Won't Back Down: Won't Back Down

by Unknown

  His voice rose dramatically, and he clutched Maltroos to him as if to physically keep him from returning to the competition. Maltroos embraced him in return and rubbed his back soothingly, but he uttered not a word. There was nothing left to say. He was determined to see this thing through, and nothing Saxtry could say would stop him. He had already said as much, so what further words were there to utter? He certainly didn't want to get into a verbal battle with the man he loved.

  They stood there, embracing, and Saxtry turned his head inward and downward so as to bury his face in Maltroos's neck. Maltroos took one hand away from Saxtry's back so he could stroke his head. Saxtry's hair was wet. His scalp had obviously been sweating. Nervous sweat, Maltroos assumed since it was a day of most pleasant temperatures, neither cold nor hot. The hand that was still on Saxtry's back held him tight to Maltroos's body, while Saxtry continued to clutch at Maltroos.

  "I will not lose," Maltroos murmured with more assurance than he truly felt. "There is too much at stake. It is too important to me. I will come out victorious and claim you as my prize. You'll see."

  Saxtry only grasped Maltroos harder in response. They clung to each other, each clutching the other in a mixture of love and fear.

  Maltroos was not immune to the fear that gripped Saxtry. For all his brave words, his insides were roiling with worry over the outcome of the competition. There were two more rounds to go: Thursday's battle, which would see him in combat with either Smirtlow, Hamrick, or Vandrume, and then, if he survived that, Saturday's final challenge, when he would face the victor of the other semi-final round in the ultimate battle of the competition.

  Two more rounds to go. Two more chances to advance in the competition or be killed trying. Two more rounds in which someone would unquestionably lose his life. Would it be Maltroos? Would his quest to win Prince Saxtry in marriage backfire and cost him his very life?

  For a moment he was filled with self-doubt. What if Saxtry was right? What if it was the more sensible path to withdraw and be certain of living? What if he forfeited his chance to wed Saxtry but clung to life in the certainty that, even if another combatant won and chose Saxtry, he and Saxtry could at least go on meeting surreptitiously in the orchard, among the haystacks, or in some other secret spot? He would be assured of going on living. He would not face such a risk of death.

  No! He wanted an end to this skulking around. He wanted an end to having only part of Saxtry part of the time. He wanted their love to blossom in the sunshine. He would see the competition through and take his chances with the outcome.

  Saxtry made one last attempt to persuade Maltroos to drop out of the competition. "There are how many pledgers currently?" he asked.

  "Nineteen, my love," answered Maltroos.

  "And eight entered the competition. That means eleven didn't. Eleven pledgers were wise enough not to risk their lives. There is no sin or shame in backing down from this dangerous endeavor."

  "No," agreed Maltroos, "there is no sin or shame, but there is no chance of winning, either. Maybe the eleven who didn't enter don't care as much about the prize. Maybe being wed to either you or your sister is not that attractive a prospect to those eleven pledgers. Maybe they, or at least some of them, already love someone else. But I love you, and I am determined to win you."

  Saxtry let go of Maltroos and looked him in the eyes again. "You are that determined?" he asked.

  "Yes, my love." Maltroos was unrelenting.

  "And there is nothing I can say that will deter you?"

  "Nothing, my love. Nothing at all."

  "I dread the outcome of Thursday and Saturday."

  "Do not dread it, my love. Embrace it. Know that when I emerge victorious in the final round, you will be mine and I will be yours, as I have told you before. Focus on that glorious outcome."

  Just then they heard voices in the distance. "Someone else is in the orchard," Maltroos whispered to Saxtry.

  "We had better separate and leave," Saxtry responded, kissing Maltroos full on the mouth. It was a closed-mouth kiss but a heartfelt one, laden with emotion.

  Maltroos returned it with equal fervor, pinching Saxtry's hindquarters at the same time. Then he gave him a quick swat on the buttocks and said, "Go! Before we are discovered together—go!"

  Indeed the voices were getting louder and nearer. One was male and one female, although Maltroos could not identify them. It didn't matter. Whoever it was had better not find him and Saxtry together, though it would be best if the interlopers didn't see either of them at all.

