The great hall was as quiet as a grave, but considerably fuller. Except in times of plague, a grave generally contained only one or two people. The great hall was full to the brim with people, and somehow more were still coming in. As the fire outside was slowly brought under control, one firefighter after the other was relieved of his or her duty and stumbled into the room.

They were exhausted, all of them, and covered in soot. But not one of them thought of washing up or sleeping. Without needing encouragement, they formed neat rows along the walls, watching intently. Some had their eyes on the big oak doors, some on the high seat of the castle lord at the back of the room.

On the high seat, Ayla sat, watching the faces around her. They were hard to read. Everyone looked grim, but beyond that? Would they be grateful if all the crossbows were destroyed, believing their souls to be saved from a fate worse than death? She couldn't tell. Not yet, at least.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Burchard shift beside her. They were all there, clustered around the lord's chair: Burchard, Waldar, Rudolphus, Gregor, even Linhart. The latter had apologized so many times by now that Ayla'd had to threaten him with the stocks before he stopped.

From outside the hall, noises approached. Ayla's eyes snapped to the door, as did everyone else's. Another villager come from the firefight? No. These steps were heavier, more decisive. Ayla would have recognized them anywhere.

A moment later, the doors flew open, crashing against the bare stone walls. Reuben marched into the great hall, dragging the limp form of Gernot behind him like a hunter would the carcass of a deer. And the expression on Reuben's face certainly looked hungry for blood.

Ayla flicked a brief glance at the villagers around her.

If she'd had any doubt about their feelings before, those were gone now. The men and women of Luntberg stared at Gernot with a hatred so intense you could almost taste it. Fists twitched, jaws worked, and Ayla got the impression that it was only the fact that Gernot was in the grasp of the red knight that kept them from exacting vengeance on him on the spot.

"Here!" Stopping right in front of her seat, Reuben hauled Gernot up to his feet. "I bring you the traitor, Milady!"

Hardly was the man upright, when Reuben pushed him forward and kicked him in the back of the legs, making him fall into an unwilling prostration. He uttered a garbled cry of pain as his knees slammed into the floor, but all things considered, Ayla chose not bother herself with the bruising of this man's kneecaps. Her duties as a healer went only so far.

Ayla nodded at Reuben. "Thank you, Sir Knight."

"It was my pleasure."

Yes, it undoubtedly had been. Ayla shared a quick, intimate look with her knight. Just one glance to see how his eyes burned with secret fire, and his mouth curved in a deadly smile. That was all she allowed herself to gather strength for the coming ordeal. Then she looked towards the kneeling figure on the floor.

"Gernot, son of Arnt," she began, raising her voice so it filled the entire hall. "You have been brought before me today on the charge of treason against your rightful liege lord, Count Thomas von Luntberg. What do you have to say in your defense?"

The peasant met her eyes, just as defiant as before.

"That I'm no traitor," he spat. "That I am the only one of true faith and loyalty in this accursed rat-hole of a castle. Praised be Jesus Christ!"

"Now and forever," Ayla replied. Her hand shot up, signaling before she even knew what she was doing. When it came down, the entire hall of people, soot-stained, stinking of smoke and exhausted as they were, thundered: "Amen!"

The echoes of that word, as old as man himself, seemed to reverberate within the hall for some time. Ayla listened to the whispers of divine power, feeling strength surge into her. Where did it come from? Her people? God the Almighty? Maybe both?

"You have no idea how much it saddens me that you think the Good Lord would want you to destroy your own people, Gernot," Ayla told him. "The Lord has mercy on the week and defenseless. You seem to have none."

She took a deep breath.

"I will give you a last chance. Give me a reason, a real reason why you would want to destroy our weapons—or even just show remorse."

"Remorse? Remorse?" Gernot had gone red in the face. He extended a shaking finger, pointing it directly at Ayla. "I, feel remorse? It is you heathens who rebel against the Throne of Saint Peter! It is you who befoul the name of the Lord! You should feel remorse, not me! Yes, you, Lady! What do you think your father the Count would say if he knew of the devilry you are committing in his name?"

Suddenly, Ayla was very glad that she had visited her father earlier that day.

"Count Thomas," she proclaimed, "Is informed about every detail of our pans, and has given me his blessing to proceeed. He wants our people safe and free—just as I do."

A murmur of surprise and elation went through the hall. Ayla could see people stand straighter, more relaxed, suddenly smiling in spite of the dirt on their tired faces.

