The Return of the Warrior

by Chris Bradford

  Jack wandered through the hall, casting his eyes over fairies and sprites, kings and queens, gods and goddesses. Then he spotted the pale ghostly form of Yori by the fireplace. His friend was stood upon a chair and studying Sir Henry’s coat of arms hanging over the mantelpiece. Jack sighed with exasperation. Why weren’t his friends focusing on the task at hand? They’re either dancing or gazing at paintings! he thought. As he headed in Yori’s direction, the music ended and Akiko returned with Zeus.

  ‘You’re a magnificent dancer,’ complimented Akiko, slightly out of breath.

  Zeus inclined his head and replied smoothly, ‘It always helps to have a magnificent partner.’

  Jack felt like he might be sick – and it wasn’t because of the potato. Then Yori appeared beside him and whispered, ‘Jack, we need to talk. I’ve –’

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen!’ Sir Henry proclaimed loudly as he stood upon the stage in his Egyptian costume, swaying slightly. ‘The time has come to reveal who we really are!’

  With a flourish, their host removed his golden mask to thunderous applause. Then the rest of the guests followed suit, casting aside their disguises. There was much laughter and many shrieks of surprise. Ignoring Yori’s insistent tug on his sleeve, Jack removed his black Harlequin mask to have a better look for Sir Toby … at the same time as Zeus took off his porcelain-white face …

  Their eyes locked upon one another.

  ‘YOU!’ cried Zeus, his jaw dropping in outraged disbelief. ‘But I thought you’d drowned!’

  Jack was standing toe to toe with Sir Toby Nashe – the belligerent dueller who’d almost run him through in Moorfields … the liar who’d got him arrested and almost hanged in London … the mystery suitor who’d taken his sister! Jack felt his fury rise up inside him like a furnace fire.

  But Sir Toby appeared equally outraged. His preened moustache quivering and his face as thunderous as Zeus himself, Sir Toby grabbed Jack by the lapels of his chequered Harlequin suit. ‘You won’t escape this time, you slippery fish!’ he spat. ‘Sir Edmund! Sir Francis! Come, quickly!’

  At once, the sultan and the knight beside the banqueting table dropped their wine goblets and surrounded Jack, cutting off any way of retreat. But Jack, for his part, was also swiftly backed up by reinforcements: Akiko, Yori, Rose and Signor Horatio all rushed to his aid. With a sharp upward thrust of his forearms, Jack broke Sir Toby’s grip on his costume and pushed the self-righteous bully away. Sir Toby stumbled and fell on to his backside, much to the amusement of the other guests.

  ‘How dare you!’ he cried, his face flushing as red as his hair in mortified fury. ‘I’ll have you thrown into the Tower of London for that! Put in irons and hung by your hands! Stretched on the rack until your arms pop out of their sockets! Tossed into the pit!’

  The guests sniggered at his outrageous threats. But Jack wasn’t laughing.

  ‘It’s you who’ll be put in the Tower,’ said Jack. ‘Now, tell me, where’s my sister?’

  ‘Your sister?’ sneered Sir Toby, a dark gleam entering his eyes. ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Of course you do. You’ve abducted her!’

  ‘That’s slander!’ snarled Sir Toby, scrambling to his feet with the help of his stooge Sir Edmund. ‘I’ll not have my reputation besmirched like this. Seize the rascal!’

  Sir Francis was the first to advance on Jack, but Signor Horatio blocked his path and a tussle broke out between them. No one else stepped forward to apprehend Jack, so Sir Toby took it upon himself. As Jack prepared to fend off his foe, Akiko and Rose squared up to Sir Edmund. The portly sultan, nostrils flaring and belly wobbling, blurted, ‘I don’t fight women.’

  ‘That’s mighty noble of you,’ said Rose, before bopping him on the nose with her shield.

  As Sir Edmund howled in pain and Sir Toby grappled with Jack, Yori became trapped in the middle of the fray, not knowing which way to turn. Sir Henry bustled over, pushing through the throng of guests, who were all clamouring to watch the altercation. ‘Stop this at once! This is a ball, not a bearpit!’ he yelled, putting a swift end to the fight.

  With a look of outraged indignation, Sir Toby spluttered, ‘Did you invite this ruffian and his foreign scum?’

  ‘They were last-minute guests,’ explained Sir Henry. ‘What offence has Jack caused you, Sir Toby?’

