Page 40 of The Robber Knight's Love
Ayla said nothing.
“You did agree, didn't you?”
Still nothing.
“Ayla, child, what have you done?”The Count grasped her arms. The look in his ancient eyes told herthat he already knew how she had responded to the Margrave'sdemands. “Send a messenger after the herald and tell him we acceptthe Margrave's terms. Child, this is no time for pride! TheMargrave is not only powerful, he is as ruthless asAmon[34]and as greedy asMammon![35]Better wegive up some of our land than incur his wrath.”
“You make the wrong comparisons, Father,”Ayla said, sadly. “If you wish to compare the Margrave to a princeof hell,Asmodeuswould be thebetter choice.”
The Count's grip tightened. There was amoment of deadly silence. Count Thomas knew the Bible well. Thesedays, he had almost nothing else to do but read. He knew the namesof all the saints and angels, and those of other things. Such asAsmodeus—the demon of lust.
“What did he demand, Ayla?” Count Thomasasked.
Ayla felt her jaw tighten. She raised hergaze and looked her father directly in the eyes. “The alternativeto war wasn't giving him a part of our land, Father. Thealternative to war was giving myself to him.”
Slowly first, then faster and faster like ariver that has broken its banks and ravages the land in a flood,rage spread over the Count's ancient face and his hand went to theleft of his belt where, long ago, his sword had hung. It felllimply onto the sheets when he realized that the sword wasn't thereanymore.
“The devil be cursed for the weakness in mybones,” he growled. “I wish I had the Margrave here. Then, aged ornot, I would take my sword and split his skull open, God be mywitness!”
“I know you would,” Ayla said, a faint smileon her lips. Oh God, it was so hard to see him this way.
“I must get up. I must speak to Burchard,organize the men...”
Before Ayla could move to stop him, he hadattempted to stand—and before he was fully upright, he fell, like atree brought down by an ax. His hands slammed onto the stone floorand his arms gave way. Cursing, he landed face first on the coldstone.
“Father!”
“It's all right, everything is all right,” hegrunted, trying to disguise the pain in his voice. “I juststumbled. That's all.”
But Ayla knew it was far more than that. Shehad watched him weaken over the years. She knew the accursed maladythat was eating away at his bones, making him frail before histime.
“I must rise,” he snarled, pushing himself upon his knees with every ounce of strength he still possessed. “Imust rally the men.”
Kneeling down before him, Ayla looked at him,sadness in every line of her ivory features and said: “Youcannot.”
It was no accusation, nor was it anexpression of pity. It was simply a fact.
And the Count knew it.
Slowly, he let himself sink to the flooragain.
“What have I come to, Ayla?” hewhispered.
She didn't answer. Instead she just put herarms around him, grieving with him for what he could not do, andfor what she knew she would have to do in his stead.
*~*~**~*~*
It was late when Ayla left her father's roomto return to her chambers. After Ayla had helped the old man backto his bed, they had talked over everything that had to be takencare of—provisions, tactics, weapons of all kinds—all things ofwhich Ayla knew little and of which she would never have had tolearn had not fate struck down her father with premature oldage.
Although Ayla hated to even contemplateharming someone, she was glad for everything her father could tellher.At least, she thought,I won't be unprepared. At least I will be ableto defend my own people.
This thought had given her some confidenceand had even brought a smile to her face as evening turned intonight. But, seeing that, the Count had warned her: “What I can tellyou is little enough: I was never part of a great campaign or acrusade, and besides, my knowledge is decades old. Honestly, Idon't know what half of the defensive mechanisms in this castle ofmine are for.” His face was grim as he said that.
Ayla swallowed. “Sir Isenbard will know whatto do,” she said with conviction. “He was in the Crusades, and agreat tournament fighter besides.”
“He was,” the Count granted, and then added,so low that she almost didn't catch it: “Thirty years ago...”
The Count took his daughter's hand. “Just becareful. Promise me? Be careful and listen to Isenbard.”
