by Wolf Wootan
Rossini replied, “I can petition the Prince to have the duel nullified. He has final authority over all duels. He will be quite upset when he finds out that one of his guests has been lured by di Cressi.”
“Wait a minute, Captain. Let me think,” said Hatch.
Syd exclaimed, “Wait my ass! Go do it, Charles! And have that asshole thrown out of here! The whole thing is ridiculous!”
Hatch usually did not spend much time pondering over decisions. He weighed the pros and cons and made a decision rather quickly. This practice went back as far as his flying days and then later during his stint as an assassin. To fly or not to fly? To shoot or not to shoot? Those were simple questions with binary choices.
He now found himself in an unusual dilemma, however. He didn’t mind being called a coward if he refused the duel—or if the Prince negated it. Anyone with any brains would see it for what it was: a sneaky setup by di Cressi.
What bothered Hatch, however, was that di Cressi had insulted Syd and, therefore, must be thoroughly punished for that unforgivable transgression. There were many ways for him to accomplish this without dueling the asshole—beat the shit out of him later, crush him financially, make the man’s life a living nightmare. Hatch felt compelled to do something right away, however, while the insult was foremost in his mind.
Hatch said to Rossini, “I have had some training in fencing. What kind of swords will he choose?”
Rossini looked at him with a frown and replied, “Surely, you’re not thinking of going through with this? He has fought dozens of real duels!”
“Humor me for a moment. What kind of weapons?”
“Technically, they would be called shortswords, the successor to the rapier, but with a shorter blade. Very similar in length and weight to a practice fencing saber—maybe a little heavier. In dueling circles, they are referred to as Italian dueling sabers. He has a beautifully-crafted set. I have a pair of my own which I prefer over his. Have you fenced saber?”
“Yes. My maestro is Baron von Hochsburg in Vienna. Do you know of him?”
“Of course! He is one of the best in the world! Especially in saber!” gasped Rossini. “He doesn’t take on novices! Maybe you have a chance here!”
“I don’t like the sound of this, Hatch! I saw you fence in Vienna, but that was for fun. This is for real!” exclaimed Syd, very upset.
At this moment, Sara joined them, wondering what was keeping her dancing partner. Karen and Bruno were right behind her. In the meantime, Count di Cressi was strutting around with some of his cronies, watching the meeting with interest. He was hoping that the rich American’s ego would not allow him to back out of the duel. He had to make a legal kill to get Tessitore off his back.
• • •
While Captain Rossini explained to the newcomers what had happened, Hatch continued to ponder his options. He had read many accounts of the history of dueling from the 15th century through the 19th century, up until it was universally banned—everywhere except Monterra, evidently. Most affairs of honor were settled by “first blood,” since, usually, neither participant really wanted to get badly hurt or killed. Those types of duelists preferred swords with cutting edges on the blades—like those di Cressi used—because thrusting weapons such as the epee could deliver crippling or fatal wounds.
The other type of duel was “to the death,” or until one party cried “yield.” Those kinds of duels often had no gentlemanly rules. Hatch had read accounts of duels where opponents threw sand in the eyes of their opponent, grabbed the blade, kicked and tripped their adversary, and did anything to survive—and win. Sometimes, both died from their wounds. Also, running your opponent through did not always win the fight, because the men fought fiercely until their last breath, sometimes with multiple wounds.
Hatch finally decided on a course of action. Count di Cressi was probably a better swordsman, but he had a large ego, and he would assume that Hatch knew nothing of fencing, other than what he had seen in the movies. Before di Cressi could discover otherwise, Hatch planned to quickly draw first blood, and that would be the end of it. The count would be disgraced and humiliated in front of his strutting friends, and the rest of the attendees of the Royal Ball.
Hatch said to Rossini, “I’ll accept his challenge on one condition: We do it here and now. I hate to interrupt the Royal Ball, but I have no choice. Since the Prince is the overseer of duels, you’ll have to go talk to him. The alternative is, I’ll take the little fucker outside and beat him within an inch of his life! He insulted Syd, and he is going to pay for it now!”
