The Robber Knight's Love (The Robber Knight Saga #2)(83)
Suddenly, the orchard went deadly quiet. Literally deadly. Even the birds in the trees had stopped singing for the moment.
“Blasphemy!” Ayla’s head shot up, and she fixed the crowd with a stare so sapphire blue, so intense, that it made Reuben shiver from head to toe. “Pure blasphemy! Will I descend to that level of cowardice? Will I? Will we? Or will we remember the man that Isenbard was and honor his memory?”
Suddenly, she seemed to grow taller, in a way that had nothing whatsoever to do with the large tree root she was standing on. The whispers in the crowd changed, no longer spreading despair, and on Reuben’s face a grin began to grow.
He should probably try to hide it. This was a funeral, after all. But to hell with it! She was simply too marvelous.
“Sir Isenbard was as much a father to me as my own flesh and blood,” Ayla proclaimed. “He was a good man, a kind man, an honorable man. And most of all, he was a very rare man in that he was willing to sacrifice everything to keep his oath of fealty and fight for what is good and just—even his very life!”
The mutterings everywhere grew into a rumble of ascent. Several lone voices began calling out—some Isenbard’s name, some Ayla’s.
“He was a knight the like of which we shall never see again, my friends! I could stand here and praise him for ten days and ten nights, and still, it would not be enough. It would never be enough!”
Slowly, she raised her hands in front of her chest and folded them in silent prayer. Reuben found himself caught by the spell, listening and watching with rapped attention, like all the others in the orchard, he was sure. Yet he was experienced enough a fighter to recognize this for what it really was. It was not just a funeral oration. It was a general speaking to her troops. It was not just a speech to honor the dead. It was a speech to keep the living alive.
“There is no doubt in my mind whatsoever,” Ayla proclaimed, lifting her eyes to the sky, “that right now, he is passing through the gates of heaven that stand wide open to greet him. There is no doubt in my mind that he is watching us. Is he smiling at us? Probably not.”
Tears appeared at the corners of Ayla’s eyes.
“He’s probably scowling and shouting at us to dump him in the ground already and get on with saving our necks.”
More sobs from the crowd this time, mixed with a few half-weeping giggles. Reuben found himself smiling at the thought. Blast her! She was even getting to him!
“It is because I know he is watching right now that I do not feel presumptuous in speaking to you as he would.” Ayla’s voice rose until it could be heard in the farthest corners of the courtyard.
“I’m telling you that I am proud of you. You all have fought your very hardest. You all have been steadfast, loyal, and brave. You all have done as he has done, and if you continue on that path, I believe we can beat the accursed Margrave's bought murderers and save all of us, our friends and families from a fate worse than death. Do as Sir Isenbard has done for all of us: fight for loyalty, honor, and love! As long as you do as he has done, Sir Isenbard is not truly dead. As long as you fight on to honor him, he lives on in our hearts.”
She raised her hands to the sky, clenched into fists. “Sir Isenbard!”
The call was given back to her in thunderous chorus.
“Sir Isenbard! Sir Isenbard! Sir Isenbard!”
He would be proud of her, Reuben thought wondrously as he watched Ayla, who was standing over the cheering and crying crowd, triumphant and mourning all at the same time. If he could see this, he really would be proud of her. Who knows? Maybe he can. Maybe he is, right now.
And in that moment, Reuben realized that he, too, was proud of her. Proud like the very devil! She had honored a warrior's death in the best way possible: she had given strength to the cause he had given his life for.
My lady…that’s my lady!
He could see the effect her words were having upon her people. They were not happy—it would probably have been difficult to ever catch them at a less happy time—however, they were resolved. Reuben could see it in their eyes, even in the eyes of the simplest peasants: that steely glint that marked an army which could not be bought, not be turned around by fear, not be beaten unless it was killed to a man.
And that won’t happen. I’ll make sure of it.
He could see that Ayla, too, recognized the effect of her words. She had given strength to her people, and the more she gave, the more she seemed to receive in return. Their strength was hers. It kept her standing, thinking, moving at a time when she probably would have liked nothing better than to lie down in a corner somewhere and cry her heart out. Her belief in the loyalty and love of her people was her strongest solace and sharpest weapon.
Which made Reuben feel like a cad for the thing he knew he had to tell her.
But then, I am a cad, he thought to himself wryly. So where’s the problem?
As the shouts of the crowd died down, Ayla stepped down from the root and nodded to Linhart. Reuben looked around. Without him noticing, the Captain had attached ropes to the ends of the bier on which Isenbard’s body lay. He took up one of them in his hand. Reuben grabbed another, and two castle guards took the remaining two. Lifting the bier by the ropes, they moved it over the hole.
Reuben looked questioningly at Ayla. “Milady?”
She hesitated a moment, then nodded.
Slowly, Isenbard's descent into the shallow grave began. After only three feet or so, he came to rest on the earth with a low 'thump'. People started moving forward, gathering around the grave, packed as tightly as possible. Isenbard's face could still be made out in the shadows down there. Half in darkness, the deathly pallor of his face seemed not as marked as before. He almost looked as if he were only sleeping.