Gernot, on the other hand, was not smiling at all. He was dumbstruck. Count Thomas might have been old, frail and bedridden to boot—only a shadow of his former self—but his name still carried enormous weight in Luntberg.

Seeing the glow in people's faces, Ayla felt her heart warming. These people, her people, loved and respected her father as much as she did. For that she loved them back just as fiercely.

"C-count Thomas? Gernot stuttered. "But it cannot be! He's a good man! A good Christian!"

"Yes," Ayla agreed, her face darkening as her eyes settled once more on the traitor. "He is. You, on the other hand, are something entirely different. You have had the chance to defend yourself in the eyes of our people and the Lord. All we have heard from you are more vile insults. It is time for the sentencing."

"What? You can't—"

From behind, a strong hand in an armored glove reached around and clamped down over Gernot's mouth.

"Don't tell the lady what to do," Reuben's voice growled. "It's not a wise thing."

"Thank you, Sir Reuben." Ayla nodded at him, and even in the bleakness of the moment, she couldn't suppress a brief smile. She glanced at the small group of vassals gathered around her. "My knights? My friends? Before I tell you my decision, I would like to hear your advice, please."

"Drown him in beer?" Sir Waldar suggested. "He'd be out of the way, and everyone would be happy. Probably even him if he manages to drink enough before he croaks."

"Thank you for that valuable piece of advice, Sir Waldar. Sir Rudolphus?"

The young knight looked troubled. "I'm not sure, Milady. But I think a harsh punishment is unavoidable."

"I see. Captain Linhart?"

"I am sure, Milady, and I also advocate a harsh punishment."

"I will take it under advisement. Burchard?"

The burly steward didn't say a word. He just raised his hand and, in a quick gesture, drew his forefinger over his throat. Ayla didn't have difficulties interpreting that gesture. Neither did the villagers.

"And you, Sir Knight?"

A hush fell over the entire hall as Ayla directed her gaze to Reuben. The red knight was still holding his armored hand clamped down over the accused's mouth. "What would you suggest?"

The moment Ayla said it, she knew she had made a mistake. Reuben's eyes glittered with evil, and he cocked his head as if pretending to think.

"You are asking me for my opinion on how we should punish this piece of dog shit?"

"Yes, Sir Knight. Although I would prefer a more courtly way of expression on your part."

"My apologies, Milady. I should have said this piece of canine feces."

"Your recommendation, Sir Knight!"

"Very well..."

Thoughtfully, Reuben looked down at the man in his grasp. Everyone else in the hall, including Ayla, was watching him as if they could somehow guess the perfidious thoughts hatching inside that head of his.

"Hm..." he muttered thoughtfully. "Punishment... How could we punish someone like that?"

Gernot twisted, trying to get out of Reuben's grip. The strong arms around him didn't move an inch.

Reuben's eyes met Ayla's and she could see the devil dancing in them.

He's doing this on purpose, she realized. To torture Gernot. The punishing has already begun.

"Well..." Reuben's voice was low and thoughtful—not at all threatening, really, on the surface. But below the surface, there was a roiling ocean of pain, waiting to be dealt. "I suppose we could... No. He'd die too quickly from that. And besides, it's always so messy. We should rather—"

He was silent for a moment. Then he shook his head, again seeming dissatisfied. But Ayla could see his eyes. He wasn't dissatisfied at all. Oh no.

"No," he mused. "He might go mad from the pain, and then where are we. Hm... We could burn him alive I suppose. That's what I originally had in mind. But I'm really glad you stopped me, Milady. Burning is so quick and painless a death. There are much better methods."

"So you are of the opinion that he should die for his crimes?" Ayla asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, not right away, of course. We should stretch it out as long as we can, to make him realize the error of his ways. Besides, suffering purifies the soul."

Several of the villagers started to nod at that.

"He's quite right."

"I've heard that too."

"So," Reuben, continued, "I thought that maybe we hang him from the highest tower of the castle by his toes—just until his head turns the color of a beetroot—and then we turn him around and hang him up by his fingers. We'll do that a couple of times, then we take him to the torture chamber and use this interesting metal implement which I first encountered in..."

He continued, describing in detail the range of tortures that Gernot should be submitted to in his opinion. Occasionally, the villagers would interrupt him, with comments like "That's too soft hearted!" or "How many metal spikes are you going to use?" They seemed to be enjoying themselves.

