but just five hits.’
He slipped out of his jacket and Gault brought him a mask and a vest that fitted. The shoes weren’t ideal, but they’d have to do. He pulled a fencing glove over his right hand and picked up the rapier-like foil. It was an old-fashioned weapon, with a bone hilt, what they called an Italian grip, and not one of the new high-tech versions with the pistol grip they used in competition these days. He tried a couple of cuts to test it for balance and to flex his wrist.
‘We’ll make the first one a warm-up, shall we?’ Steele suggested. ‘Not fair to fight without letting you loosen up.’
Jamie took his stance, right foot forward and foil at the ready.
‘Fence,’ Gault snapped.
Jamie danced forward, his eyes never leaving the point of Adam Steele’s sword but his mind constantly calculating the position of his opponent’s body and the movement of his feet, always seeking a route to attack, but equally ready to defend if necessary. Steele allowed him to come, then feinted an attack that made Jamie step back in his turn.
They kept up the minuet for fifteen seconds, a lifetimein a fencing bout, and Jamie knew that Steele was either playing with him or allowing him to loosen his muscles. At this stage of the contest, with his opponent’s mind already in battle mode, he understood he was at a double disadvantage. Still he managed to give almost as good as he got until Steele’s point hit him below the heart.
‘Good,’ the other man said. ‘Now let’s do it for real.’
They resumed the en garde position and waited for the word. This time it was Steele who attacked, forcing Jamie to parry, but allowing him no time to counter-attack before the point probed his defences again. Jamie was faster, but the other man the more experienced, and his blade created a bewildering whirlwind of bright steel. Somehow Jamie managed to force the point left so the touch was on his upper arm, an off-target hit that meant the bout had to be restarted. Now it was Jamie’s turn to go on the offensive, he felt a surge of adrenalin as he saw his opening and landed a good hit on his opponent’s chest, taking a simultaneous touch on his own body.
‘Your point.’ Steele acknowledged Jamie had been the original attacker and had priority, one of a dozen rules that made fencing so much more complex and interesting than it looked to an outsider. In the next ten seconds Jamie took one hit and gave another. One more and he’d be the victor. He went on the offensive, driving his opponent back and forcing him to parry frantically. But he had underestimated Adam Steele’sdetermination. Steele let him come, giving him an opening, then manufactured a compound riposte that allowed him to slip inside the point to make a touch from an almost impossible angle. Two each.
‘Let’s make it interesting, shall we?’
Jamie frowned as Steele removed his face mask. ‘You’re crazy. You’ll lose an eye.’
The other man smiled. ‘I’ve always rather wished I’d lived in the age of the duellists, when you looked another man in the eye as you fought him. I’m pretty certain I can trust you not to spoil my good looks. The question is, do you trust me?’
The tone was jokingly self-mocking, but something in the air told Jamie his friend was being deadly serious. He glanced at Gault, but the former soldier only shrugged. Jamie’s first instinct was to lay down his sword and walk away. People fought in masks for a reason. Six inches of the finest Italian steel through the brain could seriously spoil your day. But to refuse would mean the whole foundation of their relationship would change, and he didn’t think he wanted that. Do you trust me? He pulled off the mask.
Steele visibly relaxed and Jamie realized he had passed some kind of test. Just what kind he would no doubt discover later. But first he had a fight to win.
Being able to see the other man’s eyes entirely changed the dynamic of a fencing bout. Against a
He slipped out of his jacket and Gault brought him a mask and a vest that fitted. The shoes weren’t ideal, but they’d have to do. He pulled a fencing glove over his right hand and picked up the rapier-like foil. It was an old-fashioned weapon, with a bone hilt, what they called an Italian grip, and not one of the new high-tech versions with the pistol grip they used in competition these days. He tried a couple of cuts to test it for balance and to flex his wrist.
‘We’ll make the first one a warm-up, shall we?’ Steele suggested. ‘Not fair to fight without letting you loosen up.’
Jamie took his stance, right foot forward and foil at the ready.
‘Fence,’ Gault snapped.
Jamie danced forward, his eyes never leaving the point of Adam Steele’s sword but his mind constantly calculating the position of his opponent’s body and the movement of his feet, always seeking a route to attack, but equally ready to defend if necessary. Steele allowed him to come, then feinted an attack that made Jamie step back in his turn.
They kept up the minuet for fifteen seconds, a lifetimein a fencing bout, and Jamie knew that Steele was either playing with him or allowing him to loosen his muscles. At this stage of the contest, with his opponent’s mind already in battle mode, he understood he was at a double disadvantage. Still he managed to give almost as good as he got until Steele’s point hit him below the heart.
‘Good,’ the other man said. ‘Now let’s do it for real.’
They resumed the en garde position and waited for the word. This time it was Steele who attacked, forcing Jamie to parry, but allowing him no time to counter-attack before the point probed his defences again. Jamie was faster, but the other man the more experienced, and his blade created a bewildering whirlwind of bright steel. Somehow Jamie managed to force the point left so the touch was on his upper arm, an off-target hit that meant the bout had to be restarted. Now it was Jamie’s turn to go on the offensive, he felt a surge of adrenalin as he saw his opening and landed a good hit on his opponent’s chest, taking a simultaneous touch on his own body.
‘Your point.’ Steele acknowledged Jamie had been the original attacker and had priority, one of a dozen rules that made fencing so much more complex and interesting than it looked to an outsider. In the next ten seconds Jamie took one hit and gave another. One more and he’d be the victor. He went on the offensive, driving his opponent back and forcing him to parry frantically. But he had underestimated Adam Steele’sdetermination. Steele let him come, giving him an opening, then manufactured a compound riposte that allowed him to slip inside the point to make a touch from an almost impossible angle. Two each.
‘Let’s make it interesting, shall we?’
Jamie frowned as Steele removed his face mask. ‘You’re crazy. You’ll lose an eye.’
The other man smiled. ‘I’ve always rather wished I’d lived in the age of the duellists, when you looked another man in the eye as you fought him. I’m pretty certain I can trust you not to spoil my good looks. The question is, do you trust me?’
The tone was jokingly self-mocking, but something in the air told Jamie his friend was being deadly serious. He glanced at Gault, but the former soldier only shrugged. Jamie’s first instinct was to lay down his sword and walk away. People fought in masks for a reason. Six inches of the finest Italian steel through the brain could seriously spoil your day. But to refuse would mean the whole foundation of their relationship would change, and he didn’t think he wanted that. Do you trust me? He pulled off the mask.
Steele visibly relaxed and Jamie realized he had passed some kind of test. Just what kind he would no doubt discover later. But first he had a fight to win.
Being able to see the other man’s eyes entirely changed the dynamic of a fencing bout. Against a
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