Chapter Two :  Cross Swords





     Here come the moment that always impresses me.  As Betty’s large, rough, warm flanks cantered up the last hill on the road to the old Diamond castle, I prepared myself.  Yes, every time the sight fills me with wonder.  There it was, sitting on a hill, its old high walls sparkling, dazzling in the strong morning sun, because in the mortar between the stones were discarded rough diamonds, so its massive walls and towers shone like a coronation crown.
Since meeting Father Ten and seeing that monster, the Black Prince, gallop past, I had  deliberated whether to take my revenge on him.  Well, revenge was inevitable. I had lost my whole family.  My mother was still alive but her mind was dead.  She had reverted to childhood, singing nursery rhymes when her thumb wasn’t in her mouth.  It was difficult.  I would have to break my word, and to Father Ten.
If I was to be promoted upstairs, to the royal apartments, I was bound to see Prince Victor again and I would be filled with rage.  I decided to follow Father Ten`s wishes.  Be patient, bide my time, and in that time enjoy the thoughts of the various ways of doing it.  I wanted to do it by sword but even if I beat him, the best swordsman in Cardland, (apart from Father Ten and Sir Mosswood) they would arrest me, and undoubtedly lock me up, and before I could pick the locks hang me.
Another question nagged.  Why was I of any importance to the cause?  Father Ten seemed to know of the impending dangers facing me, and yet he would not tell me about them.
For the last two years I had just been a locksmith for the Diamond ranks from Two to Five, the servant’s quarters and outbuildings.  Why this sudden leap upstairs?
As I reached the drawbridge (obsolete now.  It was pulverised by cannon in the Holy Baron wars, but still used), I concluded that as a locksmith around court, it was simply my job to be observant and grow big ears.
The drawbridge was down as usual, no one seemed to have heard about the advent of a war.  It wouldn’t do much to stop cannon balls and mortar but it would slow an attack, especially against cavalry.
George and Harry, the morning guards, were at the gate, both corporals, Two in rank.  As I drew up and dismounted in the fore building, a new Sergeant at Arms, a Spade Three, came out of the office.  A burly man, he looked as if he could break rocks with his jutting blue chin. He wore the light blue uniform of an observer. On his arm under the three large red stripes of a master sergeant, he had the gold insignia of U.C. (United Cards). Since the Holy Baron wars, all the kings and Aces had a mutual agreement with all suits to send a token trusted military observer. Clearly he was highly regarded. By whom, I wondered? He glanced at the gold symbol of a key on my chest and my work- bag.
‘Ah, master locksmith, Jeffrey Lock?’  I nodded.
 He grinned, showing black and missing teeth.  ‘I’ve been asked by the new purser, a Five no less, to tell you to report to his office for identity papers and a seal.’
 I smiled back and started to walk past him, pulling on Betty’s reins.  As I drew alongside, he spoke under his breath. ‘Be warned, Jeffery.  The new purser’s a devious shit.  A Mr Lionel Roche.  Probably not even his own name.’  His chin seemed to fall with the weight of gravity, he peered up at me winking.  ‘ I don`t like the cut of his doublet.  Fucking shame, the old purser, nice old Mr Mills, just vanished after leaving the Synagogue yesterday.  All I can say is, keep your powder dry.  It`s a bugger that I have to take your sword, mate.  (I handed over my rapier and my dagger.) You know the form, only men over the rank of Five allowed to carry weapons.  I`ve informed Sir Isaac, the smiler.  He came back last night for some reason.’
I tapped his arm.  ‘Thank you, sergeant, I am obliged.’
‘Any time, mate.’  I walked Betty over to the purser’s office, on the far side of the large courtyard, next to the main entrance, a late sixteenth-century portico colonnade, supported by Greek columns that were at odds chronologically with a medieval keystone over two large engraved oak doors.               
I felt a tension in the air that was almost palpable. On the upper rims of my eyes, I saw a movement above and looked up to search one of the many windows surrounding the courtyard. I was just in time to see a face duck away. When I looked down again, I noticed a well-dressed courtier slip from the purser’s office. Again, from somewhere hidden, I sensed eyes watching me.  If there was a sixth sense, it certainly existed now.