Ayla supposed she should have stopped them—but if she was being perfectly honest with herself, she was enjoying herself too. Just a little bit.

She remembered the last traitor who had stood before her. He had done what he had done out of fear for his family. Something that Ayla could understand, if not forgive without having him redeem himself.

But this man had risked her people's life for words on parchment. No matter that they were a pope's words! Ayla could simply not belief that the Lord would condemn innocent people to die if there was a weapon that could save them.

Just words on a piece of parchment. That was all. And that was something Ayla could not forgive. So she watched the fear on Gernot's face play out. The more detailed Reuben's descriptions became, and the lower his voice turned, the more sweat started to trickle down the fanatic's brow. Ayla fixed him with an unblinking, merciless stare, trying to convey the threat of painful death as clearly as she could

Of course she would never consider actually following through on any of Reuben's suggestions. But Gernot didn't need to know that.

When he was finally finished with hypothetically torturing every square inch of Gernot's body, from the toenails to the tips of his hair, Reuben started over again from the feet upwards. He might have gone on like that for a lot longer, but at this moment, a guard slipped into the hall from outside and hurried towards Ayla's chair.

The guard had obviously just come from the fire. His hair was blackened, and underneath a layer of soot, his face was red and raw. Stopping briefly to bow, he stepped up beside Ayla and leaned down to whisper something in her ear.

A smile spread across her face.

"...and gouged out with hot irons," Reuben was just saying. "Then, I'd suggest—"

Ayla raised a hand.

"That will do, Sir Reuben. I think you have demonstrated that you are a master of the subject."

"Then you will follow my suggestions?" he asked, hopefully.

"They are all tempting, no doubt, but—no. I don't think so."

A discontented mutter spread through the hall.

"What about covering his feet with salt and letting a heard of goats nibble on them?" one man shouted. "I liked that one!"

Murmured ascent spread around the room. The idea with the goat seemed be popular, and several other suggestions were also upheld as ideal solutions.

"Thank you for your advice," Ayla called out in a firm voice. "But I have already made my decision. Before I pronounce the sentence, though, I have an announcement to make."

The room slowly quieted down. Ayla waited until the last bit of muttering had subsided. Then, laying one hand on the shoulder of the soot-blackened guard beside her, she proclaimed:

"This man has just come in from the sight of the fire. Our men have succeeded in extinguishing the blaze, and moreover, almost all the crossbows have been saved. We're still armed, my friends. Armed, and ready for battle!"

A tumult of cheers went up from the crowd. Soot-covered caps and hats were thrown into the air, children were lifted by their parents and swung around in dizzy triumph. Reuben gave Ayla a big grin, that for once, was completely free of evil, and she returned it with joy in her heart. Then, however, she moved her eyes to the man Reuben still held imprisoned in his arms. Gernot.

"Now to your punishment."

The cheers cut off abruptly. All eyes came to rest on Gernot and her.

"Your punishment," Ayla began with deliberation, "will not be torture. It won't be banishment. It won't even be death. No, for you, I have something far worse in mind."

Stepping down from the raised platform on which the lord's seat rested, she strode forward until only a few feet separated her from Gernot. Still muted by Reuben's hand over his mouth, the peasant stared back at her with the hatred you will only ever find in the eyes of a fanatic who believes his cause is just.

"I sentence you," Ayla said, "to be cast into the dungeons beneath Luntberg castle. One specific dungeon, to be precise: the only one with a window. From behind iron bars, you will be forced to watch how we go to battle against the Margrave with the very weapons you sought to destroy, and how we will be victorious. And then you will have to watch everyone, the people who were once your friends and family, living happy lives in freedom while you rot in the misery of a prison cell! That is your punishment!"

The hall was silent for one moment.

Then, through Reuben's hand, Gernot uttered a scream, and the villagers broke out into cheers once more. Accompanied by the savage, joyous ovations of the people of Luntberg, Gernot was dragged out of the hall, towards his punishment. Just before the door shut, Ayla caught a glimpse of Reuben's face.

Maybe it was just her imagination, but even from this distance, he looked impressed—maybe even a tiny bit scared.

------------------------------------------------------------

Greetings, Milords and Ladies,

And, what do you think of Ayla's Justice? Impressed? ;)

By the way, editing for the second "Robber Knight" is progressing. Hopefully, I'll be able to publish it in the not too distant future! :)

Farewell

Sir Rob