“Well played, D’Arbignal,” Alfredo called out, laughing in delight.
Astonished, the Cyclops staggered into the clearing near the stables to find D’Arbignal and Alfredo grinning like children. Their rapiers whizzed through the air as they lunged, parried, and riposted with dizzying speed and complexity.
“High praise, indeed,” D’Arbignal said, his own orange rapier a blur. “That compliment, coming as it does from a true master of the blade as yourself, means the very world to me!.”
The Cyclops simply had not been prepared for this sight. She stared at them stupidly.
“I mean it. You’re brilliant,” Alfredo said. “Who taught you?”
“You’re looking at him,” D’Arbignal said with a modest bow.
“No, that can’t be. Self-taught?” Alfredo said. “No, I don’t believe it. You’ve obviously trained under a master.”
D’Arbignal laughed, his brilliant teeth shining in the firelight.
“Let’s say that I’ve trained under many masters … one duel at a time!”
Alfredo grinned. “I take your meaning, sir. As sure as the sun will rise tomorrow, I do take your meaning.”
“You’re a pair of fools,” Conchinara said, eyeing them with indignation. She stood outside the entrance to Marco’s tent, her slender olive arms crossed in front of her chest.
Excluded from experiencing life as a real woman for longer than she could remember, the Cyclops was a keen observer of their rituals and gestures. She watched them from the outside, like a starving woman watching diners eat an expensive meal.
So she recognized the look in Conchinara’s eyes. She had been scorned, and not even for another woman—but for her own husband! It had taken only the offer of swordplay to break her hold over D’Arbignal, and she hated them both for it.
Alfredo was the Master Fencer, perhaps one of the deadliest men in the world. Yet the Cyclops worried that Conchinara was a greater danger to D’Arbignal.
Then D’Arbignal made an error. He pivoted forward on his right foot, squaring his torso to Alfredo. Alfredo capitalized on this and pressed the end of his blade against D’Arbignal’s chest, right above his heart.
D’Arbignal swore and withdrew a step. He saluted and sheathed his rapier.
“I concede the hit, sir,” he said, his expression pained. “The better man has won. We must fence again, and soon!”
“Agreed, sir,” Alfredo said, saluting. His shirt was drenched, and he had to keep wiping his brow with his sleeve to keep the sweat from running into his eyes. “It’s rare that I get an opportunity to spar with such a skilled opponent. I do hope you will consider joining our circus.”
The Cyclops’s heart leapt at the words. She silently prayed that he would accept. Oh, to have him around all the time!
She noted the lustful avarice in Conchinara’s eyes, and that feeling of mixed excitement and melancholia returned. The Cyclops feared that were D’Arbignal to join the circus, it could only end in tragedy.
“I’d consider it an honor, Alfredo,” D’Arbignal said with a bow. “If invited, I’d be delighted to join you.”
“Consider yerself invited then.” Marco walked into the clearing. He rubbed his hands together greedily, visions of golden coins no doubt dancing behind his eyes. “People’d come from miles t’ see the two of ye fence. Would ye be innerested in staying on as a Fencing Apprentice?”
D’Arbignal grinned, and his eyes gleamed with a mysterious mirth. “I have to admit that I’ve always been intrigued by acrobatics…”
Gilliam, the Head Acrobat, had been watching the show with a bored expression. D’Arbignal’s comment, however, caught her attention. Her eyes narrowed.
“Instead of fencing?” Alfredo asked, incredulous. “You are joking, certainly.”
“Perhaps in addition to fencing?” Marco suggested.
D’Arbignal bowed again. “I like the way you think, Marco. Yes, I’d be delighted to accompany your fine troupe, to fence and perform acrobatics.”
“So you’re an acrobat, then?” Conchinara said.
“Not yet,” D’Arbignal said. “But how hard can it be?”
Chapter 10
“Confound it!” D’Arbignal complained, bouncing on the safety net beneath the high wire. “This is trickier than it looks!”