  ‘This upstart is a wanted criminal!’ Sir Toby proclaimed, stabbing an accusatory finger at Jack. ‘He escaped the hangman’s noose little more than two weeks ago, after being convicted of trying to rob me and my fellow gentlemen at sword-point. He’s just pushed me over – and, to cap it all, he’s accused me of kidnapping his sister!’

  ‘Have you, Sir Toby? Have you kidnapped Jack’s sister?’ enquired Sir Henry.

  Sir Toby stared at his host in perplexed astonishment. ‘Of course not! It’s an outrageous claim.’

  ‘I saw you with Jess in Stratford!’ said Jack fiercely. ‘And I never tried to rob you. You are a barefaced liar, Sir Toby!’

  Gasps of horror burst from the gathered guests and once more Sir Toby’s face turned as red as his hair with rage. ‘Once again you have given me the lie, sirrah!’ he snapped. ‘I won’t have my name so publicly besmirched!’

  All of a sudden Sir Toby pulled a dagger from the folds of his toga and lunged at Jack.

  ‘Not so fast!’ said Signor Horatio, drawing his rapier with such speed that its tip was at Sir Toby’s throat before the man had barely taken half a step.

  ‘Signor Horatio Palavicino!’ sneered Sir Toby. ‘Why am I not surprised to find you among such lowly company?’

  The sword master pressed the rapier tip harder beneath Sir Toby’s jaw, threatening to draw blood. ‘Still the sore loser, aren’t you?’ he said.

  Sir Toby narrowed his eyes. ‘I didn’t lose. You cheated!’

  ‘You shot me!’

  A tense stand-off occurred as the two parties venomously eyed one another.

  ‘Gentlemen, gentlemen, perhaps we can settle this disagreement with a gentlemanly duel?’ Sir Henry suggested, lightly resting his hand upon the rapier’s blade and encouraging Signor Horatio to lower it. ‘That way we can avoid too much bloodshed at my ball.’

  At the merest suggestion of an arranged fight, a chant of ‘DUEL! DUEL! DUEL!’ went up from the eager guests.

  ‘I have no interest in challenging Signor Horatio again,’ declared Sir Toby, lifting his nose snootily into the air.

  ‘Scared of losing again, are you?’ Signor Horatio taunted.

  ‘No, of course not. My beef is with Jack Fletcher,’ Sir Toby replied haughtily, ‘and Jack Fletcher alone.’

  Sir Henry raised an eyebrow and cast a troubled glance in Jack’s direction. ‘And how about you, Jack?’

  ‘I want the truth,’ replied Jack. ‘If Sir Toby won’t willingly tell me, then I’ll duel him for the truth.’

  ‘So be it,’ said Sir Henry with a sigh, ‘a duel to first blood.’

  ‘But he gave me the lie, so it should be to the death!’ Sir Toby protested dramatically.

  ‘My house, my rules,’ said Sir Henry firmly. Jack realized that his host wasn’t restricting the fight purely out of the goodness of his heart; Sir Henry had a personal interest in keeping Jack alive for the hoped-for trading mission. Besides, Jack had no desire either in killing Sir Toby. He only needed to force him into revealing Jess’s whereabouts.

  Jack found himself being borne into the Gallery of Arms by the enthusiastic crowd. It seemed the whole ball wanted to watch, and Rose even had to keep some of the guests at bay with her shield as Jack readied himself for the fight. Yori took the Harlequin mask from him and Akiko presented his katana.

  ‘No foreign weapons!’ said Sir Toby contemptuously, as he selected the sharpest rapier from the rack on the wall. ‘This is a proper English duel.’

  ‘Use my rapier instead,’ said Signor Horatio, offering up his blade of finest Italian steel.

  ‘Pah!’ Sir Toby sneered. ‘Your sword won�
��t save him, Signor Horatio.’

  Signor Horatio responded with an assured smile. ‘I’ve not only given Jack my weapon, signor, but my training too!’

  ‘Then you really are putting the poor lad at a disadvantage!’ scoffed Sir Toby, as he made several practice swipes with his sword, its tip whistling through the air. The guests laughed heartily at his jibe, but Sir Toby’s grim expression suggested he was more unsettled by Signor Horatio’s words than he let on.

