Path of the Tiger

by J M Hemmings

  ‘I’m sorry to hear about the position you’re in, Gisborne. Does this girl love you, truly?’

  William did not hesitate for a moment in his answer.

  ‘With all her heart, sir. I know it wi’out a shadow ay a doubt.’

  With a barely perceptible nod, Captain Liversage smiled sadly.

  ‘There was one I once loved with all my heart and soul too, lad. But society’s … rules and prejudices did not allow us to be together.’

  ‘I’m sorry tae hear that, sir.’

  ‘Yes lad, it was a sad and tragic tale. Perhaps I shall tell you of it sometime, but not now. I will say, though, that I hope that your story does not end up as mine did.’

  Liversage’s eyes glistened in the light with the sting of fresh tears, and he turned away from William, who also felt a burning at the corners of his eyes, and a tight knot balling in his throat as sadness twisted its jagged blade in his guts.

  ‘I hope that it ends well, sir. I pray for that every night.’

  The words came out as a half-choked whisper. Captain Liversage was silent for some time, his mind returning to the mists of the past again before he replied. When he turned to face William, the pain and longing had vanished from his eyes, and his countenance was now neutral, his eyes veiled in a blankness that verged on stony apathy.

  ‘I’m sure that you do,’ he said, almost coldly. ‘I suppose you’ll be hoping to somehow be promoted from the ranks and achieve an officer’s commission, then? In order to gain access to the upper strata of society, thus giving you a chance at legally legitimising your love for this lady of the landed classes?’

  The tone that the Captain adopted when saying this made William feel embarrassed to admit it, cringing with the acute awareness of his own naivety and foolishness, but admit it he did.

  ‘Aye sir. Tha’s what I was hoping fir when I joined up.’

  An uncomfortable blush flooded his cheeks, and he felt like even more of an idiot for vocalising this impossible dream to an officer. He could not look Captain Liversage in the eye after this, but the scepticism in Liversage’s voice was tempered with kind sympathy.

  ‘You do realise that the chances of that happening are extremely slim, do you not?’

  William stared at the ground, his ears burning with shame.

  ‘Aye sir,’ he replied, his voice cracking a little with the loss of hope.

  ‘Chin up my boy. I said slim, not impossible. Serve me well, and we will see what can be done … in a few years, of course.’

  This sliver of fresh hope was enough to perk William up from the gloom of despair.

  ‘Thank you sir!’ he blurted out, his sudden gush of excitement joyously buoyant. ‘Why, I’ll be the best aide you’ve ever had, sir!’

  William looked up and saw that the same childlike sparkle he had seen before was once more aglow in Captain Liversage’s eyes. He was a man of a somewhat shifting temperament, it seemed, which could be a good thing … or rather a bad thing. William wasn’t quite sure what to make of it at the present.

  ‘Good!’ Captain Liversage said with chirpy enthusiasm. ‘Well my boy, another of your duties is to be my fencing partner. One of my passions in life is swordplay, and such an interest requires strict discipline and a regular routine of practice and drills.’

  ‘I, er, I’m not too good wi’ a sword, sir,’ William ventured. ‘I mean, I’m a lot better now than I was a few weeks ago, thanks tae Private Smythe givin’ me extra training an’ pointers an’ such—’

  Captain Liversage held up a hand to silence William and shot him a sympathetic smile.

  ‘Not to worry, Private Gisborne! After a few weeks with me you’ll be one of the best swordsmen in the regiment. I have studied under some of the most renowned masters in all of Europe, you know. What that crabby old sergeant has been teaching you is the most bare bones stuff of swordsmanship, and from the sound of it, it has at least been somewhat embellished by your friend Private Smythe … but what I’ll teach you is the art of swordplay. For that’s what it is, Gisborne, an art, as pure and beautiful as any dance … and deadly. I’ll tell you this much: it is no empty boast on my part that I could cut down any man in this regiment in mere seconds, should the need arise. I have been studying this artform with a passionate vigour since I was a young boy. I spent years under the tutelage of the greatest blade masters in Italy, Spain, France, Germany, Prussia and Poland. Since I am nearing the end of my years and have no children of my own to pass my skills on to, I shall pass what I can of the art to you, Gisborne. My previous batman, poor Bowker, was doing well in the acquisition of sabre skills, but as we know, the unfortunate fellow succumbed to a foe far more deadly and ubiquitous than any human warrior: the scourge of disease. Still, Bowker’s demise certainly proved fortunate for you, did it not? God rest the poor fellow’s soul.’ He paused here to observe a moment of silence before continuing. After staring at the ground for a few sombre moments, he looked up and smiled at William. ‘Come now lad, let’s get to it. Take my sword back to my tent and fetch a pair of training sabres.’