Before I reached the purser’s office, the narrow door opened and out sauntered the repugnant Two Spade Master Locksmith, Steward Jackson.  An arrogant man, only a couple of years older than me.  He had a round face that like his oily moustache, always shone with sweat and a skinny body that displayed its bones through his tights  and silk shirt.  But I had learnt never to be deceived by appearance I had seen him arm-wrestle in the Tavern and he nearly always won.  He wore black, which was common in the Spade suit, as was a large gold cross around his scrawny neck and there was an excess of gold edging on his doublet and too much lace cuff.  He boasted continuously about his conquests with the ladies but actually had sex with stable boys.  I witnessed this once through a keyhole.
Behind Jackson, a large man stepped or squeezed through the door.  It would be polite to call him rotund.  I assumed him to be the new purser, Lionel Roche.  He had an aquiline nose that had obviously been hit hard at one time for it had a red scar and pointed east.  He stood with the Two Spade and stared at me with his cold slate-grey eyes.  He placed his legs apart (the weight of his body actually made them askew), and placed his fat hands on his hips.  I noted accordingly that he dressed with manifest ostentation - he wore an expensive red and white suit, with five diamonds wobbling on his body.  `Always keep a stabbing distance from those you do not trust.`  I heard the words of Father Ten in the memory of my ears, and my promise to be patient and use my wits.  So, I should be on my best behaviour.  Yet I knew they would not be from their attitude and stance.
I bowed deeply and smiled like a ram with itchy balls, blatantly showing my young white teeth.
‘How dare you smile at me without my permission!’  The purser exclaimed.
Jackson, the Two Spade looked vainly at his manicured nails.  ‘Was that a smile, Mr Roche?  Why, sink me.  I thought it evoked the face of a farting carthorse!’
Father Ten’s request made more sense now.  I was beginning to feel a little nervous.  Jackson had the reputation (after Prince Victor) of being the best blade in Cardland and ruthless with it, he gave no quarter.  Think.  Should I run, or beg for mercy, and for ever lose my dignity?  No need… no… yes think.  They would not kill me under the eyes of the court above.  I faked calmness, almost impertinence.  I shook my head.  ‘Oh my dear sir, my dear Two Spade.  At least I do not have an ugly moustache hanging over the greedy lips that suck little pricks.’
He straightened up and glared at me.
 Have you any idea of how destructive a modern sword is?  It is four times the length of a carving knife, and sharper.  I saw a street fight once, where the blade cut through to the bones of a man’s hand, because it passed the hand guard.  I saw the white of his skeleton, before the fountain of blood covered it.  And God!  How he screamed.  Still, I was safe with so many distinguished witnesses looking down.
‘How dare you!’  Shouted Jackson.  His thin wormlike lips compressed.
Something, a movement above, just out of the perimeter of my sight, caught my eye.  I looked up, and my heart chilled.  It was Prince Victor staring down at me, his hand on the butt of a pistol that stuck out of his silk waistcoat.  I looked down quickly in case they attacked me.  The fat new purser was grinning like an overfed Cheshire cat.
‘My my, my my (he handed Jackson his chamois glove, his eyes still levelled on me).  I think you will need this, my dear sir.’  Jackson took the glove, and threw it at my feet. This was bad.  Now I would have to fight a master swordsman at dawn.  I hated getting up early.  But then, it was my choice.
‘Choose your place and weapons, and do not temporise.’ Jackson snapped.
 ‘Here, with pistols.’  I answered, glancing up at Prince Victor.
 ‘No, here now with swords,’ the purser ordered almost genially.
 ‘But I have no sword!’  I pleaded.
 ‘You have a tongue, make it stretch,’ the purser said, chuckling at his own joke.
 I thought of my own joke, anything to purchase more time.
‘As you wish, sir, but I entreat that you should not have insulted my horse.  It is a great Shire horse.  With better manners than you.’  Jackson glared at me, his hand went for his sword.  Roche restrained him with a podgy hand on his arm.
‘How so?’  He asked cordially.
I used a trick popular at local farming fairs.  If I tickled the underbelly of Betty, she always broke wind.  I tickled Betty hard.  Turning, I watched her lift her tail, break thunderous wind that echoed and bounced off the walls, and drop a mound of dung.