Rossini replied, “This is unusual. We have a dueling arena normally used for these things. Duels draw quite a crowd and we like to contain things.”
Hatch spat, “Dueling arena? For Christ’s sake! Why don’t you bring in some lions and Christians and really draw a crowd! Charge double!”
Rossini was taken aback. He replied, “I’m sorry you do not like our customs, Signore Lincoln, but the first Prince of Monterra, Alfonso I, adopted the French Code of Honor for his people in 1861. This code outlines the rules under which gentlemen and officers settle their differences. It has never been rescinded, since all subsequent rulers have been steeped in the concept that Honor is Paramount.”
Hatch grumbled, “I’ve seen the French Code of Honor. The rest of the world abandoned it over a hundred years ago. Very well, enough of philosophy. I assume this duel will end upon the drawing of first blood?”
“That has been the norm. Let me go talk to His Highness about this and see what he wants to do. You understand, his word is final?”
“Of course. I’m a guest in his country, otherwise that pompous ass would already be sawdust,” replied Hatch.
• • •
The Prince wanted to talk to Hatch before he made a decision. Hatch assured him that he did not want the Prince to negate the duel. Also, noticing the multitude of press people covering the Royal Ball, Hatch requested that no cameras be allowed. He certainly did not need that kind of exposure. The written word would be bad enough.
Finally, the Prince agreed that the duel would take place immediately on the ballroom floor. His announcement pleased the local Monterrans, and alternately shocked and excited the dignitaries and celebrities from around the world. Some of them thought it was part of the entertainment. Hatch felt like he was the bull in a bullfight.
• • •
Captain Rossini agreed to be Hatch’s second. One of the count’s smirking cousins acted as his second. The count’s swords were offered to Hatch for his choice, but he instead chose one of Rossini’s matched pair. The Rossini weapon was perfectly balanced and had a bell guard, which Hatch preferred to the fancy, twisted metal rods that adorned di Cressi’s weapons. Rossini’s sword had much better point control because of the exceptional balance. The combatants had removed their coats. Hatch’s 19th-century costume included high boots, and he was happy that their soles did not slip on the wooden dance floor. The Minister of Justice, Dante di Dorno, was the referee for the duel, and he took his place in the center of the dance floor.
Syd stood next to Hatch, clutching his left arm. She whispered, “If this was about rifles, pistols, or hand-to-hand, I wouldn’t be so friggin’ worried! You be careful! If that fucker even nicks you, I’ll kill him, you know!”
“Don’t sweat it, dear. I have the advantage at first. He thinks I know nothing about fencing.”
Hatch knew, also, if it came down to it, he could easily kill the man by tying up his blade and punching him in the temple, which would drive bone fragments into the brain. It would not please the keepers of the honor chest, but it gave Hatch a feeling of confidence knowing he could get out of this alive if he just kept his head.
Dante di Dorno announced that the duelists should take their positions, di Cressi on his left, and Hatch on his right. He held a saber of his own, and was empowered to use it on anyone who disobeyed his orders. In the name of honor, of course.
Hatch kissed Syd and said, �
�Love you. Back in a minute.”
Karen joined Syd and they held hands as Hatch took his position on the floor and faced Count di Cressi. Bruno and Sara were not far away. Hatch had told them that if they saw any cameras or camcorders to confiscate them. Also, if anything happened to him, to take care of Syd and Karen at all costs. The Prince was sitting in a throne-like chair at the edge of the dance floor.
If I ever needed confirmation of my feelings about royalty, this is it! What in fuck have I gotten myself into?
• • •
The referee said, “En guarde! Allez!”
Hatch did not go to the classical “on guard” position used by fencers. He did not want to tip off his opponent that he had had training in fencing. There was no rubber strip, and no rules about containment, except the combatants had to stay on the wooden dance floor. The referee would enforce that rule.