Gilliam rolled her eyes and sneered.
“Poor dear,” she taunted, “perhaps you should console yourself with your metal toys and leave the acrobatics to the professionals.”
The Cyclops grimaced. She had been sitting by the perimeter of the tent, eating her lunch and covertly watching D’Arbignal train.
Gilliam was circling the safety net, gesticulating arrogantly with her hands. She was a tall, lithe brunette with an aristocratic nose and an arrogant chin.
“I honestly don’t know what to do with you, Mister D’Arbignal—”
“I told you, it’s just D’Arbignal,” he said.
“—but Marco says I should try to teach you, and I’m doing as well as can be expected with such … rough materials as these.”
D’Arbignal jumped to the ground from the netting, his face red from exertion and, perhaps, embarrassment. His hand reached for his rapier, but he had removed it before the training started.
“Ah, there he goes again,” Gilliam said. “Like a baby whining for his mother’s teat you are with that sword.”
His jaws clenched in anger. He raised a fist and seemed about to say something, and then changed his mind.
“By the gods,” he said, suddenly smiling, “you’re absolutely stunning when you’re cruel!”
Her head recoiled as if she had been struck.
“More childish babbling,” she snapped. “Now you get back to work.”
D’Arbignal mimed blowing her a kiss. “Only if you promise to insult me some more.”
Gilliam seemed flummoxed. She opened and closed her mouth a number of times before saying, “Get back on the wire and try again.”
D’Arbignal climbed the ladder to the high wire. “The very words you speak are my sustenance. I need no other.”
Gilliam said nothing. D’Arbignal shrugged and trotted out onto the high wire. Proceeding smoothly, he performed a cartwheel across the wire and landed in a deep lunge. He wavered a moment, catching his balance, and then placed both hands onto the wire and carefully extended his legs and torso into a full handstand.
He lowered first one leg and then the other until he was upright again. He hesitated.
“What are you waiting for,” Gilliam said, “a drumroll?”
D’Arbignal’s eyebrows furrowed for a moment, and then he visibly relaxed. He squatted on the wire, caught his balance, and then sprung backward into the air. His body corkscrewed into a full turn. At the completion of the corkscrew, he extended his hands toward the wire …
… and missed it.
He cried out, partly in dismay, it seemed, but also partly in fury. He tumbled in an inglorious ball to land once more onto the safety net. The Cyclops’s heart was pounding.
He slammed his fist into his hand. “This is trying my patience!”
The sound of someone clapping echoed through the tent. The Cyclops looked to the entrance.
Conchinara walked in with a seductive smile on her face. She looked so stunning today that even the Cyclops drew a sharp breath. The dancer prowled into the room, placing one bare foot in front of the other, causing her hips to undulate. Her costume—what there was of it—was skintight and almost translucent.
D’Arbignal’s lips pursed in what could have been a silent whistle. He hopped to the ground again, and bowed.
“The lady knows how to make an entrance,” he said.
Conchinara smiled, her eyes twinkling.
Before she could say anything, Gilliam said, “The gentleman had better attempt the routine one more time, before he tries his instructor’s patience.”
D’Arbignal tipped an imaginary hat to the two ladies, and then climbed back up to the wire. He prepar
ed himself once again.
“Our gentleman friend has some talent,” Conchinara said to Gilliam, loudly enough for him to hear it.
He grinned, but said nothing. Gilliam just grunted.
D’Arbignal leaned forward to perform his cartwheel again.
“We should invite him to join us sometime,” Conchinara said. Then she pressed her lips against Gilliam’s in a kiss that seemed to last an eternity.
D’Arbignal’s eyes seemed like they would pop from his head. Then his hands missed the wire entirely. He was a flailing ball of awkward limbs as he plunged from the wire into the net once more.
The two women laughed. Glliam’s laughter was bitter, whereas Conchinara’s was clearly intended to be seductive.
D’Arbignal had landed in an awkward position. When he tried to get up, he fell from the netting and landed on his back in the dirt with a loud grunt.
