"Was he bullying Arthur?"
"No, no." He held the reed up to his eye, squinting along the length of it. "He'd tried that, apparently, but couldn't make it work. No, he was bullying the little one, Ghilly, and his cronies were helping him. They beat the little fellow up quite badly. I wasn't there, you understand, but I got to the bottom of it after I'd been summoned by one of the women who saw what was going on. Anyway,
as I pieced it together afterward, they were knocking the young lad around when Arthur came riding into the town, and they stopped as soon as they saw him—not because they were afraid of him but because they wanted to see what he would do.
"Turns out that they'd been trying to win some kind of superiority over Arthur for months, but he wouldn't fight, no matter what they did. Simply ignored them. They tried intimidation, and they tried insulting him, and they tried jostling him. One of them even walked up to the lad on one occasion and punched him in the face. Arthur simply took it and ignored them—wouldn't react, wouldn't fight. They couldn't understand that and they couldn't overcome it and it drove them to wilder and wilder extremes. They knew he wasn't afraid of them, because he never tried to avoid them, but they could not provoke him into fighting. Until today. One of them had the bright idea of taking out their spite on little Ghilly, guessing that they might get a reaction from Arthur that way.
"Well, they did, and it was more than they expected. Arthur saw Ghilly lying on the ground, bleeding. He helped him up and led him away. Never said a word to anyone or looked at a single one of Droc's people. But no sooner was he out of sight than he came back, this time carrying one of those fighting sticks of yours. He walked straight up to Droc and his group and said, 'Very well, I'm here,' and then he let loose. Dropped three of them before any of them realized he had come to fight, and once they did realize what was happening, they couldn't do a thing against him, even though they're all bigger than he is. I've never seen him use that stick, but according to what I heard this morning he makes it do magic."
I was smiling broadly. "How many of them were there?"
"Eight, and he walked up to them as though he were the only person in the street. Not a care, not a flicker of hesitation. And he beat all of them, including Droc, my fearless son, may the gods protect his useless, brainless bulk. Arthur didn't break his head, by the way, he merely tripped him. Droc fell head first into a wall. He does that kind of thing very well. What are you looking so pleased about?"
"Am I? I suppose I am. It pleases me that the boy can be so ... mature. Mature enough to avoid fighting when he thought it unnecessary or unwise, and also mature enough on the other hand to fight without hesitation against bigger, older boys—and thrash them—when he felt it necessary. But now I have to leave you here and go and find Dedalus and Rufio. I've matters to discuss with them."
"Concerning the boy."
"Aye, and his education. Clearly it's time to move him along."
"Along to where?"
"Towards manhood."
Derek grinned and shook his head, turning his attention to his whistle. "He'll get there soon enough, my friend. But I suppose if you feel you have to speed him along, then that's what you must do."
I spoke at length with Dedalus and Rufio that afternoon before I returned to the fort, and later that evening and long into the night, I discussed my plans for the next stage of the boy's education with Donuil and Shelagh, and with Tressa, whose opinion I had long since come to value and respect. The first step in the next stage must be Arthur's alone, I told them. It was a crucial step, and I had to be assured of his readiness. I saw no place there for any distractions occasioned by the presence of his friends, although I had little doubt that they would soon follow him into formal weapons training, as they followed him in all things. ,
Arthur appeared at the door of my quarters before mid- morning, smiling diffidently and clearly wondering why he had been summoned here alone.
'Tress told me to come and see you."
"I know, I asked her to send you over. Come in."
He stepped into the room, looking around him, a half- smile on his face, his eyes resting only briefly on the oaken practice sword that stood propped against the table where I sat.
"Have I done something wrong?"
"Why would you ask that?"
His smile grew wider, but lost none of its uncertainty. "Why wouldn't I? You haven't sent for me like this for ages, and the last time it was because I'd stayed out late, after curfew."
'That's right, I'd forgotten. No, you're not in trouble, so sit down."
He sat, his face clearing quickly, and waited for me to continue. I sat looking at him for a few moments longer.
, "Derek told me yesterday you were fighting with his son."
"Oh. Droc. Yes."
"You thrashed him."
He looked uncomfortable. "Yes."
"You used your practice sword. How?"
"What?"
"How did you use the stick, one- or two-handed?"
"Er ... I'm not sure. Both ways, I think. Didn't have time to think about it."
"Hmm. Where is it now?"
"Outside, on my saddle."
"Fetch it, then, and come with me. I have my wagon outside."
He harnessed his mount to the tail of the wagon and climbed up onto the bench beside me. I slapped the reins and sat silent as we plodded through the fort to the eastern gate, heading towards the drilling ground beyond. When we reached the stone hut by the gate-tower, where we kept our leather practice armour, I motioned to him to jump off and put some on. I was already wearing heavy, toughened bullhide armour, including the arm-protectors that we had made to protect us from shoulder to wrist. He leaped down and disappeared into the tower, and I carried on through the gate without waiting for him.
I stopped the wagon close by the ramp leading up to the parade ground on the flattened knoll overlooking the fort and jumped down, swinging my heavy weapon and loosening my arm and shoulder muscles as I made my way up the ramp. A short time later I heard him running to catch up to me, but I reached the top of the ramp ahead of him and turned to point my weapon two-handed at him.
"Exercises first."
He stopped, facing me, not even out of breath, then held his weapon horizontally towards me, both hands gripping the ornately carved hilt end, and closed his eyes, concentrating. Then he drew a deep, steady breath and launched into the exercise program we had devised, first to loosen, and then to strengthen our arm and wrist movements.
I simply stood and watched him, saying nothing and missing nothing of his performance. I was uncomfortably aware that I had last watched him do this a full six months before and that I had been lax since then in looking to my charge, lulled by the placid sameness of our day-to-day life. I had known he was training hard, and I had known he was doing well, thanks to Dedalus and Rufio, who worked with him daily and kept me informed of his progress, but I had had ho concept of how much the boy had learned and improved. Six months earlier his performance had been impressive, but now it was spectacular.
His eyes remained closed in concentration, and the stick-club weapon in his hand whirled faster and faster until its movements became a sustained blur, impossible to follow as he spun it two-handed, then one-handed, then from left grip to right, over and beneath and down and up and around until the final snap, when he spun on one leg, stepped forward with the other and brought the shaft flashing down to stop abruptly where it had begun, parallel to the ground, in a blow that, had the weapon been edged, would have split an enemy in two. When he opened his eyes again to look at me, his face expressionless, I had to collect myself.
"Impressive," I said, tonelessly. "Dedalus and Rufio told me you had improved. Now, apart from exercises and attacks on unarmed boys, can you use the thing effectively when someone else is pitted against you?"