The Robber Knight's Love (The Robber Knight Saga #2)(116)
Ayla punched the air again. “Yes! We have them!”
Beside her, Burchard didn't seem quite so enthusiastic. Between two of the crenels, he stared down into the courtyard, at the mass of ravenously angry soldiers milling about.
“Yes,” he murmured. “We’ve locked ourselves in with an army eight times the size of ours. That makes me so terribly happy.”
“Come on! We have a plan, haven't we?”
Down in the courtyard, Sir Luca turned, his eyes blazing. He ripped his helmet from where it had hung at his belt and placed it on his head. With a swing of his sword, he ordered his troops to silence and to form ranks under the protection of the outer wall. They did as he commanded and soon stood in a disciplined line, waiting for the order to attack.
“Yes, we have a plan.” Burchard nodded grudgingly. “The only question is…will it work?”
“Men!” Sir Luca raised his sword. “On my command…!”
One Army, Deep-fried, please
The six of them—Ayla, Burchard, Captain Linhart, Sir Waldar, Sir Rudolphus, and Reuben—stood on the allure, looking out over the outer courtyard of Luntberg castle.
“Look out there,” Reuben said, pointing down from the walls. “What do you see?”
Ayla looked at the others. They shook their heads, seemingly just as confused as she was.
“The outer courtyard,” Burchard stated in a you'd-better-stop-messing-with-me voice.
An evil smile spread over Reuben’s face. “That's what it may be called by you—but it has another name.”
“No, it hasn't,” Burchard snapped.
“Yes, it does, steward.”
“Reuben,” Ayla said in a soft voice, not wanting to disappoint him. She wasn't sure what this supposed idea was that he had come up with, but it didn't sound very promising so far, and she was loathed to have to smash his—and, moreover, her own—hopes, small as they were. “I'm sorry, but I have to agree with Burchard. I've lived at this castle my entire life, and the outer courtyard has no other name. It's just the outer courtyard.”
“No.” Reuben shook his head, as if her words didn't mean anything. “You don't understand. I didn't mean that somebody came along and named this particular courtyard. I mean that this kind of courtyard has a special technical name or term in poliorcetics.”
Ayla checked, and yes, all the four others were looking at Reuben with just as much confusion as she was. Only Sir Rudolphus seemed to be thinking, moving his lips as if tasting the word on his tongue. This wasn't going the way she had expected.
“In polio…what?” she asked.
“Poliorcetics, Milady. It is a term derived from Ancient Greek, meaning ‘the art of siege warfare’.”
“Ancient Greek.” Ayla couldn't keep her lips from twitching as she imagined Reuben in a scholar’s robe, studying some dusty old Greek scroll in a library. “I had no idea you were so knowledgeable.”
“Knowledgeable, I? Only about…certain things,” Reuben returned with a lascivious smile that gave the words special meaning. “I certainly know how to wear down defenses and storm a stronghold.”
Ayla blushed, though she didn't really know why. Her hand tingled at the spot where Reuben had kissed it earlier that day.
“Aaaall right,” Burchard growled. “If we could return to the subject, please…?”
“Did we ever leave it?” Reuben raised an eyebrow. “I thought we were talking of poliorcetics the entire time.”
“I certainly hope so,” grumbled Burchard.
“You were just saying that this courtyard had another name?” Ayla said hastily, trying to avoid Burchard's suspicious eyes.
“Yes.” Reuben nodded, and a smile filled with blood-lust spread over his face. “Oh yes. A name very much to my liking.”
~~*~~*
Sir Luca pointed his sword at the door of the outer gatehouse tower, then raised it towards Linhart and his men, high above.
“Smash the door in! Smash the accursed door in, and we'll rout these bastardi figli di puttana!”
Enemy soldiers streamed in from all directions. They didn't have a ram with them, but they took the largest spears and heaviest swords and began hacking and beating at the door. It shuddered under the blows that rained down upon it.
Anxiously, Ayla tore her gaze away from the enemy to search for her own people. Thank God! Atop the wall, Captain Linhart had not been idle.
“Bring the oil forward!” he yelled. “Faster, men! Move!”
Men appeared, carrying gigantic, steaming pots forward. Sir Luca down in the courtyard looked up, frowning, and realized what was happening a second too late. The Luntberg soldiers on the wall poured the content of the pots down the wall, and it splashed and sizzled in all directions. Men who had been standing too far away from the wall, believing themselves still safe from the arrows, were suddenly falling to the ground in agony, covered in hot oil, angry red boils springing up everywhere on their arms and faces. Once they were on the ground, it was worse. They rolled about in a sea of burning pain, quickly spreading across the courtyard, and their howls echoed from the walls like the screams of the tortured souls of hell.
“Back! Back, farther against the wall!” Sir Luca shouted as a few of his men tried to dash under and away from the boiling rain of pain. “If you run, their arrows will get you! Against the wall, I say! Now!”