by Doug Walker
CHAPTER FOUR
What was coming happened very quickly. García was accosted by a tall, extremely thin man dressed as a cavalier, but without military rank. A quick slap across the face with a leather glove dazed him momentarily while the man barked: “Sir, you have insulted me. I demand you appear on the field of honor. Tomorrow at dawn. My seconds will call.”
With that the man, accompanied by two companions, turned on his heel and quickly strode off.
The puzzled García returned to his quarters and explained what had happened to Hidalgo. Poncho, of course, was also present.
“We must wait,” Hidalgo said. “The seconds will come and we will know all. But you must be prepared to fight.”
“To fight? To fight whom?”
“You will be told.”
“But I have offended no one.”
“It probably involves the girl.”
“Juanita?”
“Yes, that pure maiden who has so bewitched you.”
“Might the challenger be her brother?”
Hidalgo smiled. “More likely a rejected suitor. But we will not have long to wait. Tomorrow is not far away and the seconds must come by nightfall.”
And it was true. The two men who had accompanied the challenger came to the door minutes later. Hidalgo bade them sit and poured sherry all around. When they were comfortable, the older one spoke. “You have insulted Alonzo Albertino. He will be expecting you on the field of honor at dawn.”
“I don’t recall ever meeting this gentleman,” García replied.
“Nevertheless, you have insulted him through some act unknown to me. A gentleman and a King’s officer is obliged to respond to such a challenge.”
“I suppose,” García said, then turned to Hidalgo. “Do you know this Albertino person?”
“Only by reputation,” Hidalgo smiled. “He is said to be the greatest swordsman in Spain, possibly in Europe. He has killed, who knows, several men. And never a scratch on him.”
“That’s heartening,” García said. “And his weapon of choice?”
“Rapiers, of course,” the older second replied. “It is the only gentleman’s weapon.”
“But there are other weapons,” García said.
“That’s of little interest to us here,” the older man said. He emptied his wine glass as if preparing to leave.
“Of course I would like to attend mass before the meeting.”
“It might delay things a bit, but that’s understandable. We will make no objection.” García was making up for his long neglected error. There was the Inquisition after all, and no one, except perhaps the King, was immune.
“And there are rules of such a duel,” García added.
“Of course,” the older man said impatiently, standing as if to go.
“And I, the challenged, have the choice of weapons.”
“Gentlemen fight with rapiers. Thrust, parry, thrust, you’re dead,” the older man replied, repressing a grin.
“I choose sabers.”
“Sabers! Sailors fight with cutlasses, something like a saber. Soldiers hack their foe with sabers at times, but gentlemen duel with rapiers. That’s tradition.”
“Tradition is on my side, gentlemen,” García insisted. “I have the choice of weapons and I pick sabers. And that’s that.” He rose and bid them goodnight. “After morning mass,” he added, “this Albertino fellow and myself will meet and we will do battle with sabers. Please inform him so that he may have a sound night’s sleep. Good night.”
When they were gone, Hidalgo poured himself more wine. He was in good spirits. “Very interesting,” he finally spoke. “Sabers. Mother of God, I wouldn’t miss this for the world. If I die tomorrow night I will die a happy man.” He laughed aloud. “You are quite the entertainer, Pedro. You will grace the pages of the history books. Sabers on the field of honor in Madrid.”
“Thanks, Lieutenant. And now, as my second, I trust you to locate a couple of sabers for the festivities. I’m off to bed. I will sleep like an innocent babe because my heart is pure.”
The last thing he heard was Hidalgo laughing to himself as he poured more wine.
When he woke, two bright sabers were lying on the table of the common room. García bathed as best he could, shaved and went to breakfast in the officer’s mess where he was joined by Hidalgo. He asked the older man if he would attend mass with him.
“Definitely, we will both make a great show of our devotion. Then it’s off to the dueling grounds.” Hidalgo was in a rare mood of great cheer and ate with the gusto of a starving teen, downing half a pound of salty ham and six fried eggs plus a stack of fried bread.
A small crowd had gathered at the dueling grounds when they arrived, many of its members fellow officers who García recognized. There was talk and laughter in the group, which was shielded by the great limbs of giant chestnut trees. Birds sang and the morning was sweet, perhaps the last for one man present.
Three men stood apart. García recognized the tall slim figure of the challenger as his two seconds approached. The older man said, “Sorry, we were unable to find sabers on such short notice.”
Hidalgo smiled and produced the weapons he had concealed beneath a cloth. “These should be sufficient for the day’s work. Take your choice, gentlemen.”
Both men scowled and the older one said, “This is quite irregular.”
“In no way,” Hidalgo replied. “We are on the dueling grounds; mass has been attended as you approved; these are the weapons as chosen by the challenged. Everything is in order. Let the spectacle begin.”
“This is not a spectacle, but a matter of honor.”
“As you wish,” Hidalgo replied. “Let the matter of honor be settled.”
The older man examined the sabers, picked one and turned upon his heel to walk back to where Alonso Albertino was waiting.
García hefted the other saber and took his stance facing his opponent. Alonso was obviously not happy with the saber and tried to point it as one would a foil or a rapier. However he had no choice, particularly with an audience nearby, and thus had to face García.
“There is no cause for this fight,” García said in a loud voice. “However I offended you, and I know it not, I apologize.”
Alonso considered these words for a few moments. It would suit him to be well out of this conflict. But never before had he accepted a proffered apology. He knew he would be judged a coward by his peers. The duel must go on.
“I will accept your blood as an apology. Shall we begin?” He hefted the unfamiliar weapon, moved it to and fro as if testing the wind. He speculated that one lucky thrust and the fight would be over.
Trained like a dancer, nimble on his feet, and slim of build, Alonso was a deadly opponent with a rapier in his hand. The two observed the normal salute and Alonso moved forward as if with a rapier.
García, almost as tall, but with a sturdy build that he had nurtured with a regular regime of exercise, made a great rush, flailing the heavy saber like a windmill. He contacted Alonso’s weapon and sent it flying. Then, in the next second, slashed down, taking out his opponent’s right eye and laying his face open to the chin bone. Then continuing downward in its natural arc through the chest, five ribs were exposed.
Alonso was thrown to his back, shouting in pain. García stepped back and handed his saber to Hidalgo. “I think the fight’s over,” he remarked.
“I agree,” Hidalgo said. “But you have not killed him.”
“I thank God for that. I suspect he will study the saber when and if he recovers.”
Alonso’s seconds had gathered around him and a doctor had come forward, the one who had been summoned to pronounce García dead. The crowd of officers had also moved in closer to the fallen man, now writhing on the ground.
This left García and Hidalgo standing alone. Hidalgo shrugged and the two men walked away, heading back to their quarters. “I suppose I should have stopped when he lost his saber, but in the heat of combat I made that final slash through insti
nct.”
“I understand,” Hidalgo said. “You are a gentleman. But you must also understand that Alonso kills people. He would have not have given you the same consideration. If you had been wounded, defenseless, and on the ground, he would have finished the job. Such is his reputation.”
“He may still die. There was much blood. I will go to confession,” García said solemnly. Up until now it had been something of a game, but a human life was in the balance, a life he had placed in peril even though it was meant to be the other way around. “This dueling business seems to be taken so lightly, yet it is serious work.”
“In this life, we all play roles. Men hide their feelings. Women pretend not to, but it is all pretense. We dance to a strange tune and there is always the shadow of the Inquisition.”
Yes, it was the Inquisition that had driven García to Mass initially. But now he felt a need to confess, to clear his mind. Possibly the end of his adventure was in sight. And for the first time he could see the possibility of disaster written there.