heard Father Jone. They both have told you what they think you should do. As for me... I cannot."

Whispers rose from the crowd again, and she raised her voice to remain audible: "II cannot tell you to do one thing or the other!" Her gaze was sad as it travelled over the crowd. "I cannot tell you whether using a crossbow means that your soul is forfeit, because I do not know God's mind, or the devil's. In this matter, you must listen to what your own hearts tell you."

Taking one of the crossbows out of the chest, she held it out towards the villagers, offering it to them.

"If you use these weapons, you might have to face the devil in the afterlife. If you don't, you will most certainly have to face the Margrave's mean bare-handed. I suppose that in the end, your decision will depend on the answer to this question: who do you fear more—the Devil, or the Margrave von Falkenstein?"

No one moved. People threw each other uncertain glances. Ayla still held out the crossbow, but not one of the villagers stepped forward to take it.

Then, Ayla heard a chuckle from behind her. A deep chuckle, masterful, evil and masculine beyond belief. It caused a delicious shiver to run down her back.

Most of the villagers' backs seemed also be plagued by goose bumps, but from their expressions, Ayla gathered none of them considered the feeling delicious.

Still chuckling darkly, Reuben stepped past her. He must have come up the keep steps without anybody noticing, and not for the first time Ayla asked herself how a six foot seven man in armor could move so quietly. Taking the crossbow from her hand, he strode to the very edge of the landing.

Then he suddenly jumped down, coming to land in front of the crowd with a crash and advancing towards them. Abruptly, his chuckles ceased.

"Not quite, Milady," he said, glancing back at her, then focusing the full force of his gray eyes on the crowd again. "No, the real question is this..."

He thrust the crossbow out towards the mass of people, who took a collective step backwards.

"Who are you more afraid of: the Devil—or me?"

There was a moment of silence. The villagers exchanged looks again—then they stormed forward, rushing up the stairs to get at the crossbows.

"Give me one of those!"

"I was there first!"

"No, damn you! I was! Out of my way!"

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Greetings, my Lords and Ladies,

No time for a long author's note today! I'm going on a little trip to a family meeting. But hopefully, I will be back in time for the next update! :)

Farewell

Sir Rob