The two women laughed again, harder this time.
“Your skills do not seem to be improving, Mr. D’Arbignal,” Gilliam said.
D’Arbignal stood upright, wavered a moment, and then literally dusted himself off. Salvaging as much dignity as he could, he bowed to the women.
“Fair ladies,” he said, “I do believe this is a good time to end our session for today. Mistress Gilliam, I look forward to continuing with you tomorrow.”
“I’d like to continue with you tonight, D’Arbignal,” Conchinara said. Then the two women giggled.
D’Arbignal crossed the tent to where he had left his hat, bag, and sword. He collected them with the focus he had sorely lacked a few moments ago on the high wire.
Immediately after he left the tent, the Cyclops ran after him. She caught up to him within a few moments.
She tried to call his name, but she was too nervous and nothing came out. She tried again, and this time it was merely a whisper.
She tried once more, but now it came out as a shout so loud she startled herself. Ahead, D’Arbignal whirled on her, his orange-hued rapier already drawn. He relaxed when he saw it was the Cyclops.
“Maria,” he said, shaking his head. “You nearly startled me to death!”
She looked around for a moment to see if anybody was watching, then she moved closer to D’Arbignal. She felt goose bumps rise on her arms as she neared him.
She looked around again.
“Is something the matter, Maria?”
She shook her head and leaned in to whisper to him. After a moment’s hesitation, D’Arbignal grinned and leaned in, too.
“Gilliam’s making you feel bad,” she said.
D’Arbignal laughed. “Oh, I thank you, but you need not worry about my ego. I assure you, it’s solid enough to withstand more than a few blows.”
The Cyclops shook her head.
“No, you don’t understand,” she said. “She’s making you feel bad, but you’re doing”—she fumbled for the right word—“amazing!”
D’Arbignal smiled gently and tipped his hat to her.
“Thank you, Maria,” he said. “You are as kind as you are gracious.”
She felt her face grow warm.
“I’ve seen her train apprentices before,” the Cyclops said. “What you’ve done … In just a few weeks, you’ve learned more than some of her apprentices have in years.”
Now D’Arbignal seemed to have gotten the joke. “Why, you sneaky little minx…”
“M-me?” The Cyclops hadn’t been expected that kind of response.
D’Arbignal bowed once more.
“No, my friend,” he said. “Not you. You have done me a great kindness today. I shall remember it always.”
He winked, then added, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to lie down before I fall down. Alfredo is expecting to spar with me this evening, and I can barely stand. I bid you farewell, kind lady.”
And with that, he staggered off. After a few moments, he mustered enough strength to return to a normal walk.
The Cyclops watched him until he disappeared around Marco’s tent. She held her hand to her chest again, feeling her heart beating.
My friend. He had called her his friend.
Her heart felt full. For a moment, she even came close to smiling.
Chapter 11
The Cyclops heard the shouts moments before she felt the ground begin to shake. She and Pahula jumped from their cots and stared at each other with panicked confusion.
Marco popped his head into the tent, his face red and his hair matted with sweat.
“Ye need te get out of here!” he shouted. “Now!”
The Cyclops tried to run, but she felt as though her legs were paralyzed. Likewise, Pahula stood rooted to the ground, her eyes wide with terror.
The ground began to shake even harder, and it was accompanied by the booming of what sounded like a drum designed for a god.
“Damnit!” Marco shouted.
He grabbed Pahula by the wrist and ignominiously shoved her from the tent. The Cyclops heard her shriek.
“Come on,” Marco said, and dragged the Cyclops out behind him.
Moments after they escaped the tent, it seemed to explode in a violent burst of cloth and timber. Men ran toward them, shouting incoherently.
The Cyclops watched stunned as the tent seemed to move under its own power. Then the elephant, which had been hidden underneath, shrugged off the fabric, and pounded across the campground. It left a wide trail of destruction in its wake.
D’Arbignal ran over, clutching his hat to his head.