  Saxtry slipped away with one last backward look toward Maltroos, walking not in a direct route back to the palace but following a path that would take him away from the oncoming voices. Maltroos gave him a head start and then, as the voices grew quite near, he eased away quietly, trying not to crackle any fallen twigs or leaves on the ground, taking the same general direction as Saxtry had, but walking deliberately slowly so as not to catch up with Saxtry as he returned to the castle via a circuitous route.

  When Maltroos emerged from the orchard, Saxtry was nowhere in sight. Relieved that he had not inadvertently overtaken him, Maltroos plodded onward and soon reached the drawbridge. But he was restless, filled with fear and doubts now, and instead of crossing the moat to access the palace, he continued walking past the drawbridge and walked aimlessly toward the village.

  In the marketplace, he stopped at a stall that was offering various sausages and chose one that was cooked and ready to eat. At another stall he selected a chunk of golden yellow cheese. He had barely enough coins in his purse to pay for his selections, and now he headed back to the palace, chomping on his sausage and cheese as he walked.

  He ate about half, deciding to save the other half to offer Cartimmar. When he had reached the palace, he went off in search of Cartimmar instead of returning to his own quarters.

  Cartimmar was not in his rooms, but finally Maltroos found him in a corridor, conversing with one of the other pledgers, Timmony, who was one of the newer ones and had not entered the competition.

  "Ah, my friend," Cartimmar said expansively when he saw Maltroos approach.

  "I have brought you a treat. I purchased these in the village, but only ate half and saved the remainder for you." He proffered the remaining sausage and cheese to Cartimmar, who was not at all put off by the teeth marks on the viands and proceeded to chomp away with occasional "Mmms" of satisfaction.

  Timmony addressed Maltroos. "Good luck on Thursday," he said. "You are either very brave or very foolish."

  "One or the other," agreed Maltroos affably.

  "Is it the princess's hand or the prince's that you are after?"

  Maltroos paused for just a moment, wondering how to answer the question without giving away the fact of his love. At length he said, "Women hold no romantic interest for me."

  "Nor for me," agreed Timmony, "but neither does our prince. He is in his mid-thirties, and I am just twenty-two. I am not so eager to marry into royalty that I would wed a man more than ten years my senior and one to whom I do not feel drawn at all."

  "Then you are wise indeed to withhold yourself from this dangerous competition," Cartimmar observed through a mouthful of sausage and cheese.

  "Why are you not in it?" Timmony asked of Cartimmar. "Does neither of the royal offspring appeal to you either?"

  Cartimmar had just stuffed the last wedge of cheese and the last big piece of sausage into his mouth, so Maltroos answered for him. "He is still in mourning for his late husband, Bostroup, and nobody else can turn his head."

  "I understand," said Timmony. "Well, I will see you two soon, I am sure, but I am off to my quarters for now." With that he ambled down the corridor.

  "Thank you for the meat and cheese," Cartimmar said after swallowing what was in his mouth. "Does your wound need looking after? Don't you want an herbal poultice for it?"

  Maltroos waved his hand dismissively. "It is healing already. It hardly hurts," he said with bravado.

  "But you
want to be in top shape on Thursday," Cartimmar protested.

  "I will be," said Maltroos. But although he believed his own words, he wasn't at all sure that being in top shape would be sufficient to emerge victorious.

  *~*~*

  On Thursday afternoon, as the king, the prince, the princess, and many of the populace gathered in the stands of the arena, the four remaining combatants gathered to see who would be fighting whom and in which order. Maltroos soon learned that he was paired in combat with Smirtlow, and they were to fight first, followed by Hamrick against Vandrume.

  A fanfare from the trumpets announced the start of the proceedings, and Smirtlow and Maltroos emerged from opposite sides of the arena, bowed to each other, and advanced to the center. As Maltroos strode forward, he sneaked one quick look at Prince Saxtry, who was sitting forward, tensed, with his right hand gripping his left arm. Then Maltroos tore his gaze away from the prize he was out to win and tried to focus fully on his opponent.

  As Smirtlow approached Maltroos, he swung his sword low and then brought it up sharply, aiming for Maltroos's scrotal sac. Maltroos jumped backward at the last possible minute and avoided a terrible fate. He swung out at Smirtlow but the swing was wild and whssshed through the air without connecting. Smirtlow took aim at Maltroos's neck, but Maltroos crouched down quickly and the wicked sword missed its target.

