A Divided Inheritance

by Deborah Swift

  ‘I beg pardon if I have offended, but I must—’ she began.

  ‘Stand there, if you would.’ Alvarez pointed at a spot to his left.

  ‘But I—’

  ‘There.’ He pointed again. It was an order, and she found she obeyed. Something in his voice commanded her. Even when he went to a leather arms case and handed her an old rusty rapier she took it from his hand without demur, tucking the paper into the hanging pocket in her skirts.

  ‘A moment’s favour.’ He smiled at her. ‘Hold the weapon out thus.’ He stood with one foot forward, his sword arm extended. She placed her feet exactly where his had been.

  ‘Mr Deane,’ he said, ‘you there.’ He indicated a spot opposite her. ‘You need to learn the gentle touch. Who better to learn it from than a woman?’

  ‘But I know nothing –’ She began to protest again.

  At the same time, Zachary said, ‘No,’ and made to move away.

  ‘Stop.’ The sudden command fixed them all to the spot like a spell. Nobody moved. Like the men, Elspet stayed immobile until, after a long pause, Alvarez’s voice said quietly, ‘Mr Deane, it is your choice. Either you take my instruction, and learn the art of swordsmanship, or you leave and do not return. Your choice. Which is it to be?’

  A small muscle worked in Zachary’s neck. He looked over Elspet’s shoulder; he would not look her in the face. His humiliation moved her, and she felt for him. She lowered her sword.

  ‘He need not, I will leave him alone,’ she said.

  ‘Stay where you are, please, Mistress Leviston. Raise the rapier.’

  Reluctantly she raised the sword again.

  ‘Choose, Mr Deane.’

  ‘I stay.’ His voice was a croak.

  ‘Very well. And Mistress Leviston, as you are so intent on sojourning here, you might as well be of some use. Begin.’

  She held the sword out in front as he had shown her, and Zachary advanced to each side of it in turn, touching exactly at point six to move it away in a parry. At first, Elspet felt like a wooden signpost with its arm stuck out in front, but it made her shoulder ache so she had to relax a little. She hoped nobody noticed it had dropped.

  Zachary’s eyes were fixed on his own blade, but it hardly touched hers. It was as if he was miming the exercise, she did not understand why, unless it was that his sword was new. It looked it, and expensive too; well-wrought with an elaborate silver-gilt guard. His breath hissed as he moved forward, a sheen of damp on his forehead.

  ‘No, Mr Deane,’ shouted Señor Alvarez, approaching, ‘you must blend your sword with theirs, become one blade first, then your opponent will mistake your movement for their own. . .’ Señor Alvarez guided Zachary’s wrist – ‘Here, subtle, like this.’ He pushed the sword against hers.

  When he left, Zachary ignored the instruction and went back to pretending to make the move, never actually contacting her sword. But after half an hour he was tiring. His was the more strenuous role, and the tension of not touching showed in his raised shoulders, the clench of his other hand.

  ‘Change,’ Alvarez’s voice rang out. Zachary stomped away from her towards the other men without so much as a nod.

  Alvarez called out from the other side of the yard, ‘No, Mr Deane, you will keep your partner. And Señorita Leviston, your turn to advance.’

  Zachary kicked a foot hard against the wall, before turning and coming back to face her. She dared not look him in the face. He stood rigidly and a palpable mist of anger almost shimmered in the heat. She ignored his glowering expression, felt the weight of the hilt in her hand and lifted the sword.

  ‘Don’t you dare touch my new sword with that rusty blade,’ he hissed.

  ‘Advance!’ Alvarez had come to stand next to them. Zachary turned his face away as if to divorce himself from what was happening. She advanced tentatively, feeling a little foolish, and mimicked what Alvarez did with his sword.

  She shifted forward with her sword held aloft until the weight of it rested against Zachary’s weapon. In that instant his angry eyes met hers. It disconcerted her, her hand jumped like a fish. She averted her gaze, tried to blend with his blade.

  ‘Good. Again.’ Alvarez watched them. Zachary’s lips trembled, whether from humiliation at being paired with her, or from exhaustion, she did not know.