The guards that had gathered into a small crowd roared with laughter.  I used this distraction to slowly untie my worn old pelisse from my shoulder.  As it began to drop, I drew a hidden dagger from it and spun the pelisse round my left hand for protection. I was still smiling at the guards, when I saw a sudden movement in the corner of my eye and heard Jackson draw his sword.  I spun around just in time to see and catch the downward plunge of his long blade slicing at my head.  By an instinctive reaction more than luck I blocked it with the single cross.  God, now I was scared, my body shook violently from head to toe.  I did not stand a chance and would I scream at his first cut?  He was the sadistic type that would cut a long deep gash along my stomach to let my steaming intestines drop out.  Jackson stood back to pause and smile at me.
‘Why, sink me, Two Club, do you think that old pelisse and dagger will save you?’ The purser laughed.  ‘My dear sir, that must be a hessian sack that he covers his horse with,’ he mocked, drawing his sword.
They both advanced for the kill.  I glanced up and around for help.
 ‘Do not rest your hopes on the protection of the court,’ the purser advised with levity.  ‘Who will care for a Two Club?  Prince Victor has them for his torture club!’
 They were almost on me.  I couldn’t move.  Like a cornered mouse with a swooping owl, I was paralysed.  I closed my eyes and prayed it would not hurt too much.  From above I heard my guardian angel, a delightful voice.  Had I died so quickly without pain?
‘Stop this at once!  I will not have murder in our court!  Someone hand the poor Two Club a sword or I will have you all arrested.’
I looked up to see the heaven that I had almost reached.  It was Princess Topaz.  She held the leaded window open and leant out.  In a red silk low-cut dress, her breasts, to kiss and aspire to hold, hung perilously they shuddered exquisitely, as if in fear of complete exposure.  I was in love and no longer afraid, for my pounding heart now beat for her.  I begged for more time to observe this star.  There is more.  Her long curly blonde hair, still bouncing with her forward motion, caressed in its softness her smooth shining shoulders. For a brief moment she glanced at me.  Our eyes held, she smiled and they married.  If only she were the cooper’s daughter and we could confirm our union.
There were two murderers straining at their leash to kill me.  I did not care.  This intense moment, only seconds, crowned the rest of my life with sovereign desire.   If I could not see her again life had no value.  I would sacrifice my life, the future with out her was worthless.  I would be her poor knight, her chevalier. My previous feelings of fear had dispersed, that wretched ghost ran to hide in shame with sullen feet to chase its running shadow.  I saluted her with an imaginary sword and bowed, I was truly a man now.  Perhaps a stupid and reckless one, but what better a cause than reckless love?  I spotted a pink ribbon tied around her delicate neck.  Yes, a swan…
‘Your highness, If I am to lose my life, I would be honoured to lay it down for you.’
She stared at me.  The tiniest smile touched her lips.  ‘I do not agree with this pointless violence.  Yet men are in charge today and they say it is something to do with a mans honour.’  I nodded without taking my eyes off her.
 ‘In this case, ma`am, it has more to do with your beauty.  The true honour I seek is to fight for your excellent radiance.  May I have that ribbon about your neck as my banner?’
Slowly, delicately she undid her ribbon, with her long dexterous fingers and held it above my head.  ‘You men speak of honour but you still lie to women.’ There was a general murmur of approval from the ladies above. I doffed my hat and bowed.
 ‘Not in our adoration, in this men never lie.’
 ‘Would you die for that truth, for me?’
 ‘As your Hermes for Aphrodite,’ I replied. 
‘You are just a Two Club, not the son of Zeus, I could have you killed anyway.’
 ‘With your grace around my cuff I would willingly bend my knee for my execution.’
I heard another window open and knew it to be Prince Victor.
 ‘Can we get on with this theatre!  Wound the bloody Two Club to shut his mouth.  I will be down later, to cut out his tongue! And retrieve the ribbon (he glanced at the princess) with your leave, ma`am.’
 She stared into my eyes, and in that language of eyes, translated my fidelity and dropped her ribbon.  I caught it and with my free hand and with the help of my teeth tied it to my wrist.  Princess Topaz frowned and turned to look at Prince Victor.