  Ignoring his opponent’s taunts, Jack weighed his sword master’s rapier in his hand. It was as light as a feather and quick as lightning. The grip felt like the handshake of a good friend, the blade was long and slender, and the hilt was expertly crafted into a helix of steel to deflect and catch an enemy’s blade. It was truly a magnificent weapon.

  Akiko passed him a parrying dagger from the rack. ‘Remember,’ she whispered, ‘offence is defence. Parry and riposte. Keep your guard up before your face. Don’t overreach –’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ Jack reassured her. But he didn’t feel fine. His heart thudded and his blood pumped loudly in his ears, his palms became slick with sweat and his breathing elevated. In this duel, he wasn’t fighting for his life; he was fighting for his sister’s.

  ‘En garde!’ cried Sir Toby, dropping into a warding stance. All the guests fell silent in tense anticipation as Jack took up position in the centre of the gallery. From painful experience, he knew Sir Toby was a formidable swordsman. He’d have to fight at the top of his game if he was to have any chance of defeating his opponent. On the sidelines, Yori shifted nervously from foot to foot, appearing even more anxious about the impending duel than Jack was.

  Sir Toby stared scornfully at Jack, his whole stance exuding a sense of superiority. Jack returned the glare with a blank expression, trying not to give away any of his thoughts, feelings or fears. Whether with weapons or with fists, a fight was first fought in the mind; a battle of wills often determined the outcome. Jack was well versed in such mental combat, so he didn’t let his opponent’s fierce look faze him, despite the rush of adrenalin coursing through his body.

  ‘Allez!’ cried Sir Henry, commencing the duel.

  The two swordsmen stood poised with dagger and rapier in hand, neither willing to make the first move. The crowd watched with bated breath as the two slowly circled one another. This time, Sir Toby was evidently more cautious than in their previous duel. So Jack stamped his front foot, performing an appel and making a feint with his sword.

  But Sir Toby wasn’t taken in by the tactic. He stood his ground and didn’t even bother parrying the fake attack. ‘Is that all you’ve taught your mouse, Signor Horatio? To squeak?’

  Another round of laughter rippled through the crowd. In that moment of disturbance, Sir Toby lunged, his rapier tip lancing for Jack’s left eye. Thanks only to the rearward stance Jack had been taught was he saved a blinding – the tip stopped a fraction short of his eyeball. Parrying the blade away with his dagger, Jack responded with a rushed riposte. Sir Toby easily deflected the strike and advanced with another jab to the face. Beating the rapier off, Jack bluffed an attack to the head before lunging for the body. Sir Toby leapt aside and blocked the blade with his own dagger. Then he began to force Jack down the hall with a surge of lunges and thrusts.

  ‘I’ll teach you to give me the lie!’ snarled Sir Toby.

  ‘You’re the one that’s lying!’ replied Jack, frantically fending off the attacks. ‘I know you have my sister!’

  The guests began applauding Sir Toby’s virtuoso display of swordsmanship. And, despite a growing frustration at failing to land a hit, Sir Toby started to show off. He danced round Jack, executing flamboyant blocks and dramatic lunges, playing to his audience.

  ‘You’re dressed as a fool and you fight like a fool!’ taunted Sir Toby, his rapier probing Jack’s guard for weaknesses.

  Jack was forced to retreat under the barrage of blows.

  ‘Don’t dance to his rhythm!’ Signor Horatio called out. ‘Steal his sword and attack in every defence!’

  Heeding his sword master’s advice, Jack managed to perform a prise de fer – taking control of Sir Toby’s blade and shifting it into another line. This broke his opponent’s rhythm, allowing Jack to retaliate with a stab to the throat. Sir Toby blocked it and immediately countered. But now, for every deflection made, Jack had a follow-up attack. The week of intense training under Signor Horatio had paid dividends and Jack found he was able to match Sir Toby strike for strike, thrust for thrust. The clink of steel rang out through the gallery as the two duellers fought furiously.

  The crowd now applauded Jack’s comeback and soon shouts of encouragement to Sir Toby were met by calls of ‘Jack! Jack! Jack!’, his friends’ voices loudest among his supporters.

  No longer overwhelmed by the speed or reach of his enemy’s attacks, Jack regained some ground. Still Sir Toby showed off, hopping and skipping round Jack’s rapier like a springtime hare. But Jack didn’t discourage this boastful behaviour; he was biding his time for the moment his opponent made a fatal mistake.