  All morning they drilled. One exercise after another in the growing heat. Zachary was forced to contact her blade at last and perspiration ran down her legs under her heavy skirt. But the feeling of moving, of doing something, was a release. She had spent so long waiting, with nothing to occupy her, and she could think of nothing else when she was engaged thus. Not the future, nor about what would become of Mr Wilmot and Martha. She could only concentrate on the shaft of metal at the end of her arm.

  When it was clear that she was to remain his partner, Zachary treated her with disdain, as if she were no more than a tilt-horse. When the call finally came to lay down arms Zachary made a vicious swipe and the rapier flew out of her hand to clatter on the ground behind. Mortified, she stooped to pick it up, and by the time she had retrieved it he was sitting with a few of the other fellows and shaking his head, examining the edge of his blade. She put the rapier back in the arms case and went to sit on the bench, as far away as possible from Zachary and the staring gaggle of men.

  The Dutchman Alexander walked over, bowed and raised his eyebrows in question. He held out a cup of ale, and mouthed, ‘Drink, mistress?’

  His courtesy touched her, so she smiled, and mouthed back ‘Thank you,’ embarrassed, because her hair had worked loose from its binding and was hanging unkempt round her face.

  She was thirsty enough to drink it all at once in one long draught. She would have never have contemplated such a thing at home, nor would she have sat alone in a courtyard full of men. But somehow this was a place apart. She had the sense that different rules applied here, that once you were through that gate you were in a whole different order of things. It was Señor Alvarez. How he did it, she did not know, but it was as if she could taste Agrippa’s quintessence.

  Perhaps it was to do with the silence. When the men were not engaged in the training they did not talk. Where else were people dumb for so long, except at Mass? She was glad of it, though; it meant she need not try to converse, need not put on any airs or explain anything.

  She let thoughts of the future, the sea passage and England, drift away. Her legs shook after the morning’s exertion, her heart was only just beginning to quieten in her chest. She was glad to rest, let the quiet and the gentle breeze soothe her.

  Alexander sat a little apart, not with the other men, but closer to Elspet. She saw him glance at Zachary, and Zachary’s eyes stray to him and then back to her. Suddenly she remembered the agreement – she had been sitting on it. She brought it out, distressed to see it was damp with perspiration. She baulked at handing Zachary such a rag of a thing to sign, but another chance might not come. She steeled herself.

  As she walked towards him, he turned to his companions and whispered something with a smirk, provoking a muffled explosion of laughter from the men. She knew they were talking about her and her cheeks burned, but she kept on walking.

  ‘Who spoke?’

  It was Señor Alvarez. Nobody said a word. Zachary looked down at his lap where the remains of his bread rested half-eaten.

  ‘Who has read Agrippa’s Declamatio? Nobody? I don’t see why not. It is in the library for all to see. Declamatio de nobilitate et praecellentia foeminei sexus.’

  She caught the Latin words, and immediately understood it to concern her, as the only woman in the yard. ‘Whilst you train here,’ he said quietly, ‘women are to be treated with every respect. If you are to fight, you need their qualities. Perhaps you thought fighting with a woman was a punishment, Mr Deane.’ He smiled. ‘On the contrary, it is a privilege. Women have something to teach us. If Señorita Leviston is willing, she will partner you again this afternoon.’

  Elspet felt her cheeks grow hot.
The idea terrified her, but she remained where she stood only because she might yet have the chance to reason with her cousin, to find the right moment to petition him to sign.

  ‘You agree, yes?’ Alvarez looked to her.

  She dipped her head in an almost imperceptible nod.

  ‘Now silence. Finish your refreshments and rest.’

  Zachary pressed his lips together in a scowl, did not look up, just began to rip the bread into smaller and smaller pieces and scatter them on the ground. She returned stiffly to the bench, the eyes of the men upon her. She ignored their attention and turned her back to them.

  In the afternoon after more drills, they were sent into the cool of the library for silent study. She stretched her aching legs under her skirts despite feeling awkward, as though she should not be there. That was until she overheard Zachary take the señor to one side and ask him why he allowed her to stay.

