by Jacky Gray
‘That is quite enough of that. You are giving us the best possible javelin and archery training. The least we can do is to instruct you in the vine and the box.’
One of the reasons Archer felt so uncomfortable was the amount of physical contact these dances required. They were all about holding hands, crossing arms and spinning the girl into what they delighted in calling the embrace. This resembled a mother’s hug, fine when you’re five years old, or even ten, but not much after that.
‘Oh come on now Archer, how many times must I tell you? Cross right, swing left, cross right. No, behind, that’s it.’ Chrisya seemed pleased to get her own back.
‘You have to visualise a grapevine, twisting around itself.’ Patricia had a much gentler approach.
‘I did try, but a grapevine goes the same way each time. I’ll never get this, it’s far too complicated.’
‘Yes you will; it’s simply a matter of co-ordination. Watch me. I’ll stand here and you do the exact opposite.’
‘Fine.’
Except Chrisya stood behind to emphasise the moves, tapping the correct leg with her bow every time he went wrong or hesitated.
‘Ow, you didn’t have to do it that hard.’
‘Yes I did, it’s like training dogs. The pain helps your brain make the right choice.’
‘Maybe you should be hitting the wrong leg, then.’
‘Hitting? I hardly touched you. Stop being such a girl.’
‘Who are you calling a girl?’ He spun round and growled at her, but she knew you didn’t bait a bear without a clear escape plan. She dodged behind the trees as he chased her. Running back, she cowered behind Patricia, squealing with laughter as she begged, ‘Save me, save me Tricia. The big bad monster’s after me.’
Patricia did not appear to be the slightest bit amused, saying coldly, ‘You made your cot, now you have to lie in it.’
Her tone sobered Archer’s mood and he looked suitably penitent. ‘I can’t see me learning much more tonight. It’ll be dark soon, we should be getting back.’ As they headed home, he outlined his idea for the last stage of their training; something he thought would help their accuracy with both javelin and archery. They both agreed it would be tricky to set up but possible.
Wodensday was a good choice as the villagers were meeting to plan the Beltane celebration so the streets would be empty.
‘What did your parents say about you coming out after dark?’ Archer could not believe they’d both made it.
‘As soon as I mentioned the special training for the Worthies, they were happy to let me go.’ Patricia raised her eyes to the heavens. ‘Mother worried about me being out so late, but I told her it would only work in the dark.’
‘And she agreed?’
‘When I mentioned you would be there, she seemed happier. But then she said people were starting to notice how much time we are spending together.’
Hiding his embarrassment, Archer turned to Chrisya. ‘You’re quiet. What did your mother say?’
She shrugged, with a defiant toss of her hair. ‘She doesn’t know. What would be the point in worrying her? She’s at the meeting with father, so I said I’d have an early night. I put a pillow in my cot so if they get back before me they’ll think I’m asleep.’
Archer wasn’t happy about her deception. It felt like a bad omen, so he sent up a quick prayer to protect the girls. He wasn’t expecting trouble, but it didn’t hurt to ask.
The girls sat on a log with lanterns illuminating their slates. He instructed them to sketch the motion of the arrows in order to understand the path of their flight.
After explaining, Archer walked into the darkness where he’d marked a start line. Smiling at their gasps from the first of his special arrows, he loosed the next two in quick succession while the imprint of the first still glowed in their eyes. He was proud of his invention and as he walked over to see what they had learned, their reaction gave him great satisfaction.
‘That was wondrous. How did you do it?’ Chrisya examined a spare arrow, marvelling at the way it glowed in the dark.
‘Archer, you truly are a wizard. These make it so clear. I finally understand what you have been trying to explain.’ Patricia went on to describe how the angle affected the height of the arrow and the distance it travelled.
‘Exactly. What have you learnt from this?’
‘That I should not aim straight at the bull, but slightly above it and the arrow will fall in the edge of a circle. Is it the arch?’
