The Knight Behind the Pillar

by John Pateman-Gee

  “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.

  Hence it took Arthur longer to come back to me and I knew I had enough distance and time to try for a hit. While missing the breastplate I was just close enough to make contact, the tip of the sword despite being rounded and wrapped in leather caught the front of his harden tunic for an instant before parting and ripped a small hole through it. Instinctively he jumped back, but it was too late and the round was mine.

  “Three points and round one to Tor.” Bedivere confirmed in the background.

  I turned around to Arthur. Beaming a wide smile of victory I removed my helmet for to allow me to wipe the dirt from my eyes. Already sweat had drowned my hair not helped by the warm afternoon. A bruise to my side from Arthur’s early hit was also now making itself know. Arthur looked just as hot and out of breath, but had no simile. I gained a disappointed nod, before he backed away to resume the second round.

  Turning I replaced my helmet, but as I did so I looked again towards the fort wall. Upon the battlements an outline of the figure of Merlin stood watching and while we could not see each other‘s faces clearly given the distance, I gave him a good glare of loathing. Then I returned to the realm of the moment in time when everything else seemed to pause. Within it I glanced back across to the gathered masses ready again to watch a second round, our practice that had become more than a tournament event except I did not know what the prize was. Shaking myself free of idle thoughts I dismissed the hum of the crowd and who they were or who were they watching and what they wanted and faced Arthur again.

  Renewed feelings of unease at the situation were determine to keep surfacing and so I decided not to waste time. I took the first attack, but it was not long before I realised that my victory in the first round may had achieved more than damaged Arthur’s clothes. In just one succession of strikes, parries and blocks I had scored five points with a hit to the body and hits to arms. His speed and focus was now far-flung. Arthur’s abilities were similar to mine I had concluded. He certainly had some skill and was a good thinker who planned moves and engaged well enough, but something was lacking. He failed to force me back and even when he managed to attempt a counterattack each blow now lacked confidence, lacked power and I could counter with ease.

  Was the pressure of the crowd now getting to him as well as disappointment at defeat in the first round I asked myself?

  I was not the only one to notice and Bedivere had stepped a little closer. “Come on Arthur, pick it up a bit.” He encouraged, low enough for us to hear but not for anyone else’s ears.

  Arthur’s face just scowled, he hated not the encouragement but the need for it. We circled each other, both taking a moment to break from fighting each other to fighting our own weariness and the heat. It was not overly hot, just the combination of metal and hardened leather trapped in the heat and I was slowly realising the weight of it all. Not that it compared to a true set of armour and I knew I had not real cause to complain.

  I looked again at the crowd. That voice at the back of my head despite its recent death had returned to torment me. This was all wrong. While I was keen to show I was a good swordsman, compared to my poor riding, I suddenly realised I did not want Arthur to lose and certainly not in front of these people. Failure could not be the first thing they saw their new king achieve, he had to win! Their talk of this first match would spread, rumours would spiral out of control and what might have be training match would become a duel that risked death where Arthur failed to hold his own instead of a heroic victory.

  I rushed to a conclusion and understood this was what had been bothering me all along. I had to lose this round, but how and without Arthur realising what I was doing?

  We engaged again, this time I took a more defensive stance and allowed him to gain ground. The problem was I could not now be too obvious in my change in tactics. Arthur in a short period of time had gained a clearer understanding of my ability just as I had his and if I was to suddenly act as if I had never fought before it would arouse his suspicion.

  He initiated a series of attacks with the opportunity I provided, but then I naturally blocked. I cursed myself for not letting any through. It was hard to fight at a lower standard than you know you can achieve. Besides having a sword swinging towards you no matter how blunt inevitably means instinct makes you defend yourself. I returned a few blows and then side stepped his charge, but had to take the clear opportunity of hitting his arm as it was too obvious not to.

  Another point, it was getting worst. I had six points and he still had none!

  He turned and sword hit sword once more. Finally they locked and for the first time I let him push my sword away to the side as unless either of us were poorly footed we matched each other’s strength and had to break ourselves apart to engage again. For him I unexpectedly continued to spin around I was awarded a blow to my back as I turned from Arthur. I hoped it was the flat side of the sword, but pain shock through me and told me otherwise and unsurprisingly I let out a yell.

  Yet I had not finished, I had a new plan. I completed the turn around and aimed the flat side of my sword neatly at Arthur’s head. He only saw it coming a fraction of second too late, he was too busy taking advantage of my break in defence and had raised his sword to gain a further three points from my side. The noise Arthur made was indescribable when my sword made contact with his helmet which instantly broke and flew through the air and then found his head. I completed my move and dropped my sword immediately afterwards, it hit the ground with a loud thump. A moment later Arthur made a similar noise as he too hit the dirt followed by cries of the crowd beyond.

  “Tor!” Bedivere bellowed rushing over, his shout a reaction too late to have stopped me and despite shouting my name he was over to Arthur to check he was alive. I had intended to hit him and it was the head I aimed for, but not as hard and as fast as had happened. I found that the weighting of the sword and my own momentum had worked against me.

  Quickly I glanced over to the crowd now silent in a moment of concern. While both Kay and Aries had moved in closer, they did not come all the way across the field, something for now held them back. It was perhaps their imposing authority and presence that held back the crowds as well.

  Looking back to Arthur he was waving Bedivere away and being helped up at the same time. At least I had not killed him and was relieved.

  “I’m alright.” He protested with blood covered the lower half of his face from cuts caused by the helmet spinning off and a nose bled.

  “Just stand first and I’ll be the judge of that.” Bedivere snapped, giving me a disapproving look at the same time.

  When Arthur had struggled up and gained both feet, he finally looked my way, a face of confusion and shock. “What did you do that for?”
He exclaimed coarsely.

  I shifted feet and tried to look sorry, despite it being a purposeful act. I was a little guilty at the strength of the hit and yet it I hoped this too served to convince him it was accidental.

  “I meant to hit your side, I misjudged it sorry. You sure you’re alright?” I answered acting concerned.

  “Fine.” He dismissed, a little calmer from the initial shock reaction, “Just seemed a daft move to me.”

  “And it lost you the round Tor.” Bedivere added, still in a tone of telling me off. “No heads I said, remember!”

  I just nodded and looked away from Arthur to avoid betraying my real victory and lack of guilt. I had got what I wanted, despite once again having had to lie to the future king. After tomorrow such an act could be regarded as treason and that carried the death penalty I considered briefly with little humour. My eyes drifted upwards to the stone fort wall parapet once more to find Merlin, but the strange man of secrets had gone and excited squires and pensive guards had replaced him.

  “Last round.” Bedivere called back my attention. “Let’s get this over with and again no heads. I mean it.” He instructed and distinctively sounded fed up with the whole performance as he gave us our space again.

  Facing Arthur again I needed a new way to lose. I could only hope losing the last round would inspire renewed confidence from him, but frown lines and suspicion stared back at me. He had to win two rounds to my one to count as a win and I knew it could not appear as a win by default like the last round. It had to be a convincing win in the eyes of the crowd. Only looking at Arthur now I realised that he also needed convincing, he glared at me with a eye of distrust and I was quickly suspecting that I had lost that battle.

  Somehow I had missed him gaining a new helmet he stared out from. This time it had a stronger strap with a metal guard across. The problems with wearing any armour were always simple ones and often the most irritating. Beads of sweat poured down both our faces getting in our eyes and yet gauntlets and helmets never allowed for the simple task of wiping the sweat away. My thoughts as always wanted to stray away from the problem at hand. I needed to work out how to lose and not how to wipe my brow!