‘Nothing to do with me,’ Hugh said, insolently closing his eyes.
‘You had better do as you are bid, serf, or-’
Suddenly van Relenghes became aware that they weren’t alone. The men who had been waiting at the other side of the yard had silently walked up and now formed a close circle about them.
Nicholas smiled. ‘We’ve been asked to have a word with you, Fleming.’
Van Relenghes went pale as he realised he was trapped. He kept his hand from his sword – he would have had three men grab his arm before he could pull it two inches from its scabbard – and tried to be calm. ‘What do you want?’
‘You’ve wronged our master, haven’t you? He wants us to explain that he doesn’t like people telling villainous lies about him.’
‘This is something I should discuss with your master. Now, if you-’
‘Oh no, sir. He asked us to speak to you, most particular like,’ said Nicholas, and moved to stand directly in front of the Fleming as he attempted to sidle away.
‘I have to speak to the Lady Katharine.’
‘No need. This is my master’s hall, isn’t it?’ said Nicholas conversationally. He nodded, and one of his companions, a heavy man with a wall-eye, took hold of van Relenghes’s sleeve.
‘Keep away from me! Leave go, scum, or I’ll-’
Hugh watched impassively as Nicholas reached for his dagger. A second man grabbed the Fleming’s free arm, and he was held still. With that Hugh’s expression changed.
‘Here, you can’t do that! Give him room to swing his blade.’
Nicholas pushed him away with his free hand. ‘Go back inside if you don’t want to see a man punished.’
‘Fight him fairly, or leave him alone,’ Hugh stated. ‘This is no better than an outlaw’s trick. Let him get his sword out.’
‘Piss off, serf, unless you want to join him!’ hissed the walleyed man, and Hugh stood stock-still a moment.
He gazed at their faces. Mostly bearded, two of them scarred, one with a single eye and a damp, empty socket where the other should have been. All had the same animal lust to inflict pain. They would attack Hugh too, unarmed as he was, if they had the slightest provocation. Resigned, he took a cautious step backwards, then another.
‘Now, Master Fleming,’ said Nicholas comfortably.
‘ Godfrey!’ van Relenghes screamed, wide-eyed with terror, as the blade moved towards his face.
Hugh bolted inside, colliding with someone running out. It was Godfrey. The master-of-arms tripped over Hugh’s foot, and fell headlong into the wall, striking it with a dull thud and collapsing. Hugh had stumbled as well, but he went over Godfrey, who cushioned his fall. Rising quickly, he hurried into the hall, making straight for Daniel.
‘Thanks,’ he said, and before the astonished steward could stop him, he snatched Daniel’s staff of office and sped back outside.
The Fleming’s face was a bloody mask, and Nicholas, laughing, was about to make a second long slash, when Hugh exploded into their midst.
His first blow caught the man on van Relenghes’s left, and he crumpled without a sound. Before he had fallen, Hugh had whipped his weapon into the quarter-staff fighting position, and swept it down on Nicholas’s knife hand. The man gave a shriek, more of surprise than actual pain, dropping his blade, and while the group remained frozen with surprise, Hugh had time to thrust at Wall-eye: the point of the stave hit him high in the belly, and he fell, gasping loudly as he tried to catch his breath. Then Hugh could face the others.
There were three remaining, and Hugh was comfortable with the odds. Nicholas had drawn his sword, a single-edge falchion which had seen better days; one of the others had a heavy Danish axe, while the third had a bill. He was Hugh’s main problem: a man with a weapon of the same length and reach.
He saw the bill move to his left, and dropped the point of the staff to parry, immediately trying a stab to the gut which was knocked aside with ease. The man knew how to handle his weapon, Hugh noted glumly. The bill swung low, aiming at his legs, and Hugh withdrew his left foot as the blade passed, immediately stepping forward to attack the man’s open flank, out as he did so, Nicholas slashed at him, and Hugh had to swing away, retreating before the sword. The axe swung in a mean arc, and Hugh took another pace back.
There were voices now, people shouting, one man egging on Hugh’s opponents, the rest calling for peace, but Hugh kept his eyes on the three men before him. They had sorted themselves out now: the sword was on Hugh’s left, axe right, and bill before him.
Making a quick decision, Hugh sprang to his right, feinted with his staff, making the axeman swing to defend his right, and then reversed his grip, sending the butt smashing into the side of the man’s head.
As the axeman grunted and fell, his axe hit the bill of the man behind. Hugh quickly took advantage, and swung the top of the staff into his throat. With a hideous gurgling scream that sent a hot thrill of excitement into Hugh’s blood, he dropped his bill and fell to his knees, grabbing at his throat as he fought for air. Hugh sent the pole’s point at his head above the ear and he fell without another sound. Wall-eye was breathing stertorously, resting on all fours, so Hugh casually dropped him with a short cut of the staff at the back of his neck.
But all the time his attention was fixed on Nicholas. Hugh walked around the fallen men, his staff pointing at the wary survivor, who gripped his sword with both hands, staring in fascination at the point of the stave as it moved slowly, from side to side, then up and down, at no time more than a few feet from his own neck.
Nicholas had been in many fights, but never had he been foolish enough to stand against a man with a staff when he only had a sword. A wooden pole was of little use in the hands of someone who had no idea how to use it, but a man who was skilled with a pole was always at an advantage against a man with a sword. As the iron-shod point of the thick oaken stick darted to his left, Nicholas instinctively moved the blade to guard his side. The jarring shock of the two weapons colliding was enough to make him wince.
All at once the point swung low, aiming at his knees, and he had to leap back, away from his men. He had hoped that one would get up and help him, or that this furious little servant would stumble on one of them, but now even that vain hope was taken from him. Nicholas knew he was going to lose, and when he did, he would have no defence unless his master admitted ordering him to attack.
‘It was my master!’ he shouted. ‘I was ordered to wound the Fleming because of what he said about my master.’
‘So what?’ demanded Hugh, and poked the stick forward again, this time aiming at Nicholas’s chest. The blow was badly timed, and easily blocked, but with a weapon of little more than two feet long, Nicholas couldn’t take the advantage, not against a staff of nearly six feet. It was hopeless.
Hugh had his measure, and he began to strike faster: first at his left, then his right; up towards Nicholas’s head, down at his ankles; back towards his shoulders, down to thrust at his belly, all the time pressing forward, never allowing Nicholas time to relax from a blow before the next was in motion, never allowing him a moment to catch his breath, constantly seeking an opening, shoving forward.
It wasn’t that Hugh had a desire to hurt the man, but since he had become involved in a fight which was not of his making, Hugh was determined to win it.
The end was not long in coming. Nicholas saw the attack at his head, saw the pole move from right to left as if Hugh was going to swing at the other side of his head at the last moment, moved his sword, and then, just too late, saw that the staff wasn’t where it should have been: instead it was coming straight towards his face.