‘Good.’ The girls concentrated on their slates and did not notice the slight hesitation or his eyes narrowing while he listened to an alert from the portion of his brain on sentry duty. Gathering the remaining arrows, Archer continued smoothly, ‘Not quite the arc of a circle, but it is close enough.’
Not wanting to be left out, Chrisya said, ‘And the angle changes with how far away the target is.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Is that why you fire a practice arrow first?’
‘Yes. We call it “getting the eye in.”’ Archer’s eyes flicked over to the dark woods. He stowed the arrows in his linen shoulder bag so their glow would not be seen, trying to keep the concern from his tone. ‘When you are experienced you don’t need to do it so much, you can judge the angle and distance by instinct.’
‘So what you told us last time, about seeing the path with your mind – that was simply for beginners?’
‘No, I … Shhhh.’ No mistaking it this time. Something felt wrong. He pinched out the wicks on the lanterns.
‘What ...?’ Patricia’s whispered question was halted by Archer’s fingers on her lips, but he withdrew them as though they had been burned. He had no time to indulge in thoughts about the softness of her lips; he had a task to do. Knowing their eyes would still be adjusting to the darkness, he took each girl’s hand in turn and pulled her into a crouch.
Confident Patricia would cope well with the danger, he was pleasantly surprised Chrisya remembered enough of her training to be quiet and follow instructions. Before quenching the light, Archer had instinctively closed his eyes so they were not so affected by the rapid change and could recover more quickly. The meagre light from the waning moon showed the reason for Chrisya’s silence; her face shone pale and taut, with dark shadows drowning her eyes. But the strongest evidence of her fear was the shallow, uneven breathing, punctuated by tiny gasps as her body fought to keep her muscles supplied with oxygen, ready for the fight or flight action.
Placing a hand on her shoulder, he gave a gentle squeeze of reassurance as he stretched his other hand flat on the ground and deepened his breathing. On the third breath, his senses sharpened and he rapidly assessed the multitude of signals, discarding those which contained only harmless information. The movement of new-grown leaves in the breeze, the subtle scent of blossom, the erratic scrabbling of small animals and the beat of wings – none of these posed a threat. Underneath it all, he isolated an insidious, deliberate movement. Archer’s natural defence mechanism, or sixth sense, shouted its alert that someone watched them.
The girls recognised the signal as he positioned their arms in the direction of their escape route. As he squeezed their hands, they rose with him and began their silent retreat. Their trackers were good, but obviously did not want to risk losing their prey as they exploded from the undergrowth into a chase.
No further need for stealth. They had to run. Fast.
Patricia ran swiftly, but Chrisya was less sure-footed, which slowed her down. In the training sessions, Archer had insisted on leaving everything which might hamper them, making sure their hands were empty. The girls understood the threat from the lawless Renegates who took great delight in tormenting anyone they captured. Archer was sure the tales of lone travellers being tortured in horrific ways were mere rumours, spread to frighten the bolder juniors, but he took no chances, especially with two young girls in his care.
Chrisya stumbled. He caught her in time to stop a fall, but he could tell from her panting breaths that she didn’t have
much more running left in her. He knew the area – they could shelter in a nearby cave, if he could find it. Stopping to allow her to take a breath, he tried to get his bearings. His enhanced hearing picked up the rustle of undergrowth as their pursuers followed the trail. He sent a prayer of thanks for the dry weather and darkness which would hamper their task.
Patricia continued on for a few paces before stopping. She had the wisdom not to speak on discovery of his absence and retraced her steps. But her good sense had its limits as she bumped into him with a small squeak. ‘What’s wrong? Why did you stop?’ Her whisper sounded loud.
He held onto her arms as she overbalanced and pulled her close to whisper, ‘There’s a small cave we can hide in until they’ve gone. We need to find a tree struck by lightning.’ He steeled himself against the effects her warmth and delicate citrus scent were having on his senses.