  Captain Liversage unbuckled his sabre and handed it to William. Despite his lack of interest in weapons and the arts of combat, William could not help but be impressed with the Captain’s sabre.

  ‘Sir, this sword is beautiful!’ he gasped, cradling the sabre as if it was some ancient, priceless artefact, freshly unearthed.

  Captain Liversage smiled.

  ‘It is, is it not? It is an artwork, forged by one of the greatest masters in the world, a Spanish grandmaster swordsmith. It was a gift from my late father to me, upon my attaining of the rank of captain. Draw it from its scabbard, come on, give it a swing and get a feel for its exquisite balance.’

  William drew the sword from its silver scabbard, which itself was a work of art, with its gold lace artwork and intricately detailed engravings. The blade of the sabre was etched with beautifully complex artwork, and in ornate lettering an inscription read, ‘let mercy, justice and compassion be your unwavering light against the rising tide of dark,’. The grip of the sword was sharkskin, wrapped with fine gold wire which was bent into labyrinthine patterns, while the pommel and basket guard were wrought in the shape of a tiger’s body, culminating in its head, which formed the pommel.

  ‘After Waterloo,’ Liversage said, ‘my regiment was sent to India, so before I left England my father had the swordsmith design the sabre with a tiger motif, the animal being native to India, of course. My father thought it would bring me luck, you see. I ended up staying there for some twenty odd years. Here lad, hand me the scabbard and give the blade a swing or two. You’ll find it a good few degrees more fluid and manoeuvrable than your cumbersome trooper’s sabre.’

  William handed Captain Liversage the scabbard and assumed a standard guard. Feeling suddenly self-conscious and rather clumsy, he nonetheless attempted to practice a few of the cuts and lunges that Private Smythe had taught him.

  ‘Not bad form, lad, not bad. You’ve improved a great deal since I first saw you struggling on the practice grounds, but your footwork, form and technique are still going to need a lot of work if we’re to get you up to scratch.’

  ‘This blade is light, sir!’ William exclaimed, delight and wonder vanquishing his embarrassment at his poor technique. ‘Light and fast!’

  ‘Feel that balance, boy. Feel it! The sword dances in your fingers, does it not? I dare say there’s no better-balanced blade in this entire army.’

  ‘I think you’re right, sir! I’ve ne’er felt a better-balanced sword in me’ life! Er, not that I know much about swords, sir.’

  ‘No, my boy, but you shall! You certainly shall! Feel the edge of the blade. Careful now, it’s—’

  ‘Razor sharp, sir!’ William murmured, running his fingertip along the sabre’s edge.

  ‘That’s Toledo steel, Gisborne, the finest sword steel in all of the world. Much stronger than your trooper’s blade, yet more flexible and far less likely to break under a hefty blow. Lighter in
weight too, as you can no doubt feel. Feel the tip, lad. Watch out though, a mere prick will break the skin and draw blood.’

  William touched the tip of the sword gingerly, and as Captain Liversage had said, a touch of the tip was enough to puncture his skin and draw a drop of blood.