Hatch held his blade out and di Cressi immediately engaged the blade and applied pressure to it, simultaneously pushing down with a twisting motion. It was a standard move whose purpose was to twist the sword from the opponent’s hand, thus disarming him. In the sport of fencing, this merely embarrassed the opponent, perhaps rattling him a bit, but served no purpose other than delaying the fencing match. In this setting, however, being disarmed could lead to more than embarrassment.
Hatch easily defended the move and retreated a step, and tried to look as if he were surprised and confused. The count closed the distance, then stood and walked to his right, strutting a bit, as if he were toying with his prey. Hatch held his ground, merely turning in place to keep the count in front of him.
Suddenly, the count lunged and flicked a cut at Hatch’s right side, blade low, trying to get under his guard and hit the side. Hatch quickly used the seconde parry—point down, guard rolled to his right—then began a riposte by extending his arm and feinting an attack to the face. The count took two quick retreating steps, blinked, and waved his blade in two wide parries.
That was what Hatch wanted to know. When the eyes are threatened, they involuntarily close. Fencers know this, and cannot do much about it, but the key is not to expose the arm in an attempt to parry the threat. The count failed that test.
The count responded immediately by closing the distance with a balestra, followed by a lunge, and then attempted a straight cut to Hatch’s head. Hatch started his retreat as soon as he saw di Cressi’s front foot lift, and deftly used the quinte parry—his blade over his head and parallel to the floor—and again initiated a quick riposte at the underside of the count’s extended arm. The count flicked Hatch’s blade away just in time, and again retreated.
The reality of the situation finally descended on Hatch like a shroud. Most of the attacks he had learned in training were of no use here. The sport of saber fencing is one with many rules of tempi and the concept of right-of-way. The concept is that if a person is attacked, he should parry and defend himself before counterattacking; hence, the attacker has the “right-of-way” and wins the touch even if his opponent hits first. This rule makes no sense whatever in a real duel, since what have you won if you strike your adversary while in the meantime his blade has entered your left eye?
Another favorite in the sport is the fleche attack, a move where the fencer “takes” the blade of his opponent as he runs forward, and then releases the blade and cuts the enemy across the chest. This is also a tempo and “right-of-way” move that is very dangerous when using real swords. Unfortunately, Hatch was very good at this move, but would not dare use it here.
So Hatch had to quickly rethink what actions were actually available to him, and what he was going to do. He needed a ploy where he could draw blood—not his own—and end the duel.
Accordingly, Hatch flicked a cut to the inside of the count’s sword arm and was neatly parried as the count went to a quarte position with his sword, closing the inside line. Hatch noticed that the count—being arrogant and over confident—did not immediately return to the tierce position to close off the outside line. This left the outside of his forearm exposed for a fraction of a second. Hatch decided to make his move while the count was still showing off.
Hatch went into the classic on guard position and advanced quickly, again attacking the eyes. As the count blinked, Hatch feinted an attack to the inside of the arm again, and as the count went too wide with his quarte parry, Hatch dipped his blade and disengaged it from the parry, then flicked a cut to the now slightly exposed outer arm. His point and an inch of the razor-sharp blade sliced open the count’s arm. Blood reddened his white sleeve and dripped to the floor. Hatch retreated two steps, holding his blade in the tierce guard position in case the count counterattacked him. There was a rolling “Ooooh” from the crowd as they saw the blood.
The referee stepped forward and said, “Halt. Blood has been drawn, signori. Honor has been served.”
Count di Cressi was stunned! He could not believe his clumsiness and that he had allowed himself to be cut. He could not allow the duel to stop, or he would bring the wrath of the Tessitores down on his head. He needed to finish this clod off now!
Accordingly, he announced, “My honor is not satisfied! I wish to continue!”
The Minister of Justice said, “But, Count di Cressi, blood has been drawn! Your arm needs attention! We always …”
“Does not the code say I control the decision as to when honor is served?” sneered di Cressi.
The Minister shrugged and answered, “Yes, but …”
“Then we continue!”