‘All black and twisted? I just passed it.’ Patricia led him a few paces to the tree. From here, he guided them the short distance to the mouth of the cave. They would normally have been nervous about entering the dank, musty place, but their eyes were accustomed to the low light levels. As they moved deeper into the cave, the darkness met them like a solid thing, halting their progress. He pulled out one of the glowing arrows which pierced the blackness just enough for him to see. Shielding its glow with his body, he told Patricia to hold on to his tunic and she echoed the instruction to Chrisya. They reached the back, sitting on a low ledge to wait until the danger had passed.
As they made their way home after what seemed like a lifetime, Archer vowed that this time, he had truly learnt his lesson about being in the woods in the dark with a girl.
4 Sword and Buckler
The Seneschal’s tones broke through Archer’s disturbing memory and he returned to the present to find he had missed the start of the Magi girls’ round. He watched with a sense of pride as his two apprentices managed to gain the furthest distances with their javelins, getting the full five points. While Bethia did reasonably well, poor Dervla managed a very brave two points. She had injured her shoulder on the last training session but insisted on competing.
Next was the sword and buckler, a contest on foot. No amount of complaint would ever convince the council that girls should be allowed to participate in this event at tourney level. To make it fair, each boy fought two bouts, staying within their clans. Niall had tried to be as even-handed as possible, giving the weakest contender in each category a break in the middle to regain some of his strength. Finn drew first place, fighting Beorn, then second against Archer.
During the second bout, a contestant’s strength would not be at its peak, so taking on the weaker opponent second would be an advantage. This should favour Archer in the third bout against Beorn, but the second bout could go either way. Archer would be fresher, but Finn would have had a good warm-up and, knowing him, would be fired up from a good victory, giving him a mental advantage.
They had set up three combat yards, allowing them to run all the bouts at the same time, with a central dais for the judges and competitors. The horn sounded and the first six boys took their positions in the centre of each yard. The stronger combatant held the traditional guardia alta pose; the sword held high with the tip pointing slightly behind his head and his buckler at waist level.
Archer compared their stances. As expected, Finn demonstrated a perfect example of how to do it. He looked balanced, relaxed and focussed on his opponent yet totally aware of everything going on within the yard. Fletch looked good and surprisingly so did Tybalt, his extra sessions were showing the benefit. The fact that Logan hated it more than life itself was obvious by his worried expression and defensive stance. Edlyn just seemed over-confident, nodding and winking to the little knot of supporters who had elbowed their way to the front.
As the second horn sounded, Archer had to decide which pair to watch. Common sense dictated he should observe Finn to pick up any minute tells indicating his frame of mind today. He had, however, fought Finn every week for the past two years and they were both in a “winner takes all” frame of mind. Who wouldn’t be? He watched the opening moves, thinking how much they resembled a dance. Not the fiery energy of a sword dance, but the graceful storytelling of a spirit dance.
It was as though the two swords were having a conversation. Finn’s sword would ask a question with a cut or thrust. Beorn’s sword would answer with a parry, occasionally asking his own question with a smart riposte. Each discussion was punctuated with a static pose or guardia at the beginning and end.
Grinning at his poetic thoughts, Archer stood next to Melvyn to find out what sort of chat the Magi boys were having. Tybalt seemed to be asking most of the questions and despite his earlier bravado, Edlyn seemed to be hard pushed to do anything other than defend himself.
‘Did you see that?’ Melvyn whispered fiercely, ‘I’m sure he went for his hand. That’s not allowed.’
‘Edlyn doesn’t always abide by the rules. You’ll have to watch out for his dirty tricks. I’m sure the judges would spot it and dock him a point.’
‘Not Edlyn, Tybalt.’
