Chapter 6 #2
Their game was designed to train on two things. First, to use whatever was around them as a weapon – a warrior never knew when he might find himself without a sword – and second, to always be on the attack so the opponent was not on the offense and thus unable to select a new weapon.
Better to be the attacker, and no’ the defender.
With this in mind, William attacked first. He lunged in, swinging his sword down in a high arc and giving Eoghan plenty of time to block his blade.
William didn’t pull back when the two blades clashed but continued down and around in a wide circle as he forced Eoghan backward.
Once, then again, the two blades made a wide circle.
As the swords came downward a third time, William changed his approach and shoved upward hard as he rushed into Eoghan. The move jerked Eoghan’s sword out of his hand and stopped with his blade against Eoghan’s throat. One slight move would draw Eoghan’s blood.
“Point is mine,” William said with a smirk.
The crowd cheered again.
“Aye, William,” Eoghan grumbled as he shuffled to retrieve his blade from the ground. “Ye learned a new move since last we crossed swords.”
Eoghan spotted a shield hanging on one of the tents and decided to show William one of his own new skills, so he quickly stepped in and slashed at William's side. William knocked the blade away as Eoghan backed up.
“‘Tis three attacks for me,” Eoghan said.
William lowered his blade. “Pick another.”
Eoghan picked up the round wooden shield.
“A shield?” William said with surprise again.
Eoghan smirked at him. “The Lord is my strength and my shield.”
“The game is picks, not defend,” William grumbled.
Eoghan’s expression hardened. He did not reply but immediately moved for William.
William wanted to take advantage of Eoghan's poor choice of weapon and shifted for a hard swing from his right.
Eoghan blocked William's blade easily enough, and William realized his mistake.
Eoghan was allowing him to attack so William would have to pick a new weapon.
William stepped in again, this time to knock the shield out of Eoghan's hands. Eoghan not only blocked William’s blade but drove near and backhanded William in the face with the round piece of wood.
Pain ripped along William’s cheek and nose as his head snapped backward. The crowd gasped and then, as the shock wore off, they cheered.
William stepped away and pressed a finger to his nose. A large drop of blood covered his fingertip.
So Eoghan’s going for blood.
Glaring at his cousin through watery eyes, William struck again, but Eoghan retreated, raising a hand.
“Hold, cousin,” Eoghan said, panting. “Two points for me, and ye attacked three times. Ye need to pick a new weapon.”
William pursed his lips. “Aye.” William sheathed his sword, looking around for a new weapon. There wasn’t much to be had.
He strode near the barn again and, in a moment of inspiration, picked up a bucket of water with a rope handle.
“Are ye going to milk me or fight me?” Eoghan teased, as the crowd laughed.
William charged fast, swinging the bucket by the rope handle high into the air. The bucket came down hard at Eoghan who presumed it an easy block and lifted his shield.
The bucket was filled with water, adding to the weight, and it smashed into the shield with enough force that it destroyed the bucket but also broke the shield in half and ripped it from Eoghan's hand. William then held nothing but the rope, yet he didn’t stop.
While Eoghan’s attention was on his broken shield, William quickly rushed in and slapped the man across the face with the coarse rope.
Eoghan's face was a frozen, stunned mask, and from his expression, William could tell he was unsure if that counted as a point. The crowd fell silent as they tried to figure out what had just happened.
Slapped by a rope? What manner of weapon was that?
“Two points for me, cousin,” William confirmed.
Eoghan looked from his broken shield to the destroyed bucket upended on the ground and then at his empty hands.
“New weapons for us both?” Eoghan asked.
“Aye,” William answered as they each reached for their knives.
Eoghan was the first to move, feigning a lunge to the left, then at the last second leaped to the right as he slashed for William’s side. Eoghan was aiming more for William’s tunic, not intending to cut William deeply.
William’s arm moved downward so the teeth of the back of his Seox blade caught the blade of Eoghan’s knife. The teeth were intentional and purposeful, and did exactly as William desired.
Eoghan yanked his knife back, but it was too late. In a twist of his wrist, William locked Eoghan’s knife in place, and with an unexpected snap, the blade popped out of Eoghan’s fingers.
With his own blade now free, William closed in and gave a light hammer strike with the knife hilt to Eoghan's forehead in a mock temple hit. Normally devastating, William’s light tap was more like a sharp flick on his skin.
“Three,” William announced.
