The Robber Knight's Love

51. The Cage Closes

“Men of Luntberg!” Reuben roared. “To your arms! To victory!”

As one, the enemy soldiers down in the courtyard whirled around to stare up at his blood-red, metallic figure, gleaming in the torchlight, as he stood high above them on the inner castle wall. Thus it was, that when the first arrows from the outer wall started flying, they hit their targets squarely in the back.

“Ha!”

Reuben uttered a roar of triumph.

Even Ayla couldn’t suppress a surge of fierce joy. Unlike the dying men down in the courtyard, she had seen where the arrows were coming from. Unlike the men in the courtyard, she wasn't looking at Reuben. She was looking at the outer wall, where Captain Linhart and about twenty of his men had appeared on the walkway. They were streaming from the towers left and right, out of concealment, into the open.

“Loose, men! Loose!” shouted the Captain.

And the men obeyed his order. Their faces were grim, their hands determined, and the bows in their hands more than ready. As quick and efficient as though the spirit of Isenbard guided their hands, they took up their positions on the wall in a long line, firing volley after volley of arrows into the confused enemy down below. Forty or fifty men were down before the mercenaries had even turned and realized they were under attack. Then another volley hit, and took another dozen down.

“Yes!” Ayla sprang up and punched the air in celebration, and several of the enemy soldiers turned again at the sound of her shout. They paid their price for that reaction as arrows embedded themselves in their backs. “Yes! Yes!”

Burchard grabbed Ayla around the midriff and dragged her down again. “Have you gone mad, girl!” he hissed. “Stay down and be quiet.”

Suddenly, Ayla felt guilt wash over her. What was she thinking? “Of course! You're right. I shouldn't be celebrating the death of anybody, even if they're our enemies.”

“Codswallop! Celebrate away, but not anywhere in their line of fire. Some of them have bows themselves, if you remember!”

“Oh.”

Carefully, Ayla raised her head just above the crenels and peered down into the courtyard. Sir Luca had jumped down from his horse and was using the poor animal as a living shield against the arrows. The sight made Ayla sick to the stomach, and she was heartily glad that Reuben had rescued Eleanor from the clutches of that brute.

“Bring out the shields!” Sir Luca yelled. “Form a defensive line!”

The captains of his battalions threw each other desperate looks. It was clear nobody had thought to bring the large metal shields that provided most protection against arrows. This was supposed to have been a surprise stealth attack—not the kind of attack where you burden yourself with heavy, noisy, military equipment.

“A defensive line, I said, bastardi!”

It took Sir Luca a moment to realize why no one was following his orders – long enough for the next volley of arrows to cut down another ten or twenty men. Captain Linhart stood on the wall among his men, not giving commands, but shooting, just as the rest of them. They needed no commands. They knew they had to shoot as fast as they could.

Ayla heard Sir Luca curse in Italian.

“Against the wall,” he bellowed, and pointed towards the outer wall of the castle. “Against the wall with you, you larva sporca, or do you all want to be skewered? Run! Sbrigatevi, forza muovetevi!”

They started running, and Ayla couldn't help it: she felt joy at the sight. She felt the fierce joy of her soldiers, as their arrows chased the very men that had threatened their lives and families for weeks and weeks over the courtyard like so many headless chickens. The joy of battle!