"Initially, nothing happened. I was there eating and talking about trivial matters with one of the artisans I connected with that day-my treat. I will warn you that the taverns of Nordhausen have a Branntwein that should be called fool-killer. One glass and you are a fool. Two glasses and you are so numb you will probably be dead the next morning."
"So how many glasses did you drink?" I asked.
"Half of one, and that probably led to what happened next. I was getting annoyed by the very loud noises coming from a table nearby where a group of youths were eating and, well, being particularly exuberant. I do not usually mind similar habits. God only knows that when you are in your early twenties that is the time to behave foolishly. Hell, maybe five years ago I would have asked to join. But this time this group of young and very well-dressed youngsters was being a little too political for my tastes."
"What do you mean?"
"They started attacking the Piazza government of Thuringia and Franconia, and Mike Stearns, and, well, insulting almost everyone in Grantville, saying that they were subverting things and destroying the natural order of things. I guess that is all right-I mean, probably a good portion of the Germans think the same, the ones who did not take advantage of the opportunities brought forth by the Ring of Fire. However, when they started insulting the working classes, our fellow Americans, and consequently every foreigner in Grantville, I reacted."
Uh-oh, I thought. "And that did not end well, I guess?"
"That is correct. I started chastising them, but you know my German is coarse and my accent is thick. And I was feeling the Branntwein a bit. Before long I did realize I was just fanning the flames instead of putting them out. I was about to go back to my place and try to ignore all the noise, when the leader of the group asked me where I was from. When he learned I was from Roma, he started raving about me being the lackey of the pope and the cardinals and other, notgentlemanly things. He had also had more Branntwein than he needed, because he was slurring his words. But then he repeated slowly, making sure everyone around could hear, that he was Franz Jure Vorhauer, that he was connected to Graf Wolfgang III von Mansfeld, that his ancestors loved visiting Rome in 1527 and his house is still full of souvenirs from that visit. Then he stated that he and I must be cousins, because he is pretty sure his great-grandfather paid my great-grandmother in a brothel in Roma and left her begging for more."
Master Girolamo drank some wine, then continued, "Now, seeing that I was with someone from the working class, and not exactly looking like a dashing swordsman, I can only imagine he did this thinking I would leave the place fearing violent consequences if I reacted to his words. That is usually how duels are started, you know, by someone underestimating the consequence of their actions. But I did not cower in fear. I took the left glove out of my hand and I slapped him hard with it. I should have known better. Me, a foreign visitor, very likely a commoner, challenging him to a duel in a public place, in front of his friends. I left him with only two choices, none good, because one of us would have ended up hurt. He could have conjured with his friends to have me beaten for daring such a thing; or he could have accepted the duel thinking it would be an easy thing to finish. I saw the same thoughts passing in front of his eyes. The temptation to simply attack me there on the tavern floor quickly vanished and he accepted meeting me at dawn to settle things. In a way I got lucky, because it is not unheard of for a foe to be murdered by his rival's friends just before the duel. He had the advantage of numbers and did not know I carry a revolver. They could have attacked me in a back alley out of the tavern and I am not sure I'd be here to tell the story. Still, surviving the first confrontation left me with a big quandary to solve."
"And that was?" I asked.
"Well, in Germany duel customs and traditions vary significantly from town to town. I was not sure what I should have done for the day after. I was also missing some worthy seconds. That detail alone might have invalidated the duel with no one to back my cause; and besides, it would have been very dangerous."
"More dangerous than a duel?"
"Oh, Mary Mother of God, of course it is! You should know these things. Seconds are crucial." Girolamo was exasperated, I could tell. He put his glass down and counted on his fingers. "They make sure both parties respect the rules. They make sure you do not get stabbed while removing your coat; or attacked on the way to the duel by a party of hired cutthroats. They also serve as witnesses that you acted honorably. And, finally, they protect you if the other seconds decide to join the fray if they are not able to stay still and do nothing while their friend fights. No seconds means putting your life completely in the hands of the other party. No one is so trusting, not even among men of honor."
"So how did you find the seconds you needed?"
"In the oldest way in the world, I guess," he replied. "I paid them. And they were not cheap. Dueling is 'officially' illegal, and the fact that I really did not know anyone in town did not help. It basically took me all night, but I finally found a couple of retired soldiers that needed some extra support and were not squeamish to take part in a risky endeavor. Plenty of them all over the place if you know where to look, with this war that has been going on and off for so long. They weren't gentlemen or famous fencers, but I guess they knew how to use those sharp irons they carried with them."
"So you did make it in time?"
Master Girolamo picked up his wine glass again. "Barely. The dueling place was near a small mill a few miles outside of the walls, hidden from the main road by a small row of poplars. We had to move fast to get there in time. When we arrived we found the young man who challenged me, his two seconds and a surgeon. They were all ready and the event seemed quite formal. Of that I was happy; the more formal the setting, the less chances of surprises. These people seemed willing to play by the rules."
"That was good for you," I said. "But you still ended up having to run. What happened?"
"Well, as I said, I was a foreigner in a foreign land, and about to fight an important local. I needed to win fast and leave no doubt I played clean and without any trick. The more prolonged the duel, the harder it would be to prove I dominated it. I hoped I was about to fight someone untrained, cocky, and inexperienced, someone who would have attacked me blindly. Someone easy to dispatch."
"I take it that was not the case?" I responded.
"No. As soon as we crossed swords, I knew I was dealing with someone who knew what he was doing. Fencing is both an art and a science. In a way, it is a dialogue between two people, almost like playing music together. I tested him, tried to dominate his blade, closed at a distance when I could strike and tried a false attack. When he did not panic or react without composure but simply parried and riposted knowing my attack was false, I knew he knew the tune and could play along with me. He was well trained in the German style, so he made lateral steps much more than we are used to down in the peninsula, and he used many more cuts than what I consider healthy, but he knew what he was doing, and that was both terrifying and exhilarating."
"Why so?"
"Well, because being able to fence with someone good, keeping up a conversation with very high stakes is a testament to the art. But I also knew then that if I made a mistake-and I am human, it could happen-there would be very little ground to correct it. In the end, I guess God loved me best, because the mistake was his, and I got the opportunity I wanted. It happened so quickly I am still surprised it ended that fast."
"Can you explain?"
"Sure." Master Girolamo stood up and looked around, beckoning to me to get to my feet. "Johannes, are those walking sticks we found in the house still behind that enormous piece of furniture they call a 'lazy boy'?"