“Okay, gentlemen, give us a clean, honourable demonstration of your skills. How will you decide the victor?”
Glaucon called over to them both, “Last man standing wins.”
Kratez turned to Xenophon and lifted an eyebrow in question. Xenophon wasn’t happy, but he really couldn’t back down at the challenge. He nodded in agreement. Kratez stepped back and looked to the crowd. There was a reasonable amount of space for dancing or even fighting in the middle of the room, but it wasn’t massive. A number of chairs, seats and tables were dotted about. Drinks rested on many surfaces, and the dull light was darkened further by thick smoke.
“Let’s do this!” called out Glaucon.
Kratez stepped back, and the two men moved forward to start their demonstration. They were of a similar height and build with both just under two metres tall. Glaucon was slightly larger built, but both had the bodies of athletic young men who had never faced the hardship of physical labour. Xenophon lowered his sword behind him and to the right, pushing out his buckler in front. Glaucon, on the other hand, moved to an aggressive stand with the blade held up at shoulder height, and his hand protected by the buckler.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this demonstration is of traditional European sword and buckler combat. It is an old fighting form used for hundreds of years. The sword would have been sharp on both edges and along the tip. Note the lack of hand protection, a major weakness of this type of sword. The buckler, or small shield, in the left hand is primarily for protection,” Kratez explained, before being interrupted by the first clash.
Glaucon lurched forward and zigzagged towards Xenophon. As he came into range, he cut down and to his left. The blade passed under his buckler and slid against the rim of Xenophon’s own buckler. He then followed up with a cut back along the same arc of attack but with the back of the sword. His final movement in his initial attack was a quick twist of the wrist. It delivered a deadly horizontal cut that almost connected with Xenophon’s neck. The young man leapt backwards and crashed into a table, sending drinks and glass to the floor.
“Nice try, Glaucon!” laughed Xenophon as he straightened himself up.
Xenophon jumped forward delivering a feint to Glaucon’s chest. As the blade moved in to parry, he lifted his hand and twisted the blade around to cut into his shoulder with the back of the blade. It struck hard, and the impact made Glaucon drop his own sword. The audience cheered lustily at the sight of the blow being struck.
“Are you alright?” asked Xenophon, concerned that he might have hurt his friend.
Glaucon lifted his blade and swung it around, flexing his wrist. He stepped in, saying nothing. Xenophon could sense the hostility and anger in the young man, so moved his sword and buckler forward. He’d been in this situation before, where one fighter had been struck and was keen to retaliate to try and wipe the shame. The attacks came in hard and fast. He was forced to use his buckler and sword to fend off a dozen strikes before taking cover behind one of the many floor-to-ceiling pillars.
“You’re not making much progress are you?” he laughed, more out of nervous surprise at not being hit than from arrogance.
“Funny!” muttered Glaucon, and he rushed forward. Sensing an opportunity, Xenophon ducked low and lifted his buckler up to protect his head. He stabbed forward and directly into the centre of his opponent’s body mass. Glaucon smashed his blade down hard but was deflected by his buckler. The blade struck him just below the sternum and knocked him back almost a metre before he was able to stand upright. If it had been a sharp sword, it would have penetrated through his body and pushed out of his back.
The crowd cheered their approval, and Kratez stepped forward to intercede. The old man may be too frail to engage in the same kind of activity, but he knew full well when a fight was about to move from a friendly exchange to something more serious.
“Screw this, let’s get the real blades out,” said Glaucon loudly. He dropped the weapons on the floor and marched to the case. He reached inside the blackness and pulled out two large metal longswords. The great two-handed swords were a weapon of brutality and skill. Weighing double the weight of the swords they had been using, it was carefully balanced to make it suitable for cutting and thrusting. Contrary to what most people thought, they were wickedly fast and capable of causing serious injuries from but cut and blunt trauma. The sharp cutting demonstrations they had made were useful evidence for the deadly weapons and their use on the battlefield.
“Come on, that’s enough,” said Xenophon, as he did his best to discourage his friend.
“No, you wanted to fight. Let’s show them what we can do.”
He threw the blade to Xenophon and then chased after it, barely giving him a chance to prepare himself. They clashed metal blades together as both cut down from the right. The ding of metal caught the audience by surprise, as it was very unusual to see primitive metal weapons being used in this way. Glaucon lifted his hands and hilt upwards and drove underneath to knee Xenophon in the stomach. The blow was hard and sent him staggering back.
Is he mad? These are just bated blades, and we’re not wearing armour! thought Xenophon.
Glaucon jumped forward and brought his blade down in a powerful vertical cut. Xenophon, still stunned by the strike to his stomach, was barely able to lift his sword in time and took part of the impact into his shoulder blade. His knees buckled, and he dropped to the floor.
“Enough!” shouted Kratez. Glaucon manoeuvred for another cut, and it took three of the spectators to grab him before he realised how wild he was becoming. He stopped and dropped the blade to the floor, stepping to the fallen Xenophon.
“Sorry, buddy, I think I got a bit carried away there.”
Xenophon coughed and lifted up to one knee.
“You’re not kidding,” he said, doing his best to laugh, but the pain in his shoulder was spreading to his chest. Glaucon reached over and helped the young man to his feet. He lifted his hand up high in the air and lifted Xenophon’s as well. The audience roared in approval, and Xenophon wondered through the dripping sweat if it was the bloodlust of watching the fight, or genuine interest that drove them. He suspected the former.
“The result, they’re announcing it now!” called out one of the women towards the rear of the group.
“Everybody quiet, put it up on the displays!” cried Kratez.
Part of the wall flashed with light and then displayed a wide, panoramic view of the Presidential Palace. The building was the most important political structure in the Alliance, and from where supreme authority in both Attica and the entire Empire was controlled. The President herself stepped into view, a powerful woman in her late fifties. She had been a Captain in the early years of the war and won the votes of many of the military community that had served over the years. In the Alliance democracy, however, her role was limited. The real power lay in the permanent members of the Boule; the veterans who presided over official business and decided what would be discussed and what vote would take place. The President was a mere figurehead who represented the Alliance and made long and boring speeches. At least, that was Xenophon’s assessment.
“My fellow citizens. Today is a grave day indeed. As you know, we have been involved with border skirmishes and open battle with the Laconian League for nearly thirty years. Today a vote was cast by every single citizen member of the Alliance to make a decision, possibly the most important one of the century. Until now, our forces have assisted our allied worlds against the oppressive actions of the League. So far, we have avoided a direct confrontation with the Laconians themselves. With the mobilisation of their entire military they have struck our friends, and they have been powerless to hold them back. It is one thing to provide military assistance, and quite another to put the lives of the men and women of the Alliance in harm’s way.