  Springing upward, Maltroos lunged forward, aiming for Smirtlow's belly. Smirtlow misread his intention and took what was meant to be evasive action but actually put him in the trajectory of Maltroos's sword. But Maltroos, seeing Smirtlow dodge, tried to change the path of his lunge at the same time, so that his sword pierced Smirtlow's waist but missed any vital organs.

  Smirtlow, wounded but still capable, stepped back, aimed his sword, and charged forward. Just then someone in the stands screamed, "Watch out!" Distracted, Maltroos turned to see what had caused this outburst. A spectator had toppled from his front row seat in the stands and fallen into the arena. When Maltroos quickly returned his attention to Smirtlow, Smirtlow's sword connected with Maltroos, but, due to Maltroos having averted his body to see what the warning was about, Smirtlow missed Maltroos's chest and got him, instead, in the left arm.

  With a quick jab, Maltroos succeeded in spearing Smirtlow in the throat. Maltroos's arm hurt and he was bleeding badly, but he was determined to finish off Smirtlow before Smirtlow did any more damage to him—and before he lost so much blood that he grew weak or faint.

  Smirtlow reeled as he backed off Maltroos's sword, but he put his left hand to his throat in an instinctive response, and Maltroos took the opportunity to pierce Smirtlow deep in the belly. Smirtlow reeled, and Maltroos closed in for the kill. Though he was bleeding badly, he speared Smirtlow in his right hand, causing him to drop his sword. Then Smirtlow fell to the ground, and as some of the spectators raised their voices to cry out, "Finish him! Finish him!" Maltroos did just that. He poised his sword above Smirtlow's chest, plunged it deep, and pierced his downed combatant's heart.

  The court physician rushed to the center of the arena as soon as the king's two men trotted out to remove Smirtlow. The doctor applied an herbal poultice and a tight bandage to stanch the bleeding. Maltroos insisted on taking his victory bows to the assemblage before he weakly left the arena. The doctor helped Maltroos, who was feeling very shaky, to a seat in the stands.

  He sat next to Cartimmar. "Shouldn't you go back to your rooms and lie down?" his friend asked him.

  "Yes, I should—but I won't. I want you-know-who to see that I am sitting here, all right, and not worry about how and where I am."

  Meanwhile, Hamrick and Vandrume had taken their places at opposite ends of the arena, and they bowed low to each other and then advanced to the center. Hamrick lunged at Vandrume's chest, but Vandrume evaded him and, pretending to aim at Hamrick's chest, he instead stabbed his right hand, causing Hamrick to drop his sword immediately. Then, showing no hesitation, Vandrume plunged his sword into Hamrick's chest for real this time. Hamrick lay dying on the ground, and Vandrume pierced his chest with four vicious stabs that finished off the unfortunate pledger. The king's men trotted out again to remove Hamrick's body, while Vandrume took his bows.

  The fight had ended so quickly that the crowd was in awe. Murmurs of "Unfair" and "Too cruel—didn't have to" circulated throughout the stands and even among those inside the arena. Maltroos was simply glad it was over. He really wanted to return to his quarters and lie down. "Let me help you get back to your rooms," Cartimmar offered, and Maltroos didn't object or protest.

  When dinnertime came, Cartimmar insisted he would bring some dinner back for Maltroos from the dining hall, and once again Maltroos made no objection. Cartimmar brought some beef broth and a hearty stew with meat and vegetables. "I've got to build my strength up for Saturday," Maltroos said, propping himself up on the bed.

  "Don't fight on Saturday. Forfeit the round. You'll still be weak," Cartimmar implored him. "It's better to be weak than dead."

  "I've come this far. I can't give up. Besides, I've seen how Vandrume fights. He's ruthless, but he has his vulnerabilities too. I plan to give him a taste of his own medicine and strike at his right hand first. Even if I don't get him to drop his sword, I'll seriously impede his ability to use it."

  "I wish you would reconsider," Cartimmar said, frowning.

  He had no sooner left to return to his quarters than the door opened again. Maltroos thought it was Cartimmar returning and was very surprised to see it was Prince Saxtry. The prince never took the risk of being seen entering or leaving Maltroos's rooms.