Archer’s eyebrows rose in disbelief. Before he could find out more, a big shout went up from the Outil yard and Machin whistled his approval. Fletch had knocked Logan’s sword out of his hand, earning him the full five points. Logan didn’t seem to be at all concerned, it saved him the torture of the last two minutes and meant he could get a cold drink before coming back for the next bout. Although Archer didn’t get to see Fletch fight at all, he had seen him enough times to know it must have been a lucky stroke.
Finn had obviously played a tactical game with Beorn, keeping the pace slow and measured in order not to tire himself out. They had both come away with three points and Finn looked as fresh as Archer. So now he would be prepared to give it everything. Finn would be going for a disarming, but not an early one, giving Archer more recovery time.
Archer glanced over at him as they waited to strike the hero’s pose before the bout began. If he were in Finn’s place, he would keep the pressure on for the full three minutes and not go for a disarming until right at the end.
Two moves into the bout, he was pretty sure Finn had decided to use exactly that strategy. Archer tried to remember the explanation of the basic rules during their first practical lesson, certain a useful clue hid there. They had studied terminology and tactics for several lessons and Professor Niall made them balance on one leg so they would pay attention and remember more.
*
‘In the sword and buckler bout, each assault is led by the agente who starts each cut or thrust from the guardia or safe pose. What is the name of the other opponent?’
‘The patiente, Sir?’
‘Well done Archer. The patiente defends with a parry using the false edge or buckler. Finn, what is the false edge?’
‘The blunt or thicker edge of the sword’s blade, Sir.’
‘Right. And the buckler, Beorn?’
Beorn obviously didn’t expect to be asked and wobbled a bit before regaining his balance. ‘The small shield, Sir.’
‘Good. Who can tell me why the buckler is round and not full size?’ Archer was the only one who could raise his hand without losing his balance, so after waiting with obvious annoyance for another hand to go up, Niall nodded at him to answer.
‘Because it’s lighter and easier to manoeuvre, so you can react quickly. And there’s more room to direct the sword.’
‘Excellent answer. In the normal course of a fight, with equally matched adversaries, the roles of agente and patiente swap between them fairly evenly. If one player is noticeably better, he would become dominant, spending more time as agente, while the patiente is said to be in a state of …’
‘Obedience, Sir.’ Archer answered, ignoring the dirty looks directed at him by people who had not paid attention or were struggling to maintain their balance while he stood perfectly still.
Niall explained that the best way to become dominant was to ps
yche out an opponent by sending out a number of small physical signals suggesting a stronger, faster swordsman. Archer concentrated on the demonstration of the easiest way to shake an opponent’s resolve by taking control of every assault, turning each parry into a riposte, or new attacking stroke.
*
Armed with this information, Archer felt better prepared. Finn’s evasion strategy would probably have worked against any other opponent, but Archer had an advantage and would need to use it. One of Archer’s special skills was the ability to “read” his opponent’s intention, anticipating the attack before it had a chance to develop. He could also determine if the move was true or a feint, designed to mask the true intention. Knowing he would need to draw heavily on these skills in the third move, he assumed a dominant guardia alta, his feet close together, slightly favouring the right, sword over his head. Finn matched with an obedient, low-lunging guardia.
Archer started his attack, springing forward an instant after Finn settled into the start position. His blade came down with such speed and force that Finn barely had time to parry with his buckler before Archer used his buckler for a second attack. This effectively parried a cut from Finn’s sword which didn’t even have a chance to become more than a vague intention. Archer used the momentum of the swing to reverse the direction of his sword and continued the attack with another downward cut. This time he used the false edge of his blade, following it through with the buckler so his head remained protected at all times from any riposte. The whole smooth movement happened so fast that Finn was mis-footed. When Archer’s next move, an elegant trammazone, connected with his buckler, Finn overbalanced. His natural instincts took over as he tried to regain his balance and his right arm shot out. The sword managed to connect with the top of Archer’s helmet, breaking off the small plume of feathers. In the same instant, Archer delivered the follow through with his buckler which forced the sword from Finn’s hand as he went down to the ground.