  ‘You couldn’t stick a pin in a pincushion!’ Sir Toby laughed, avoiding Jack’s strike to the hip and countering with a circular thrust. And there was the mistake. Sir Toby had inadvertently opened up his guard with the circular attack.

  Jack made a lunge at Sir Toby’s exposed heart … but immediately found his rapier pressed off line and Sir Toby’s own blade heading for the target of his heart. Jack resisted the press, jumping aside, but the blade tore through his costume. A gasp went up from the crowd, followed by a hesitant shout of ‘First blood!’

  However, when Sir Toby retracted the blade, there was no blood. The sword had pierced only cloth, not flesh. Before Sir Toby could attempt a second thrust, Jack rapidly retreated again.

  ‘Don’t be fooled by his flashy sword work, signor!’ called Signor Horatio from the sidelines. ‘He’s showing off on purpose to draw you in.’

  ‘I realize that now!’ gasped Jack before resuming his attack.

  But, whatever he tried, Sir Toby had a counter. Thrust met parry. Lunge met block. Feints were ignored and binds resisted. He even performed a second prise de fer to no avail. It seemed that Sir Toby had got bored with playing with Jack and was now fighting to finish the duel.

  Jack was at a loss as to what to do. He was flagging and on the verge of losing. He couldn’t be defeated. He had to force Sir Toby to surrender, to give up what he knew about Jess. Suddenly, Jack remembered how Akiko had beaten him every time in training. With a quick adjustment to his grip, Jack pommelled his rapier. A moment later, he spotted a gap in Sir Toby’s defence and stabbed for his opponent’s face. The sudden extended reach took Sir Toby off guard …

  In a miracle of reaction he turned his cheek at the very last second and the rapier tip missed him by a mere whisker.

  Beating away Jack’s rapier, Sir Toby snorted a laugh. ‘Don’t go thinking Signor Horatio’s underhand tactics will outwit me. He may have got away with it once, but never twice!’

  Sir Toby now went on the offensive, driving Jack down the gallery with a relentless flurry of jabs and thrusts.

  Jack was out of ideas. Sir Toby was wise to all the tricks and techniques of fencing Jack knew. His opponent couldn’t be fooled or faked, and Jack realized it was only a matter of time before he would be run through with Sir Toby’s blade. How he wished he could wield his katana now! That would at least give him a different edge over his opponent. He could do Flint-and-Spark strike … Autumn Leaf … or even Mountain to Sea. Then Jack recalled how similar the parry and riposte technique was to Masamoto’s Flint-and-Spark strike. What if I use an unfamiliar Two Heavens technique with the rapier? he thought. East meeting West. A fusion of style and weapon.

  As Sir Toby thrust for his heart, Jack retaliated with an Autumn Leaf strike. Surging forward, he hit Sir Toby’s rapier twice in quick succession with his blade. To Jack’s delight, the sudden and deft double strike knocked the rapier from Sir Toby’s g
rip and it clattered to the floor. Sir Toby stared aghast at the surprise disarming. With only a parrying dagger to defend himself, he was unable to match the speed of Jack’s follow-up attack – a deceptive and unpredictable thrust upwards that finished with the tip of the rapier up his nose!

  ‘I bet you’ve never seen that move before!’ said Jack, lifting the blade slightly and forcing Sir Toby on to his toes. A snigger of amusement rippled through the gathered guests as Sir Toby danced at the end of the blade.

  ‘Now tell me,’ hissed Jack, ‘where’s my sister?’

  Sir Toby glared defiantly back. ‘I’ve told you – I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Perhaps this will jog your memory.’ With a light flick of his wrist, Jack withdrew his rapier and sliced through the end of Sir Toby’s nose. A thin stream of blood ran from his nostril.

  ‘First blood!’ Sir Henry declared, and the crowd burst into rapturous applause at Jack’s skilful and unexpected victory.

  Sir Toby dabbed the back of his hand to his nostril. ‘It’s only a nose bleed! Let us continue!’

  But his protests were drowned out by the clamour and handclapping. Unwilling to concede defeat, Sir Toby grabbed another rapier from the rack and launched a furious assault on Jack, the blade whipping through the air like a whirling dervish. But knowing Sir Toby was a man without honour, Jack had been prepared for such a move – he’d remained on guard and was now quick to parry the attacks.