‘I fear it will be the bold Two Club, who will leave Black Prince, this mortal table.’
Prince Victor laughed and yelled down at Jackson and the Purser,  ‘Now kill him!’
I still had no sword.  Fuck it, I did not care.  I had committed myself to die for her.
The purser advanced first, he lurched forward clumsily I heard a woman stifle a scream above.   This was wonderful, was it the princess in fear for me, or was it one of her ladies in waiting?  I blocked the thrust of his sword and parried downwards and looked for the dangerous Jackson.  He was standing twenty feet away examining his nails with measured indifference.
The Sergeant behind me shouted my name.  I turned in time to see the Sergeant throw my sword but not at me, its flight took my eyes to what looked like a court dandy. Then I got a terrible shock.  Standing there calmly was Sir Isaac. He was staring into a dainty silver hand mirror. He caught the sword without taking his eyes off the mirror. He was nicknamed the smiling Knight.  Now I could see why.  He had a terrible scar from ear to ear that set his face in a permanent hideous smile.  I had never seen him without his mask. He was staring into the mirror, as if mesmerized by his deformity.  It made me wish to die by the sword, not to be disfigured thus. I had heard that Prince Victor was culpable and I did not doubt it.  How strange, in this moment of peril and frenzy, I noticed how smartly dressed he was.  A neat finely combed wig with a green bow and a lavishly embroidered green and gold waistcoat, with matching diamond buckled shoes.  He bowed courteously and threw me my sword.
 ‘Your sword master Jeffery.’ A thought occurred to me.  The famous knight had bowed to me and called me by my name.  Why should he call a Two Club by his name?  It was too familiar. The gulf between a Two Club and a knight was as if between two card tables. What was going on?  But I did not have time to ponder this.  As I nodded back at the good knight, I levelled my sword and turned just in time.  My assassins were on me again, thrusting with their rapiers.
 In spite of my newfound courage, I shuddered at the speed and force with which Jackson was lunging at me.  Yet, at the same time, felt I had found his weakness.  In a reaction born through training, I managed to parry away the Two Spade’s violent sword in time and block and hold the Purser’s sword with my dagger.  He panted and hissed with frustration. 
Jackson had spun around with great agility like a powerful dancer and in a whirl of sun-flashing blade made a balestra, lunging so deep he slightly lost his balance hovering on the edge of his thrust.  I was right!  That was his weakness, but with the puffing purser distracting me, I could do nothing about it.  I had to get rid of the purser to stand a chance.  I parried away Jackson’s sword, and slashed the purser with a riposte, my sword sank into his stomach like a knife into butter.  He let out a squeal like a pig and grabbed the foible end of my sword.  I yanked it out and two, three fingers fell on to the ground.  He stared with horror at the pond of blood at his feet and his three fingers on it, like canoes.  Then he fainted.
This had distracted both Jackson and myself.  He was the quicker to respond.  With startling speed, he struck violently in a wide sweep at my neck.  My reactions worked before I could think, raising my dagger to fend off the blow, parallel to his cut.
It saved my life but the force of it slammed the flat of my dagger against my neck and the bouncing flat of his sword against my head.  Some ladies above screamed.  I had an instant headache and reeled uncertainly on my legs, slid on the pool of blood and fingers, and that slip saved me, for I felt the whoosh of wind from his sword narrowly miss my head again, he was fast, he made another cut at me but the purser helped me again, I tripped over his body and rolled. 
Obviously Jackson’s temper was flaring, he did not wish to give me time to recover, and he charged forward.  I made an angulation, an exaggerated angle in presentation, and stamped my foot in an appel.  This disconcerted him slightly, he hesitated then made a balestra, an attack with a jump followed by a lunge and there was that shaky lunge again.  I made a caver, an attack angled around his blade, a coup sec, a crisp firm meeting of blades that is on the inside line, and a flick.  Now he had almost completely lost his balance.  I made a lunge and finale, the tip of my blade glancing off, then in between his ribs.  He gave an abrupt scream that was in unison with some of the ladies above, and held his torn chest.  I kissed my sword, nodded quickly at Sir Isaac (who I noticed was adjusting his wig with the aid of the hand mirror) and moved in for the coup de grace.  Jackson went to pieces, he stumbled backwards, muttering appeals for mercy while senselessly thrashing the air with his sword.
