“Say, rather, that you are!” And with no word of warning, Camano lunged.
Chapter 4
Matt leaped back and aside, parrying, then riposted in time to catch another hasty and ill-timed lunge on his blade. He caught it in a bind, stepping right up to Camano corps a corps to say, “No wonder your father was so glad to give me hospitality. Do you d’Arretes always attack your guests?‘
“Mind your manners, commoner!” Camano snarled, and shoved Matt away, leaping back. Matt was tempted to hold rock-steady and make the boy look ridiculous, but decided to be a little charitable and fell back a step. Camano slashed and lunged again; Matt parried both times, then dodged the thrust that followed and stepped in corps a corps once more, catching the youth’s sword hand in a vise grip long enough to say, “Didn’t your fencing master teach you how to riposte?”
Camano’s answer was drowned in an outraged shout from his buddies, and Matt sprang away-he had just delivered a humiliation, by catching Camano’s sword hand. Red-faced and enraged, Camano circled his sword overhead in a figure eight, and Matt felt a twinge of real alarm-if the kid’s grip slipped, someone could get hurt! He was tempted to lunge in under the whirling blade, but resisted-Camano might be faster than he looked. He wasn’t. When Camano slashed out with the blade, Matt saw it coming a mile away and had plenty of time to leap back and swing his own blade to parry. Metal exploded against metal, and Matt felt the impact all the way up to his shoulder. He leaped back in alarm, realizing for the first time that the kid was actually trying to kill him!The bystanders shouted and applauded, apparently figuring that Camano had done something skillful. So did Camano-flushed with pleasure, he went into the figure eight again. Matt was suddenly done with courtesy. With full seriousness he lunged under the whirling blade, slashing Camano’s doublet just the tiniest bit with his sword tip, then leaping out just as the youth cut down with a cry of anger. His blade clashed on the floor, and Matt leaped in to hold down the point, then pivoted to swing his dagger straight at Camano’s throat. He slowed his stab, though, and Camano just barely managed to parry with his own dagger. The bystanders shouted in anger and alarm. For a moment Camano was caught with his arms crossed and his balance precarious. One sidewise kick and Matt could have stretched him on the floor-but it would have embarrassed the young man too much, and his folks were already on their feet, shouting in anger. Matt, ever the good guest, leaped back and let Camano recover. The boy’s sword swung straight up toward Matt’s gizzard. It didn’t have much force, coming straight up off the floor and without much room for the swing. Matt sidestepped, brought his own sword up under it, and swung the boy’s blade high as he stepped in to mutter, “I told you to riposte!” before he leaped clear and waited. Face flaming, Camano did indeed riposte and moved around Matt warily, sword tip circling-but his friends were shouting objections, and Count d’Arrete signaled to a guard. Two knights stepped in, swords upraised, crying, “Hold!”
Matt was all too glad to step back and lower his blade. Camano leaped forward, stabbing. The knights shouted, caught at him, and conveniently missed. Matt caught the kid’s lunge on his blade and circled tight, ending with a sharp downward thrust. Camano’s blade struck sparks from the floor again, and Matt set his dagger to the boy’s throat. “They said hold!”
Camano froze, glaring hatred at Matt, his chest heaving. “Unhand that boy, sir!” the Count d’Arrete cried. “Gladly, milord.” Matt sprang away-but he brought Camano’s sword with him. The boy cried out as the hilt wrenched out of his hand, then he stood there cradling his fingers. Matt quelled a surge of contempt and presented the weapon to one of the intervening knights, then quickly sheathed his own blade before anyone could make an issue of it. That didn’t stop them, of course. Everyone at the high table was roaring in anger, and Count d’Arrete called out, “How poorly you repay our hospitality, sir! Did you not know the lad meant only sport?”
Sport? Yeah, sure, it had only been all in good fun-as long as their boy was winning! But Matt couldn’t say that aloud; instead, he bowed and said, “I assure you, my lord, I only answered in sport myself-in sport, and to give a younger knight some edification in his use of the blade.”
The court stared at the subtle insult, and the count reddened. “I’m sorry to see I have offended.” Matt bowed again. “Since I have transgressed against your hospitality, I shall take my leave of you. Thanks for this good dinner, sir.”
The count blanched; courteous though the words might have been, everyone present knew it for the set-down it was, especially since they all knew that Matt had really been the injured party, and that if there had been any offense against the hospitality of chivalry, it had been Count d’Arrete’s, not Matt’s. “Nay, sir, stay!” the count cried. Matt paused, then slowly turned. “Right or wrong, I cannot turn a guest out in the middle of the night! Surely there has only been a mistake of intention here, Sir Matthew, not a true wish to offend!”
“Of course, my lord.” Matt bowed yet again. “I trust you do not think that I truly intended insult!” Humiliation, maybe, but outright insult? Well, not quite-on his side, at least “As for young Sir Camano, young men and wine have always made a volatile combination.”
Count d’Arrete stared in surprise. Then he laughed, clapping his hands. The whole court took the cue and laughed with him, and the tension was broken. “Yes, quite apt, Sir Matthew!” Count d’Arrete nodded and chuckled. “I was as hot-blooded as he, in my youth.”
“I do not doubt it for a second,” Matt murmured. “Come, sit down!” The count waved at the seat on the bench Matt had been occupying before. “You must still be my guest at board, and yet stay the night in my castle! You shall find our other sports more congenial than this, I trust!”
Matt sat, but he didn’t trust anything, not for a second. A footman showed him to his room with a flambeau and lit a candle on the table before he left. Matt suppressed the urge to tip, and locked the door securely behind the man, then looked out the arrow slit to make sure there was no convenient way for anyone to climb in before he sat down to think over the day’s events. There wasn’t a question in his mind that Camano d’Arrete had meant to kill him, making it look like an accident-not hard, considering what a klutz the boy was when it came to using a sword. He had taken Matt by surprise, and Matt hadn’t really been all that far from using magic.
Everything considered, it made for a very full report to his queen. Matt took parchment, quill, and ink out of his saddlebags and sat down to write. “My dearest darling,” the letter began, and what came after that is absolutely none of our business, at least for the first paragraph or two. Suffice it to say that the letter reassured Alisande on a number of points, then went on to report on the mission she had given him: There doesn’t seem to be anything resembling a definite plan to make the people discontent. It’s just that the families down here have relatives on the other side of the border, and they visit back and forth-and, of course, they talk about the really important things in life, such as taxes and houses and how well the children are eating.
For a long time, the Merovencian branches of the families have been able to brag about how well-off they are-but now, the Latrurian relatives are catching up, and even getting ahead in some ways. This is happening with serfs, yeomen, gentry, and nobility alike-the Smiths suddenly feel as if they’re falling behind the other Smiths, and the Joneses in Merovence feel that they’re not keeping up with the Joneses in Latruria. It’s happening in the marketplaces, too. Peasants come in from Latruria to sell produce for themselves and for their lords, and while they’re standing around waiting for customers, of course they get to gossiping with the peasant in the next booth, who’s from Merovence. A few potential customers happen by-Merovencian, of course-and overhear the conversation, then ask a few more questions.