The Knight Behind the Pillar (18 page)

             
“My father reckons now I have little choice as Lot will want me dead, king or not.  This is his chance to rule himself and he has gotten very strong, gained far more support than they thought he would and in a very short amount of time.  It would be easier for him to get to me if I wasn’t king as I wouldn’t be as well protected.”

             
I was not sure if these were his words or his father’s.  As much as they made sense, I wondered if he was now trapped in his new world when yesterday he walked out of the gates without any objection.   He knew this now as well and despite the dire news of Lot, Arthur did not seem depressed by it. 

             
“You didn’t answer the question.” I pointed out.

             
Arthur actually smiled “I guess not, I think you need to leave that one with me for a while.  I still need to work out what I want.  But I know you were right now, about my father I mean, him being on my side.  He was willing to start a war if needed to get me out and sometimes I think he still wants one or some kind of fight the way he speaks to the others.”

             
At least he worked that one out I rejoiced in my head! 

             
Before I could say more Bedivere interrupted us.  “Doesn’t look like much going on over there.  I’ll be there in a minute.” He shouted across the field, but not with any menace.  

             
We both spun around to face the Quintain, but still did nothing with it and I was keen to know more. “You and your father have spoken then?” I asked keenly. 

             
“We spoke for hours, never done that before, and with Kay as well.   It was especially strange to have father bow to me, he suddenly just did it after we spoke for a while.  He said I will be his good and gracious lord when I become king and I then promised not to fail him.  I suppose we need to keep talking for a bit longer yet.  It’s all a lot to take in.  What about you?  Did you speak with Merlin yet, cause I’ve not seen him since yesterday.”

             
The change in subject was the door being shut, well partly.  I was denied a chance to mention that when I bowed to him yesterday it was not accepted and yet for his father to do it he did not say it was strange or anything.  Arthur had change just a little over night.  

             
I was aware of my intrusion and the fine line between being supportive or prying and I knew not to ask or speak further for now.  I could not help but feel disappointed.  I wanted to know for certain that Arthur and his family were on better terms.  Wanted to know comparisons to my own family were not being repeated, but I knew this was not my business.  Arthur and I had only known each other for almost one day and a half, not even that and no time at all.  Even in normal circumstances I had no right to start asking lots of questions about his personal life and this was a man who was going to be king tomorrow.

             
“Yes I did speak with him, but he refused to tell me anything of use except,” I said and paused for a brief second thinking of the best way to say it, “Well he mentioned your, err, your birth mother has also died.”

             
“I know, father mentioned that last night as well.” Arthur disregarded without any emotion or at least none I was allowed to see.  Perhaps she meant nothing as he never knew her.  “He said nothing else?”

             
“No, he wasn’t what you call direct, he spoke in riddles.” I admitted.

             
Before we could talk more Bedivere stepped out in front of us, we hadn’t noticed him reach us.  I had nothing more to tell Arthur at this time anyway and so this was good timing.  Sadly it meant we had to remember where we were at this particular moment in time and that was standing in a training field being watched by a hundred or more eyes. 

             
“Not feeling like doing much today are we?” Bedivere asked as a casual comment, but it had real meaning.  Rather than continue this line he un-expectancy changed his mind and with a deeper voice and serious voice added mainly to Arthur.  “Look, I don’t care who you are, when you are here you’re the same as everyone else.  Just a man with a sword and trust me on a battlefield that’s all you will ever be hoping luck is on your side.  I would rather see some decent training, but I can understand it’s no fun with these good folk watching.  They want a show, so let’s have a quick match.  Say three rounds, basic Pell game rules, but no head blows.  I know what Tor here can do, I need to see what you can do before we go that far.  While you are just a man with a sword on my field, I’d rather not have the future king killed here today, at least not on the first day.  Then we leave it there and return tomorrow afternoon when we might be left alone and can get some actual training done.  Agreed?”

             
We both nodded at once, keen on the idea of a quick bout and the end of the show. 

             
“Using these swords?” I asked unsure indicated the rebated sword in my hand. 

             
Bedivere looked away and gave us room.  “No head blows, any carried out loses the round.” Bedivere simply repeated failing to answer me.  He did not look back and avoided meeting my eye contact. 

             
Not happy with so little explanation for the reason for using swords when batons were normally used, I found I had no choice but to accept the situation.  I was going to fight a real person instead of a wooden post with rebated swords having not done so since leaving home.  I wondered what experience Arthur had with such swords. 

             
With a shrug from Arthur and raised eyebrows from me in return we both backed away from each other, but there was a clear shift in atmosphere between us.  Nothing felt right, the world was distorted as the normal sounds of the working day around us or those training were far softer.  Close by swords taking chucks of wood out of the Pells cut through the haze of dampened sound, but failed to complete with your own heart beat thud.  Arthur tightened his helmet and I was still concerned with the balance of my sword.  A deep breath and tension spread across my whole body, my grip on the hilt tightened and I had to think to relax it.  The crowd behind us was suddenly quiet picking up on our change in position and preparation. 

             
Pell rules, at least around these parts, meant the first one to ten won the round and you got three points for the body, shoulders or head.  Disarming got you three points and the rest of the body and wrists or strikes with the back of the sword or its cross bar got one point.  If you managed to get your opponent immobilised you won the round.