Suddenly from behind there was a crash of gates, the thunder of hoofs and the clarion shrill of bugles.
‘What in the bells of hell is happening here?!’ A high-pitched voice strained with the effort of yelling forcefully.  I did not turn, wary of this Two Spades treachery. 
Then Sir Isaak’s silky and relaxed voice called to me, with an edge of humour.
‘Tut tut Jeffrey Lock, you have your arse to the King!’  I stiffened and felt paralysed.  Oh my dear God, the King.  What Two Club had ever turned his back on the King and survived?
‘Turn you insolent pip, or I will have you decked and boxed!’
 I turned quickly and there was the king, looking down at me from his horse, his face red with rage; the Diamond king, back from his hunting trip, with his entourage of knights and guards.
I fell to my knees, muttering profound apologies and bowing so low that my nose almost touched the cool paving stones of the great yard.  I found myself staring closely at a large yellow diamond on the dismembered index finger of the unconscious purser.  Was that mine now?  Perhaps I could give it to Topaz.  Just then, to my surprise, blood from my head dripped on to the diamond ring, and suddenly it stung like hell.
‘Look up at me, boy.’  His tone was less of a whine now.
 I looked up.  The King  (except for his voice) was everything you would expect.  A tall, imposing man in his late forties, no, fifties, as old as Father Ten, thickset, with a thick blond beard with white streaks.  Even his hunting suit was a splendid blend of the red diamond rhombus motif on white and gold, with white fur collar and cuffs.  I wanted to look at his sword because I had heard that the sheath was so encrusted with diamonds on gold that, because of its weight, he could always pull his sword out while holding on to the reins.
I noticed too the Diamond Prince David, a good-looking man, with blond hair that fell on to his shoulders.  He looked as resplendent as his father but because of his youth more glamorous.
‘What is the meaning and cause of this fight?’ The king asked.
  I began to stammer something about honour.  ‘What is that? Speak clearly, boy!’  The king ordered, his voice shrill again.
I glanced up at the princess.  She was looking down at me, her loveliness inspiring and feeding my courage.  I told the King what had happened, my voice clear and bold.
The King turned to look at Sir Isaac.  ‘Is this account true?’
 Sir Isaac nodded respectfully.  ‘And I am sure (he said, looking up), that the good people of this court will testify to this.  Including your dear Queen, and your pretty daughter… (He turned to look at Prince Victor) …and the ugly prince.’
The king leant forward to hiss at Sir Isaac.  ‘Be cautioned, smiling knight, or he will turn your ugly smile into tragedy.’  Sir Isaac nodded dutifully.
I heard and felt a movement behind me. It must be Jackson moving in.  Some ladies screamed above and Topaz called out a warning. With surprising speed and agility, Sir Isaac had drawn his sword and made an athletic balestra, a jump forward and a lunge at Jackson.  I looked around.  Jackson was already on his back dead.  Sir Isaac pulled the sword from his heart and turned to look critically at me.  ‘Always finish the job, Jeffery.’
I turned to look back up to the King.  ‘Well, good Jeffrey Two Club, you seem to owe your life to Sir Isaac twice.’  I nodded.
 ‘Yes, Your Majesty, someday I will repay him twice.’  The King laughed.  It sounded like an old tavern maid sitting on a drunkard’s hand.  ‘What, in Clubs?’  There was laughter from the king’s entourage.
‘What is your business here?’
 ‘A locksmith, sire, I have been promoted upstairs.’
The king looked all around him, confidently inviting support.  ‘A locksmith, Well, you certainly seemed to have taken up the right position!’
He roared with laughter, or rather bleated.  Everybody immediately joined in so the laughter, coarse like the horse’s wind echoed around the courtyard.  I looked up. Topaz had gone.  I looked down.  Sir Isaac, who will always laugh silently, delicately plucked a large gold silk handkerchief from his lace cuff.  It was embroidered in scarlet, with a motif of his crest, and his monogram.  With a flourish, he bowed and handed it to me for my wound and stared into my eyes with a transfusion of pride.