  ‘She stays by my invitation,’ he said.

  After that she relaxed a little, since she seemed to have Señor Alvarez’s blessing, and she set herself to study along with the men under the señor’s hawk-like gaze. Zachary deliberately positioned himself away from her at the far end of the room. Fortunately, the Agrippa was free, so she was able to re-make its acquaintance after all.

  A passing thought about what on earth Mr Wilmot would make of her activities was quashed by her interest in the book. Soon she was engrossed in Agrippa’s ideas, and the room settled into quietude, broken only by the slight creak and hiss of the turning pages.

  In the late afternoon they were made to drill more. When she stood, her legs had stiffened so much that she had to limp downstairs, and her wrist was already aching from the morning drill. When she gathered with the others around Señor Alvarez, she was acutely aware of the way her skirts brushed the ground; the only woman amongst all these men.

  It was a lesson on how to hold the sword. In the morning, she had just held the sword as if shaking someone’s hand and that was difficult enough. Now she was expected to apply leverage and control – the index finger round the heel of the blade, the fingers tightly round the grip, so that the pommel sat in the hollow of the wrist and the quillons lay horizontal.

  The leather grip was soon damp in her hand, her fingers not quite long enough to lie straight where they should. The proper way was painful; it gave her blisters and made her wrist ache.

  Elspet and Zachary advanced and retreated up and down the yard, fighting the new technique and each other with wordless concentration. At one point she caught a glimpse of the Morisco girl Luisa, passing by with a chicken squawking under her arm. She paused to stare at them as if she could not quite believe her eyes before calling through the kitchen window, ‘Mama!’

  Moments later the old woman was peering out of the door to look at this new spectacle of a woman fencing. Zachary had noticed the audience too and put on a nonchalant, easy air, adding extra cuts and thrusts as if Elspet was completely beneath his notice. It frightened Elspet, and she struggled to keep away from his blade, ignoring the watching women. It took all her concentration simply to wield the rapier.

  When the word came to lay down arms, she seized her chance.

  ‘Please,’ she said, grasping Zachary by the arm, ‘I wanted to ask you to sign this.’ She drew out the rolled paper, in its sad, damp state.

  ‘What is it?’ he said, narrowing his eyes, and attempting to free himself.

  ‘It is a paper asking Greeting to stay the sale of the house and business. You said you would reconsider.’

  ‘Only if you kept out of my sight. That was what I said.’

  ‘But I have to have something in writing, you know I must. It is not my fault we are tied together through my father’s will. The half of the business won’t be enough to house me, not if you sell now, so it is an agreement to stay the sale, and I’ve written in a modest settlement.’

  ‘I don’t see why I should agree to more.’

  ‘Because I did not expect to find myself in this situation. Will you sell now, and leave me with nothing?’ His stubborn face drove her to raise her voice, so frustrated was she that he refused to understand. ‘Because it’s unfair, because I was to be married, and now . . .’ She was out of words, she had tried them all. It was hopeless. She threw the paper down on the ground, let her knees buckle and sank into the dirt. ‘I . . . I beg you, please.’

  Zachary wrested his arm away, looked around to see who was watching. ‘Get up. Get up, I say! You humiliate yourself.’

  ‘And so would you, in my place,’ she cried. ‘I have to live, cousin. And poverty makes beggars of us all.’

  He looked at her then, a long, hard penetrating look. His face softened, as if recalling with regret someone he once knew. He picked up the paper from the dirt and untied it, sitting to read it twice. She stood, hardly daring to draw breath, thinking he might lose patience, refuse again.

  ‘Very well,’ he said, ‘I’ll sign it. And then perhaps you will stop hounding me.’

  She nodded, hardly daring to breathe.

  ‘Have you ink?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ll ask someone.’ Quickly, in case he should change his mind, she hurried to approach Alexander, who bent to hear her, and then produced a box with quill and ink block from his carry-all. She knocked on the kitchen door and asked Luisa for water. Luisa brought a pail and a cup, then hung around outside the kitchen pretending to water the pots by the door, but glancing at Zachary with sidelong darts of her eyes.