  ‘I make sure that my edges and point are always as sharp as they can be, and I will show you the proper techniques to keep your own blade in such a condition. Far too many of your troopers’ blades are blunt and poorly maintained, you see, and going into battle with such weapons is a sure way to increase your odds of dying rather than killing. The point especially is important; see how this blade is straighter than yours. Yours is strongly curved, designed primarily for slashing from atop a horse, but mine is closer to an infantry officer’s blade. It has a curve, yes, in order to facilitate effective cutting and slashing power, but the greater degree of straightness is designed to maximise the deadliness of the thrust. The blade is longer than average too – close in length to the blade of a heavy cavalry sabre. A few inches of extra reach can mean the difference between life and death, and thanks to the design, the extra steel does not add any cumbersome weight, nor upset the sword’s superb balance. If you can deliver a good, true thrust with this weapon it’ll run a man straight through, as easily as if you were piercing an overripe plum with a knife – even if your opponent is a fellow in a leather coat, or one of those thick continental greatcoats. With this balance of properties, this sword can be used as effectively on foot as from horseback.’

  ‘I see sir, I see. It is indeed a remarkably fine blade, sir.’

  Captain Liversage grinned and his face once again shone with the glow of boyish delight.

  ‘The finest, Gisborne, the finest. Now be a good lad and return it to my tent, and then retrieve those practice sabres, please. We must get to work on your swordsmanship at once!’

  36

  WILLIAM

  23rd October 1854. British Light Cavalry Brigade Camp, near Balaclava Valley, The Crimea, Ukraine

  ‘Don’t betray your intentions with your eyes, nor indeed with any other part of your body, William; I saw that feint coming before you even moved a finger. Come on, pick up the sabre and let’s try this again.’

  William, with a smarting pain in his forearm, limped over to where his practice sabre lay on the grass, flicked there by a deft stroke from Captain Liversage. For the last month he had been practicing rigorously with the captain for hours every day, and his body was black and blue all over from the wallopings he had received from the blunted practice sword. Because of this intense regime, under the expert tutelage of the captain, however, his skills in swordsmanship had grown exponentially, and now he could quite easily hold his own in a sword fight, at least against an average opponent.

  ‘En garde, private!’

  William raised his sabre and turned his body sideways to face the captain. He gave him a brief nod to indicate that he was ready.

  ‘Have at you!’ Liversage cried.

  The captain lunged forward with the speed of a striking cobra, and William was barely able to parry and dodge the flurry of furious blows. Despite being in his sixties, Captain Liversage seemed to possess speed and reflexes that verged on the superhuman, and he was more than a match for William in terms of endurance and strength.

  It was not long before the bout ended in victory for Captain Liversage, the edge of whose sabre ended up pressed lightly against William’s throat.

  ‘Dead again, William,’ he said with a boyish grin and a mischievous sparkle in his eye. ‘Although not quite so quickly this time. Good! You held your own well there, my boy. Despite what you seem to believe, you do have the makings of a proficient swordsman, and believe me, I do not hand out such compliments lightly. It will just take time to get you there, so we will keep working on your weaknesses while developing your strengths.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ William gasped, breathing heavily and wiping the sweat off of his brow with the back of his sleeve.

  ‘For God’s sake, be a gentleman and use a handkerchief to dab that perspiration away!’

  William blushed with shame as Captain Liversage’s ire flared up with mercurial rapidity.

  ‘I’ll clip you about the ears if you use the sleeve of your uniform in such a manner again. If you want your Aurora’s father to believe you’re a noble gentleman rather than an uncouth ruffian, you’d best start acting like one! You’re no longer an unmannered peasant, are you boy? Are you?!’

  William looked away, his cheeks crimson and hot.

  ‘No sir,’ he replied sheepishly. ‘I’m no country peasant.’

  ‘Act and think like a gentleman at all times, and surely enough you shall become one. Thoughts become actions, actions become habits, and habits make the man. Remember this.’

  ‘That sounds like wisdom tae me, sir.’

  Captain Liversage’s expression lightened, and the storm-clouds of anger dissipated from his countenance, replaced instead by a kind smile.

  ‘What I’m saying to you is merely wisdom accumulated through my experience in this world so far, all sixty-three years of it,’ he said in a more sympathetic tone.

  William instinctively reached up to wipe his sleeve across his forehead again, but quickly corrected himself and instead pulled his handkerchief from his pocket to complete the action. Captain Liversage walked over and clapped him heartily on his back.