  "Are you all right?" he asked immediately, his brow furrowed with concern.

  "I've seen better days," Maltroos replied sardonically, "but I'm alive."

  He started to rise from his bed to embrace his beloved, but Saxtry said, "Don't get up!" and strode to Maltroos's bed. He sank down beside Maltroos, and they embraced. "By all that's holy, I ask you not to fight on Saturday," Saxtry implored the man he so urgently loved.

  "I must," Maltroos said flatly. "I have come this far, endured this much, and prevailed so far. I cannot back out now."

  "You are a stubborn man," Saxtry said with a sigh.

  "I am a man in love," Maltroos corrected him. "You are the prize, and you are a prize worth fighting for."

  "I am not worth you risking your life for."

  "Oh, yes, you are!"

  "How is that wound doing?" Saxtry asked.

  "The bleeding has stopped, and the pain is lessening."

  "Well, that at least is good news," Saxtry said. "Now I really must be gone. It is dangerous for me to be in your quarters. If I were discovered here…" He didn't finish the sentence. "But when you didn't come to the dining hall for the evening meal, I had to see if you were all right."

  "I am passably well. My friend Cartimmar brought me my dinner. And I will fight Vandrume on Saturday, and with a little good fortune, I will win your hand."

  "May it be so," said Saxtry, kissing Maltroos softly.

  "Besides, if I don't win, if Vandrume wins, I will lose you anyhow. I have heard a short while ago that he wants your hand, not your sister's, in marriage. Could I possibly back out and leave you to marry Vandrume?"

  "In truth, that would be an awful fate. I care not at all for that man."

  "Then it's a question of honor for me. I not only need a victory to claim you for myself but to save you from having to marry Vandrume."

  "Just be careful in the arena. Vandrume is merciless and ruthless."

  "That is why you must not be forced to marry him."

  Prince Saxtry kissed Maltroos again, this time on the nose, and rose from the bed to let himself out.

  "Let me get up and peer out the door to see if anyone is out there before you leave," Maltroos offered.

  "No. Stay down. Don't get up."

  "I need to get up to use the chamber pot anyhow," Maltroos said. "So while I am up, let me see to your safety." He rose carefully and tottered to the door. He
opened it and quickly shut it again. "Timmony is out there—one of the pledgers—and he is talking to a servant. Best stay put."

  "I guess I can hardly object to a few more minutes of your company," Saxtry said drily.

  Shortly thereafter they heard footsteps pass the door. A minute later, Maltroos cautiously opened the door again and peered out. "It is safe now. Go quickly before someone else comes," he said. Saxtry made a hasty exit, and Maltroos, who didn't really need to use the chamber pot at all, went quickly back to bed.

  On Friday Maltroos awoke sore of arm but considerably stronger of body. He went to the dining hall for the morning meal and was gratified to see Saxtry's face light up on seeing him enter the large room and take his place at the table. Cartimmar sat next to him and immediately inquired how he felt.

  "I'll be all right by tomorrow," Maltroos answered with more assurance than he truly felt.

  "You're sure you're not willing to forfeit?"

  "I cannot," Maltroos said, thinking of how a forfeit would leave Saxtry married to Vandrume. "Now more than ever, I cannot. I'll explain later." There were too many people around them for Maltroos to spell it out for Cartimmar now.

  Maltroos spent most of the day in his quarters resting, although he did come out again for the midday meal and the evening meal. He retired early but could not immediately fall asleep. He kept going over his plans in his head, and intermixed with visions of the fight were visions of the king declaring that Prince Saxtry was his.

  But then, in an alternate scenario, he was plagued with visions of Saxtry being joined in marriage with Vandrume. Hours passed before sleep finally gave him the respite he needed from all these mental pictures.

  At last it was the day of the final contest. Once again the stands were full of spectators, more of them now than ever before. The trumpets blared a fanfare, and Vandrume and Maltroos bowed to each other from opposite ends of the arena. Then they advanced toward each other. Maltroos deliberately kept his eyes averted from the stands. He did not want to be distracted by the sight of his beloved prince, especially if he was displaying the fear that Maltroos suspected was outpouring from his face.