“Are you ladies all right?” he said.
The Cyclops nodded, feeling numb. If she had remained in the tent but a moment longer … She shuddered.
“The beast!” Pahula said. “It nearly kills us!”
“I’m relieved that it didn’t. I’ve never seen such a creature before—and I’ve seen a dragon!”
Marco was shaking his head sadly.
“What a loss,” he lamented. “The beast’s worth a fortune. I only got it because I won a bet. I’ll never get ‘nuther.”
“Why don’t you just catch it?” D’Arbignal said, looking puzzled.
Marco looked at him as though he were simple. “Do you see the size of the thing? What’re you going t’do: throw a net over it?”
“I don’t know,” D’Arbignal said, rolling his hand. “Why not ride up to it on a horse and jump onto its back?”
“Are ye out of yer mind?”
“Come on.” D’Arbignal said, smiling. “How hard could it be?”
A shrewd expression showed on Marco’s face and his eyes narrowed.
“You a betting man?” he said, rubbing his hands together.
D’Arbignal raised his eyebrows. “I might be.”
“I’ll bet ye a week’s wages ye can’t do it,” Marco said.
D’Arbignal’s smile broadened into a manic grin, and he glanced at Pahula and the Cyclops. The Cyclops shook her head emphatically.
D’Arbignal’s eyes seemed to shine as he said, “Done!”
The elephant was running in circles now at the edge of the valley. Periodically, it stopped to trumpet its displeasure to the crowd.
D’Arbignal dashed to the nearest horse, untied it, and mounted it. He turned it toward the rampaging elephant and dug his heels into the horse’s flanks. The horse and rider set off at a gallop.
Marco’s jaw dropped.
“I dint think he’d try it …” he said, his face pale now.
D’Arbignal’s horse closed on the elephant. As it neared, he slowed the horse just a bit and then climbed onto the saddle. He waved his plumed hat at the spectators. Then the wind ripped it from his hand; even from where she stood, the Cyclops could tell he was dismayed.
He crouched atop the horse now, reins in his hand, as he rode alongside the elephant. He hesitated only a moment then leapt from his horse at the elephant’s back.
He landed off center and started to slip down the elephant's side. He scrambled madly, his hands and feet fighting for purchase. The Cyclops put her hand to her
chest.
D’Arbignal seemed to find enough traction, even though the Cyclops wasn't at all sure how he'd done so. After an agonizing minute, he managed to crawl and slither onto the elephant’s back. Then he rested a moment, clinging on as if for dear life.
“Well, I never …” Marco said.
D’Arbignal rose to a crouch and began to walk along the elephant’s back toward its head. He had made it about two-thirds of the way there when the elephant trumpeted again, and reared up on its hind legs. D’Arbignal flailed with his arms, desperate to regain his balance. It was to no avail. He fell from the beast, landing in a partial roll.
The Cyclops ran across the field toward him. After a few moments, she realized that Marco and Pahula were following.
The elephant rounded on D’Arbignal, who seemed to be dazed. Just as it was about to step on him, D’Arbignal sensed the danger, and rolled to the side. The elephant stomped past him, heading down into the valley.
Marco passed the two women and reached D’Arbignal, who lay flat on his back, spread-eagle, and breathing heavily.
D’Arbignal pointed at the rapidly dwindling form of the escaping beast.
“Why,” he gasped to Marco, “didn’t you tell me it could do that?”
Marco shrugged. “I dint think ye’d be dumb enough to try that, lad.”
D’Arbignal cleared his throat awkwardly. “So, um … a week’s wages, you said?”
Chapter 12
The incident with the elephant had established D’Arbignal’s reputation as heroic, athletic, and brave … if perhaps not especially bright.
At first, the men at the circus had been a bit standoffish, unsure of where the stranger would fit within the established pecking order. Now, seemingly overnight, they had fallen into one of two camps: they either wanted to be just like him, or they wanted to punch him in the face.
A Lesson for the Cyclops Page 3
