Alexandros had been riding that day and he and Lord Djeree and Feeleepos were dicing when the new guard first announced the names of the visitors, then admitted them.
The Sea Lord remained seated, as the two offered short, perfunctory bows. Shaidos spoke: “Lord Alexandros, we two gentlemen are here to present the honorable challenge of the Lord Vahrohnos Paulos of Notohpolis. He …”
“Is it not customary,” snapped Alexandros coldly, “for a challenger to present himself in person when the challengee is of higher rank?”
Shaidos flushed with anger. “I have endeavored to be civil to you, but I am a nobleman of Kehnooryos Ehlahs. I’ll hear no prating of custom from the lips of a common pirate!”
Feeleepos started forward, but Alexandros restrained him. Smiling lazily, he remarked, almost conversationally, “Lord Shaidos, you have just insulted my rank. These gentlemen beside me bear witness to that fact and to the additional fact that I hereby issue challenge to you. You may, of course, set time and place and weapons, but, if it suits your fancy, I’ll be happy to engage you after I’ve finished with the Vahrohnos. He does want to fight, I hope. Or are you two simply scouting out my suite for another of his midnight incursions?”
Shaidos’ flush deepened. “I accept your challenge, but I don’t think you’ll be able to meet me. Lord Paulos has suffered injury and deep humiliation at your hands, and he insists that you fight him to the death.”
Alexandros waved a hand airily. “Oh, very well, I accept your master’s challenge. I’ll even excuse his absence; as I recall, he was neither walking or talking very well when last I saw him.” Lord Djeree snickered loudly.
“According to the Code,” announced Shaidos, “you have choice of time, place, and weapons.”
Alexandros nodded. “Armor will be helmets and scaleshirts; it’s easier to swim in scale than in plate.” “Sw… swim … ?” Shaidos stammered. “Yes, swim, to keep from drowning,” Alexandros answered. “Go and tell your master the time is in three days on a raft moored in the main channel of the river. Tell him that, as weapons, I choose boarding-pikes.”
“But …” began Shaidos, “that is not a gentleman’s weapon. I mean, Lord Paulos will never accept … I mean, it is a waste of time to …”
“Go and tell him, I said!” roared Alexandros. It was a very hot, humid day. Anyone who could stayed indoors, but not Shaidos and Hulios. Alexandros toyed with them for hours, keeping the two scuttling between the palace and the mansion of the Vahrohnos, until they were both wringing wet and drooping.
Each of his suggestions of time or place or weapons was geared to bring instant rejection from the peacock-proud Vahrohnos. Feeleepos, after his first shock had abated, grinned almost constantly, while Lord Djeree all but rolled on the floor in his mirth.
When, in late afternoon, the two emissaries plodded back into Alexandros’ suite, they were limp with exhaustion. Their hair, so carefully curled and draped on their first visit, hung dull and lifeless. Their copious sweat had washed the last trace of cosmetics from their faces.
“Lord Alexandros,” said Shaidos hoarsely, “my lord declines to engage you in the manner you last requested. His refusal is in honor, as butchers’ cleavers are not the weapons of gentlemen.”
Alexandros had tired of the sport. “When push comes to shove,” he said gratingly, “gentlemen fight with any weapon they can lay hand to. But I will relent, I will give the Vahrohnos what he wants. So hear my stipulations well.
“I will meet the Vahrohnos at the second hour after dawn in three days. I will meet him in the practice-yard of the guard’s barracks. My attendants will be Lord Lieutenant Feeleepos and Lord Djeree Pahtuhr. Armor will be plate cuirasses, studded leatherkilts, plate greaves, and open-faced helms. Weapons will be three-foot bucklers, and one dirk, in addition to the sword. The sword is to be no more than one hand wide, nor six hands long; your standard-issue infantry sword would be a good choice. Think you that your overly choosy master will accept these terms?”
Shaidos cleared his throat. “I am certain that he will, sir. I set identical conditions for our own meeting … if ever it comes to pass.”
Alexandros smiled coldly. “It will, little bumboy, it will. Have no fear.”
Though cloudy, the morning was bright. Duels were supposedly a private affair, but news of this one had traveled widely, for Lord Paulos had many friends … and twice as many enemies. The yard was a frequent setting for duels, many of them as well attended as this one promised to be, so the guardsmen had set up the wooden bleachers and awnings the afternoon before; by dawn, every inch of board had been rented, and the guards were dragging stools and benches from their barracks to seat latecomers … at an exorbitant price, of course. Rumors that High-Lady Mara was in attendance passed through the throng, but since all the ladies were heavily veiled, there was no certain knowledge. Guardsmen passed through the throng, as well—a few hawking cool wine and sweet meats and heavily salted biscuits, most engaged in making bets on one contender or the other.
Within the yard, Feeleepos and Djeree reported back to Alexandros after examining Lord Paulos’ gear and weapons. “His cuirass and greaves are fancier but of no better quality. He had a nasal on his helm, but we made ‘ them remove it. There is a springspike in the boss of his buckler and the iron rim is knife-sharp all around. You should make him use another… . You can, you know, under the Code.”
“The men of Kehnooryos Makahdohnyah often cany shields like that,” replied Alexandros slowly. “No, I’ll not protest. Let him bear that shield. Perhaps I can show him a pirate trick when I’ve tired him enough.
“What of his sword and dirk?”
“I don’t think his dirk blade is envenomed, Alex.” Djeree grinned. “But I pissed it down from one end to the other, just for luck.”
Now Alexandros knew what had prompted the angry shouts at the other end of the yard. It was well known that somehow urine would cleanse most poison pastes from steel. But to imply that someone like Lord Paulos might bring a poisoned dirk to a duel…
“And what was the outcome of that little episode, Djeree?”
Still grinning hugely, the old fighter shrugged. “I’m to meet him next week—if you leave anything of him. We’re to fight with sabers, mounted.”
“The sword Lord Paulos brought was a ground-down broad sword, the type they normally swing with two hands in the Middle Kingdoms; of course, the hilt had been shortened and the blade was the proper width and length, but the weapon was far heavier than yours, due to the fact it was half a finger thicker,” stated Feeleepos soberly. “Djeree and I protested, naturally, and Captain Nathos backed us up after he’d swung and hefted it. So Paulos will be fighting with a regulation guard’s sword, identical to yours, my lord.”
The sun peeked briefly through the clouds as the combatants crossed to the center of the yard, where waited the senior-captain of guards, who had been agreed master for this duel. Behind him stood two archers, their hornbows strung.
Lord Paulos shone like a jewel as the sun sparkled on his gold-inlaid armor. Alexandros’ armor—chosen, like the rest of his panoply, from the main armory—was browned for field service, its only decoration being an abbreviated jet crest on his helm and the Three Orks of the Sea Isles copied onto the front of his cuirass and the face of his buckler by a palace artist. In the bleachers, Paulos’ friends laughed and joked at the Sea Lord’s drab appearance.
Senior-Captain Nathos bade them halt face to face and five feet apart, their attendant-gentlemen a few feet behind them.
“My Lord Alexandros, I will recite these rules mostly for your benefit. I am certain that Vahrohnos Paulos could recite them in his sleep, so often has he stood here. Since this is to be a death match, I’ll not go into the signals for withdrawal. Much as I detest seeing Ehleenoee noblemen kill each other, it is not my function to attempt mediation of your quarrel.