Page 33 of The Robber Knight
One of the poles chose this exact moment totopple over and fall onto the stones of the bridge with a loudclatter.
“I can see that,” Ayla remarked. Bardoducked, as if expecting to be slapped. Ayla immediately felt badfor taking her temper out on him. He was surely doing his best—hislife and his family were as much at risk as anybody's here. Itwasn't his fault that as a carpenter he had probably more oftenengaged in making desks and bedsteads than fortifications for animpending siege.
No, it wasn't his fault. On the contrary, itwas hers. She should have engaged in a few bloody feuds with herneighbors instead of passing her days riding through the forest onEleanor. Then maybe Bardo would have acquired some practice by now,she thought wryly.
And Eleanor might still be with her. Thethought was painful.
Softening her voice, she said: “Do you thinkyou would be able to manage if somebody showed you how to doit?”
Bardo nodded earnestly. “Yes, Milady. I'mgood at what I do, good at working with wood. I just don't have anyexperience with this kind of thing, Milady.”
“Well then, we will have to find someone whohas,” she concluded. Turning to Burchard, who had stood by her sidesilently all the time, she asked: “Do you think Sir Isenbard hasany experience in anything like this?”
“He has been around for more than sixty yearsand fought his share of battles,” the steward replied. “What do youthink?”
Ayla nodded. “Then we're agreed. We must sendword to him immediately, and to Sir Rudolfus and Sir Waldar, too.Thank God they live west of the river.”
“I wouldn't be so hasty with my thanks,”Burchard growled. “Sir Isenbard will be helpful, I agree. He mightnot be in his prime anymore, but he's hard as an old oak. SirRudolfus or Sir Waldar, however... that's another matter.”
Aylaraised her hands in exasperation. “They're the only othervassals[33]my father has,Burchard.”
“That's what worries me.”
“What would you have me do? Even if they'reno help at all, they will at least bring a few more men withthem.”
The steward shrugged. “You're right, Isuppose.”
“Send three riders out at once. And make surethe fastest rider is sent to Isenbard. I want him here as quicklyas possible.” Shaking her head, she examined their feeble attemptat a barricade again. “In fact, I wish he were here now. I'm a foolnot to have sent for him already!”
“And how would you have done so?” Burchardasked. “All our seven riders, including yourself, were rather busyup until now. There's no sense in beating yourself up. For yourfirst siege, you're doing great!”
“Oh really. And what makes you think so?”
“Well, we're not dead yet,” the stewardreplied with a wolfish grin that showed his yellowing teeth. Beforeshe could think of an answer to that, he walked off, beckoningthree of the riders who had just returned from their rides to theeastern farms towards him.
Sighing, Ayla turned back to Bardo, who hadwaited silently, watching their conversation with apprehension.
“Well, it appears you'll soon get your help.Sir Isenbard will know what to do.”
“Yes, Milady. Thank you, Milady.”
She turned away, already considering whatneeded to be done next, but turned back one last time to look atthe carpenter. “And one tip to start with...”
“Yes Milady?”
“The pointy ends go at the top.”
Sewing SurvivalTactics
Ayla stood on the bridge looking after the threeriders who were galloping off in different directions, but all ofthem generally westwards, all of them going in search of one of hervassals. She hoped to God the three knights would be at home andnot out hunting or something similar. The defenders of Luntbergcouldn't afford to lose any more time than they already had.
Looking to the west, Ayla noticed for thefirst time that the sun had begun to sink towards the horizon. Shehad been so busy trying to save the ungrateful hide of that villainup in the castle that she hadn't realized how much time hadelapsed. The day was almost over. Worried, she turned towards theeast and searched the landscape for approaching figures. Thesetting sun tinged the forests crimson, as though it were autumnand not summer—or as though blood had painted the leaves of theforest red.
Where were the peasants from the easternfarms? They should be here by now.
“Milady?” Burchard stepped onto the bridgebeside her, accompanied by a few villagers. “Do you have any othercommands?”
Ayla shook her head. She couldn't waste timeworrying about those seven families now. There were dozens offamilies in her care. So many. Too many. And they all depended onher, a seventeen-year-old girl, toguide them through the approaching darkness. For a moment, she wasnear tears. Then, taking a deep breath, she raised her chindefiantly, facing the sea of blood-red light which was flooding hereastern lands.