Hatch saw that Count di Cressi was enraged, and could not wait to attack him with ferocity and chop him up good.
Hatch asked the referee, “What is the next level after first blood?”
He knew very well what the answer was.
The Minister replied in an ominous voice, “To the death, or until one party yields.”
This brought another low rumble from the crowd, like thunder down a canyon.
The Minister turned and glanced at the Prince, but the Prince did not move.
There was another murmur through the crowd as they waited. The Minister looked at the Prince again, seeking guidance, since the rules definitely allowed the insulted party—officially di Cressi—to make such a demand. The Prince considered stopping the duel for Hatch’s sake, but when he looked at Hatch, Hatch merely shrugged. The Prince waved his hand for the duel to continue.
The Minister announced, “The duel shall continue. En guarde! Allez!”
As the count approached Hatch, his visage stern, Hatch retreated, then announced, “I yield, signore.”
Hatch had had enough of these Royal games.
Count di Cressi straightened up, really enraged now.
“You cannot yield! You are not even wounded! You are a coward!”
“You’re the one bleeding, pal. I have no desire to hurt you further. Do the rules say I have to be wounded to yield, Signore di Dorno?”
“Not explicitly, but implied,” he replied. “It is as dishonorable as the ‘ninth parry.’”
The ‘ninth parry’ was the humorous name applied to the act of continuously retreating—the equivalent of running away from the fight.
“I have grown weary of this charade. This man is a liar and worse, but I have no desire to kill a man because of that,” said Hatch as he turned to leave the floor.
Count di Cressi could not contain himself! This coward was thwarting him, delivering him to the mercy of the Tessitores! He attacked Hatch with a vengeance, his blade extended, intending to run him through, even though his back was turned. The Minister had not officially called a halt to the duel.
Syd yelled, “Hatch! Look out!”
She was running onto the floor, trying to reach di Cressi in time to knock him down—and put a spiked heel through his eye!
Hatch spun around just in time and engaged di Cressi’s blade and guided it to the side of his body. At the same time, he lowered the tip of his own blade and the count impaled himself on it, just below his breastbo
ne. His momentum drove him against Hatch and he was skewered all the way to the guard bell of Hatch’s weapon.
Hatch looked into the count’s wide, unbelieving eyes, and growled, “You have demonstrated how much honor you have, asshole! I think it’s your turn to yield now. The way I extract this blade can make a big difference in whether you live or die. A little down pressure on the way out will slice you open to your asshole, and your guts will decorate the Royal dance floor. Then, all the King’s men and all the King’s horses … you know.”
“I yield. But I am dead anyway,” whispered the count, thinking of Tessitore, and how his failure would be rewarded. “You have some formidable enemies!”
Hatch carefully withdrew his blade and eased the count to the floor and motioned to the medics, who had been standing by with a stretcher. They rushed forward.
Hatch handed his sword to Captain Rossini and put his arm around Syd, who had come skidding to a halt as Hatch’s blade had skewered the count.
“Thanks for the heads up, dear!” smiled Hatch.
Chapter 37
Royal Palace, Monterra
Sunday, August 26, 2001
11:32 P.M.
As the medics left the room with Count di Cressi on the stretcher, Hatch wanted to scream. The entire affair had been such nonsense! Why had di Cressi insisted on trying to kill him? What did his last remark mean?
Hatch strode to the piano that the orchestra had been using and sat down. He needed to vent his fury in some nonlethal manner, so he began playing Chopin’s 1818 Polonaise with fervor. It was the most powerful piece he could think of at the time. The crowd watched and listened in awe. He had never played it before with such brilliance and emotion.
Karen stood next to Syd as she said, “Quite a remarkable man you have, sis!”
“Yes,” Syd whispered. “Quite remarkable!”
The blood had been wiped off the dance floor, but Hatch had some of the count’s blood on his white, frilly shirt. Otherwise, he was physically all right. He was using his music to come down from the emotional high that had been thrust upon him.