  ‘You see William! You’re learning and progressing already.’

  ‘I’m trying, sir.’

  ‘Come now, ready your sabre. It’s time for another round.’

  William held up his hand.

  ‘Wait sir, beggin’ your pardon, but could you give me but a minute tae catch me’ breath? We’ve been fencing fir nigh on an hour now.’

  Captain Liversage laughed, boyish mischief dancing in his eyes.

  ‘I’m old enough to be your grandfather, my lad, yet you are tiring before me!’

  ‘I know sir, I know, but you are, er, unusually healthy, sir.’

  ‘Yes, yes I am, Private. And you know why that is, do you not?’

  ‘Er, um … well, not really sir, why is it?’ William asked, breathing hard, and secretly hoping that he could draw out this sidetracking of the conversation long enough to catch his breath.

  Captain Liversage smiled almost conspiratorially, as if he were about to divulge some great secret to William.

  ‘You bring me my food every day, all three meals. What do you notice about it?’

  ‘Well, um, it’s different from the slop that we troopers have tae eat, sir. I dunnae, it seems, um, nicer, perhaps?’

  ‘Do you notice a lack of anything on my plate, William?’

  ‘Well I never really paid much attention tae it sir, seein’ as it’s covered wi’ a silver platter cover when I serve it tae you in the officer’s mess, an’ I dunnae eat wi’ you lot, sir.’

  ‘Fair enough, fair enough. Well my boy, I’ve told you a little about my decades spent in Her Majesty’s service in India, but not enough, perhaps. You see, when I was there I also picked up some very healthy habits, based on some of the native beliefs and philosophies. Have you ever seen me drinking gin with the other officers?’

  ‘Um, no sir. As I recall, you always drink nowt but water.’

  ‘It is the giver of all life on this planet, William. The purest source of it. Alcohol muddies the mind, and I do not partake of it. Now, what is something else that I do not consume?’

  ‘I’m no’ sure, sir…’

  ‘Flesh, my boy. Animal flesh! For thousands of years, many people in India have abjured the consumption of meat. What is seen as so natural and wholesome by us supposedly superior Englishmen is seen as savagery and barbarism by them, and rightly so. The flesh of dead animals – innocent and peaceful beings who we brutalise with our warlike nature – defiles the purity of these perfect temples that are our bodies. For many decades, no morsel of meat has passed between these lips of mine, and my health has thanked me for it, as
you can see!’

  William considered this, and then nodded thoughtfully as he replied.

  ‘Aye sir, well I suppose the evidence is right before m’ eyes, it is.’

  ‘I can teach you of the ways of Eastern philosophies, if you are interested. There is much to be learned from their ideas … if one approaches them with an open mind.’

  William fingered the grip of his sabre and masticated on this for a while before replying.

  ‘It’s all a bit … unusual though sir, is it not? I mean, all I’ve heard the others say ay India is tha’ the people are uncultured heathens, barbarians wi’ no concept of civilisation. Beggin’ your pardon sir, I’m just repeating what I’ve heard.’

  Captain Liversage folded his arms across his chest and sighed, but a sharpness entered his eyes and gave his words a knife-blade edge.

  ‘What you’ve heard, William, is the ugliness of bigotry. It is, unfortunately, a prejudice held not only by the troopers of the ranks but also by my fellow officers, many of whom served in India with me. Suffice to say, these very same men who loudly tout the excesses of their reading and education, and who proclaim so vociferously the superiority of our British culture over all others, and who parade so cockily about, extolling the extent of their own self-vaunted virtues and intelligence … well, these men, my boy, are some of the most small-minded, ignorant and uncouth individuals I’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting.’

  William was very surprised to hear an officer speak about his peers in this manner.

  ‘Really sir?’

  ‘Oh yes, dear boy! Believe you me. They spent most of their time in India needlessly slaughtering its magnificent wildlife for so-called sport, and mistreating and subjugating the native population, instead of attempting to learn anything from a culture that is, in fact, far more ancient and in some ways more sophisticated than our own.’