Page 78 of The Robber Knight
“What do you mean, 'our tents'?” shepersisted, glancing at the knight riding beside her with slightdisapproval. This was no time for Isenbard's usual terseness.
“I made the men put them up. One for me, onefor you, and one command tent.”
“A tent for me? Do you think I intend onsleeping out here, then?”
“It's not for sleeping. It's for treating thewounded.”
“Really?” She raised an eyebrow. “Didn't youhear me promise the Count that I would steer clear of thebattlefield?”
“I also heard that in the Orient, fish canfly and men can breathe fire. Doesn't mean I believe it.”
“Ha!”
Only a few yards away from the tents, Aylabrought her horse to a halt and slid off its back, glad to be onher own two feet again. “And what doyouneed a tent for?”
“I need some place to put on my armor.”
The lady of Luntberg appraised her knight ashe dismounted. From head to toe he was covered in glittering metal.“Don't you have armor on now?”
Isenbard shook his head.
“Then what is that you're wearing?”
“Chain mail.”
“That's armor too, isn't it?”
“No.” The face of the knight was unusuallygrim as he said this. Apart from the fact that it was what knightswore while fighting each other, Ayla knew next to nothing aboutarmor. But Isenbard's hardened face made her wary.
“How so?” she asked with mountingtrepidation. “It looks like armor to me.”
“Not for a battle it isn't. Imagine... howcan I explain it?” He looked away. For some reason he didn't wantto meet her eye.
“Isenbard?”
“Imagine going to a ball, Ayla. This is whatyou have been trained for your whole life as a lady. Imagineentering the ballroom, imagine all eyes are fixed upon you.”
Ayla had no trouble conjuring the image. Shehad dreamed of attending a big ball pretty much all her life. Therewas always a tall and dark stranger in her fantasies, whoseattention she immediately attracted. Lately, this stranger hadstarted to look more and more like Reuben.
“Can you imagine it?” Isenbard asked.
“Oh yes.”
“Good. And now imagine that scene with youwearing no dress.”
Blood flooded Ayla's face. Why the heck didshe have to bring Reuben into the picture! Now he wouldn'tdisappear.
“Uncle!”
“I'mtrying to teach you something, Ayla.” Isenbard's voice was cold andhard as stone. Still he wasn't looking at her. “Entering abattlefield while wearing nothing but chain mail is like entering aballroom in your... um...underthings. It leaves you vulnerable. Thedifference is, while as a lady in a ballroom you might earn disdainfor appearing thus, I might earn death instead. What a ballroomgown is to a lady, plate armor[45]is to the knight. I amabout to don my gown for the field. And I am not sure whether myshoulders can still bear the weight, Milady. Come, and I will showyou.”
She followed him without question. He led herinto his tent, where a young man waited for them, beside somethingvery bulky covered by a large cloth.
“My squire, Theoderich.” Isenbard nodded tothe youth. “Lad, make your bow to Lady Ayla von Luntberg.”
The squire bowed perfectly and immediately,clearly demonstrating the rigors of Isenbard's regime.
“Show the Lady Ayla my armor, lad.”