             
We both slightly bowed our heads and Arthur added a flash of a smile, but it was an instant give away I knew he was going to be quick to attack, instincts kicked in and my feet adjusted to allow me to move sideways in a hurry.  I was right, Arthur charged and had I not been ready it would have been a great claim for points for him. 

             
It was said that in a real fight on average the first hit was often the only one you got and was the one that ended the day for the enemy.  I had considered a charge at first myself, clearly we both had been given similar lessons and tactics would be similar.  

             
I reflected his first strike away and because I was moving to one side at the time any strength behind it was disbursed away causing Arthur to take extra steps.  As the swords parted I got a chance for a hit to Arthur’s side as he had to waste time stopping himself going forward and gain a balanced foothold.  What I knew now was that rebated swords were not a concern or problem for Arthur given his enthusiasm.

             
Bedivere watched from a reasonable distance, “Three points Tor.” He commented. 

             
I did not have time to listen, Arthur had spun around and our sword exchanged blows a number of times before locking together when neither of us wanted to break a part.  With batons there was the potential of them breaking, with these swords you had the fear of knowing they would not.  Of course this was a notion useful on a battlefield, but a problem if you wanted to avoid killing someone on a training field. 

             
As we had locked swords Arthur took a chance to kick me as I found myself in reach of him.  It was an easy target and a point that counted nonetheless.  A little kick like that was not exactly good form and unlikely to be of any use in a true fight, but I gave Arthur respect for his thinking and awareness of all possible opportunities for a point.  However, it did remind me that with no real protection for our legs, they were a vulnerable. 

             
I pulled away for a moment to provide the impression that I was retreating or in fact affected by his kick, but almost at once when Arthur’s guard dropped I forced my way forward with successive strokes forcing Arthur to parry or block and causing him to take steps back and I hoped for a mistake to give me an opportunity.  Having done enough for him to expect more and for his feet no longer to provide a strong foundation as they had closed together, I ducked down unexpectedly and kicked his legs from under him.  He collapsed and his sword flew across the ground.

             
Time is a strange thing, when sometimes a moment takes forever and then sometimes it’s gone without being noticed.  This was not a second.  A second is a defined measurement of time that is unchangeable, a lot can happen in a second, but it is still just a second and fixed in time.  Jumping back up I could have perhaps scored another hit in the moments it took Arthur to scramble across to find his feet again and retrieve his sword.  I might have even achieved enough hits to have won the round, instead of settling for the four I had obtained.  One for the leg and three for disarming him, despite the fact it was Arthur who had lost his grip, except something stopped me!  The long moment gave me a chance to think and look and I saw the crowd beyond the field.  There were more people than ever now; the show had drawn more in.  They boiled over with excitement at the match, but I could not work out if they were cheering for one or ether of us or just making a noise to be heard. 

             
Then the moment was gone and Arthur had jumped up, he was red faced and fuming. “Good move.”  He spat out, failing any attempt to sound reasonable and polite. 

             
The underscore of humiliation hung in the air afterwards.  It just became a bit more serious and personal pride was surfacing.  We resumed our respected positions.  Our styles were different as I held the sword with both hands, ready to let go of one if needed and I kept the sword low with the blade following close to my torso.  Arthur on the other hand had chosen to keep his hands apart, his right hand held his sword with the blade away to the side.  His left hand did not have a role other than hanging there as a counter balance.  Perhaps he now needed this assurance as my scores thus far had been against his lack of balance or perhaps he was far more use to training with a shield than I.  In my eyes the hand stood out as a reasonable target. 

             
Arthur was not so eager to be the first to engage this time.  A little time was spent moving around each other with the occasional strike and block before I committed myself to seeking a hit.  Keeping his ground rather than losing confidence this time Arthur blocked my initial attack, and again the second time.  Sword on sword I kept up the pressure, sweat clearly visible on his brow and I could feel the same running down my own neck.  I went for another strike, but then Arthur blocked not with the sword but his left arm covered by his gantlet.  A point for me, but this was his plan.  While a wave of pain crossed his face in spite of the armour, he had me at a disadvantage as I was open to his now free sword which scored him a hit to my side and he even clipped my leg before I managed to back away. 

             
Four points at the sacrifice of one as if it was a shield, a tactic that might cost a vital arm or hand or even your life in battle, especially if perhaps I had not hit the armour and contacted his arm at a lower point. 

             
“Good move.” I countered, annoyed at myself for not foreseeing such a tactic having seen the hand as a target, but not recognising it for bait.

             
Bedivere’s voice boomed across.  “Arthur that was stupid.” And then he relented and added, “However four points, Tor one point.”

             
Just two points more and I had this round. 

             
Arthur’s sword was closer to him this time and guarded his own torso closer knowing I would not be drawn in so easily, his free hand dropped to his side.  I still questioned this.  It meant the hand was still serving no real purpose and could not add strength or even allow for a quick change of sword hand if you were forced. 

             
Arthur wielded his sword which I blocked with ease and still had enough strength to push his sword back across the way it had came, its own weight pulled Arthur’s arm out to the side.  I risked a hit, but I had time to swing my sword back across Arthur’s chest before needing to defend his returning sword. 

             
I had gained a better understanding of the weapon I had been forced to use and after the last few hits I was more certain of its reach and weight.  It would never be my choice of sword, overly top heavy and cumbersome, but I hoped it was the same for Arthur and when the sword’s motion one way was set it was harder to change the steels mind.