  Zachary plucked the cup from her hand, poured a few drops of water on the ink block and scribbled his signature with a flourish, looking up to see if Luisa was still watching.

  His name dried instantly in the warm air and he rolled it up and tied up the ribbon before holding it out.

  ‘There. Now for God’s sake go back home. Leave me in peace.’

  Now the tears came. She gulped them back. It was the relief. ‘Thank you. You’ve no idea how much this means –’

  He shook his head and said, ‘On the contrary, I think I have.’

  After practice, Zachary threw on his sword and buckler and darted out of the door and away into the welcome darkness of the narrow street. He did not want company. The men would mock him, having to fence with a woman. But now perhaps he’d be rid of Elspet Leviston and the tiresome Wilmot.

  Alexander was avoiding him, that much was clear. He obviously didn’t like Zachary questioning Alvarez’s methods. But to Zachary’s mind it was better that way than to follow blindly like some damned goose.

  He strode along the street dodging the wheel-ruts and cracks in the ground. Some houses had lamps lit and hanging outside their doors, and so he aimed for the pools of light in-between them before being plunged back into the darkness. Many an unwary stranger had broken their ankle just walking in Seville at night, or so Ana had told him with relish.

  His cheeks burned as he remembered being watched by all the servants, and worse, by Luisa Ortega, the mathematician’s daughter. Though she was not smiling, her lips pressed together, he had not missed the hint of merriment in her eyes. She was beautiful. It was all he could do to keep his mind on the training, and whenever the kitchen door opened his eyes drifted there, hoping for a glimpse of her.

  He did not stop at the tavern as he usually would have but went straight home to his chambers. The catches on the arms case slid open easily and he lifted out his sword. How could Señor Alvarez let Elspet Leviston touch his fine new sword with that rusty old blade? Why, he had only collected it from the hiltsmith that morning.

  He drew it from its scabbard and examined it for nicks and marks, but to his relief it was just dusty. The watermarking gave him a glow of satisfaction; that this beautiful pattern was made by his own hand, and the sight of it cheered him. He had never had anything specially made before; his possessions were all secondhand, stolen mostly from those more stupid and careless.

  He stroked the edge of his sword feeling for rough edges, brought out the buffing leather and the soft lint clot
h for polishing and then went out to the balcony where he rubbed at the blade with a passion.

  What if he had made a mistake in agreeing to postpone the sale of the business? God help him if he was developing some sort of conscience; that would never do. Scruples served men no purpose, except perhaps to make them sentimental fools – his childhood of coney-catching on the streets had taught him that.

  Poverty creates beggars of us all, Elspet Leviston had said, and didn’t he know that to be true. Just the thought of it had caught him off-guard. Now he’d signed the blasted paper, and he supposed he must honour it. Alvarez laid great store by honour. A gentleman’s honour. He worried that they were all too good for him, all these worthy well-to-do gentlemen, for one look from Alvarez and he felt himself tumbling, as though the pit of his former life yawned beneath him waiting to reclaim him. He feared that the old Zachary, the nip and foister, the petty thief, the gambler and cozener, must be visible to the rest of the men.

  Sometimes the temptation of their purses, left so carelessly lying by the wall, was almost too much. His fingers still itched to pocket them. And now he had spent Leviston’s coin, well, he struggled to resist the lure of their satchels yawning temptingly open. Just the other day one of the other students, Girard Thibault, had caught him eyeing his jewelled cloak pin; he couldn’t help himself, it was a habit.

  ‘What are you looking at?’ he asked, and Zachary thought quickly and said that his brother had a pin just like it. Of course Thibault replied that he couldn’t have, as it had been commissioned by his father from a goldsmith in Antwerp.

  Zachary set down his sword and polishing cloth, and the pot of rank-smelling potash he used to clean off the dirt. He washed his hands in the ewer and dried them. Thibault was an odd fellow, he thought, obsessed with his stubs of lead and his draughting. And yet so were they all, Alvarez’s students – men who did not quite fit into society, men who seemed awkward, as if they could not bear the world as it was, like everyone else did.