The crowd jumped and yelled “Huzzah!” as William backed away, his arms raised in the air. Eoghan stumbled back and fell onto his arse as he cursed to himself.
“Aye, William,” Eoghan said, rubbing his head. “’Tis three. Did ye need to hit so hard?”
“Count yourself lucky, cousin,” William said as he wiped his hand across his bloodied, sweat-stained face. “At least ye dinna have to go back to your new bride with a bloody nose.”
He held out his bloodied hand to Eoghan, who grasped it. With a tug, he helped his cousin off the ground. They grinned at each other as the crowd cheered and readied for the next round of combatants.
Ailith gasped and grabbed Muire’s hand when William thrust his blade against his cousin’s neck.
What is he doing? Surely he won’t kill his cousin?
The entire fight had kept her on edge. The two men seemed to take it so seriously when it was merely a game. How could pounding on each other and drawing blades be a game? Whenever she had to do something like that, it was to save her own life!
Then William tapped the butt of his knife against Eoghan’s head, and they were smiling as William helped Eoghan off his arse.
What had she just seen? A bloody fight that ended in smiles?
“Did ye love that, Ailith! William won!” Muire gushed.
“Do they do that often? I mean, fight that hard?”
“’Tis but swordplay, Ailith. Naught more than a wee game. Men do it all the time. Show off their skills and for a wee bit of practice, ye ken?”
She did. But weren’t games more like the Highland games she attended each year? With hammer throws and stone puts and a caber toss?
Maybe that was later in time. Maybe in the Middle Ages, especially the early Middle Ages, this was what men did, something more akin to tournaments with jousting and melees, where men fought hard and nearly to death.
The predecessor of tournaments, perchance.
Either way, Ailith didn’t care for it at all.
Her heart was in her throat, and her stomach flip-flopped the entire time.
Yet the fight reminded her of the recent times when she had been set upon by the Morays and how she had done exactly what William was doing – finding something to use as a weapon.
The only difference was that she tried to find a staff-style weapon.
Watching William, however, set her mind to a different purpose.
The ability to use any weapon on hand. Including ones such as swords and knives.
She smiled to herself, and William turned toward her.
A girl had to be prepared, after all.
William and Eoghan embraced in a back-thumping hug to show the crowd and each other that no ill feelings existed between the two men.
Rumors flew faster than falcons, and it wouldn’t do to have people believing any fractures existed in the clans because of an entertaining contest. Afterward, Eoghan joined his sister Betris and other dewy-eyed lassies.
Ailith walked past the cousins with an odd smile, one that William was beginning to recognize, and she grabbed William’s hand, entwining her fingers in his.
“William, may I speak to you for a moment?” Ailith asked.
There ‘tis, he thought.
He saw a spark in Ailith’s eyes and had the sense this was a conversation better had alone.
“Aye, my wife,” William answered, returning her smile. Then he tapped Eoghan’s shoulder. “Will ye excuse us, cousin?” It would be an easy request, given the blonde-haired lass presently pushing her breasts against Eoghan’s arm.
“Aye,” Eoghan said as he raised a bushy eyebrow at them. The slight smile he wore on his face did not seem to reach his eyes. “Ye’d be a fool not to jump when the lord of the manor calls ye.”
“Lord of the manor? Nay me,” Ailith said with a knowing smile.
“Nay,” Eoghan said, his eyes drifting to the buxom blonde. “If in name only. I see how he looks at ye. ‘Tis he who serves ye. Ye hold his heart and therefore the reins.”
A deep pink blush colored Ailith’s cheeks.
While his words should have seemed honest to William, there was a hard edge to his tone, despite the mooning woman next to him.
William barked out a hearty laugh. “True enough, cousin.”
He led Ailith away from the crowd to the backside of the tents near the palisade wall. Two young, lean brothers were sword-fighting with sticks. They looked to be about eight and ten years old and were too engrossed with their own battle to take notice of William and Ailith.
“What concerns ye, mo ruaidh?” William asked in a troubled tone, his smile replaced by worry. He brushed his finger across her cheek. “Has something happened?”
“Naught of concern, William. Rest easy,” she answered. Her odd smile lingered on her lips as she rose on her toes to kiss him. “I dinna mean to worry ye.”
“Och.” William blew out a lung full of air. God knew anytime she had that strange smile, it gave him something to worry about. “What then?”
“I want ye to teach me to fight,” Ailith answered in a level tone. “Fight like ye fought Eoghan.”