‘Tancred,’ Beatrice said. She placed a hand on my shoulder but I shook it off as I strode forward, passing my knife into my left hand and pulling my sword free of its scabbard with the other. Rarely did I fight with two blades, but I had no shield or mail or even helmet with which to protect myself, and so I had no choice.
I fixed my gaze on the lord. His face was pitted with pockmarks and lined with the scars of battle, his nose was broken, and his thick eyebrows made his eyes appear mere shadows.
‘Leave now,’ I said.
I was hoping that they would see sense and realise there was no point in risking their lives. They exchanged glances, but they must have had confidence in their numbers, for they did not move.
Their lord snorted. ‘Or what?’
‘Or else I will kill every one of you and leave your corpses for the dogs to feed on.’
‘You and what army?’ he asked, prompting a fresh bout of laughter from his men. ‘I suggest that you walk away, friend, unless you enjoy the taste of steel.’
Those who had not already drawn their weapons slid them with barely a whisper of steel from sheaths and scabbards. Blades flashed in the starlight. Barely ten paces separated me from the first of them. If they all came at me together they would soon have me surrounded, and Beatrice as well, with no hope of escape. But I could not back down now. I would not leave Papia to her fate.
‘Look at his woman,’ one of them said, gesturing with his free hand towards Beatrice. ‘She’s a fine one. I’d like to plough that furrow.’
‘You’ll get your chance, Gisulf,’ said another, a thickset man with large ears that stuck out from his head. ‘I reckon we’d all like a go with her.’
I glanced at Beatrice, who was shrinking back under their stares, slowly retreating towards the church door and the faint orange glow coming from within, though I knew she would find no sanctuary there. It had been a mistake for us to meet here. This whole night had been a mistake from the moment that I had chosen to follow the girl to her mistress, and I had only made it worse by challenging these men. Now they would kill me, and probably Beatrice too once they had finished with her.
‘She’s certainly a pretty one,’ the broken-nosed one called, joining in with the rest of his men. They were enjoying this, I saw. ‘Not like the rest of the whores in this godforsaken town. Not like this one either.’ He stepped to Papia’s side, grabbing her arm just as she was getting to her feet and jerking her off-balance so that she lost her footing and fell on her face in the mud. ‘Where did you find her?’
‘She’s not a whore,’ I said, tightening my grip upon my sword-hilt. Anger swelled inside me; my blood was boiling in my veins, and it was all I could do to hold myself back as I waited for the opening, waited for them to let down their guard just for a moment.
‘She’ll scream like one when I’m inside her,’ he replied, smirking as if already picturing it in his mind. ‘I’ll rut her harder than she’s ever been rutted. I’ll-’
I didn’t give him the chance to finish. In that moment the battle-rage took me, and I was rushing forward, roaring as the bloodlust filled me, thinking only of wiping that smirk from his face.
The first of them stood before me, sword in hand, grinning with the anticipation of easy blood, but I was upon him before he knew it. All he could do was raise his blade to meet mine, and they clashed with a great screech of steel upon steel. Out of the corner of my eye I glimpsed the one they had called Gisulf coming at my flank. Turning the blade, I spun away from the first man, carving the air with my sword-edge. It tore into Gisulf’s tunic, slicing across his upper arm, and his weapon fell from his grasp as he clutched at the wound, crying out in pain.
The others were shouting, but I was amongst them now, swinging both my blades in a wide arc about me, to try to keep them at bay.
‘I don’t want to have to kill you,’ I shouted. ‘Go now and no one else has to feel my sword-edge.’
They were not listening. One, bolder than the rest, yelled in anger and rushed at me, backhanding a wild, drunken swing towards my head. In doing so he left himself exposed. Ducking easily beneath the path made by his sword-edge, I thrust my knife deep into his thigh, leaving it there as blood, dark and warm and sticky, spurted forth over my hand. At once the man doubled over, and as he did so I landed a kick on his chest, sending him falling backwards. He landed on top of a screaming Papia, who was still on the ground.
‘Get up,’ I shouted to her. ‘Get up!’
The other three formed a ring around me, but having seen two of their companions wounded, they were no longer as confident as they had been. Uncertain whether to keep their distance or to attack, they hesitated, though not for long. Their broken-nosed lord charged, his eyes filled with fury and hatred and thoughts of revenge.
‘You’ll pay,’ he snarled, even as I saw the other two glance nervously at each other. ‘You’ll pay for what you’ve done.’
He threw himself at me, his sword flashing across my path. Thinking to come around his flank, I tried to dance to one side, but he was quicker than I had imagined, and I was still in mid-step when his sword-point found my right shoulder. Pain seared through me and I stumbled sideways, my sword falling out of position as with my free hand I clutched at the wound. But I had no time to pause and gather myself as my attacker came at me again.
‘Die, damn you,’ he said. ‘Die, you whoreson!’
Gritting my teeth, I forced myself to lift my blade once more, ready for his next strike and the next and the next, as he began to rain blows upon me. It was all I could do to parry them as he pressed me back towards the houses at the side of the street. My back came up against something hard, and I realised then that I had nowhere to go.
I met his gaze and saw the look of victory in his eyes. He raised his sword high, preparing for one final blow, when from behind there came a cry of agony. Except that this time it did not sound like a girl’s scream, but that of a man. It was enough to make their lord hesitate, just for a heartbeat, but it was all the chance I needed. Head down, I barrelled into his lower half, grabbing hold of his tunic and wrestling him from his feet. The street rushed up to meet us, and then together we struck the ground. There was blood in my mouth, and dirt as well, but even as he tried to scramble for his sword-hilt, which lay beyond reach of his outstretched hand, I was getting to my feet again, levelling my blade at his neck.
‘Move and I will kill you,’ I said.
He froze at once, his eyes wide as he saw the steel and realised that in a single stroke his life would be over. ‘Mercy,’ he said. ‘Mercy, please, I beg of you.’
Breathless, my brow and my underarms running with sweat, I stood in the stillness of night. All I could hear was the thumping of my own heart. Of the other two men who had been left, one lay crumpled in a puddle. Blood pooled around him, flowing from a wound in his side that even at a glance I knew could not be staunched. Papia stood over the body, tears streaming down her cheeks, and in her hand was a knife. My knife, I realised, for I would have recognised it anywhere. She did not move, as if her feet had taken root — in some shock, I didn’t wonder, at herself and what she had done.
The last one stood numbly in the middle of the road, his square jaw hanging agape as he glanced first at his dying friend, then at me standing over his lord, then finally at his two injured drinking-companions: the one named Gisulf with the gash to his arm, and the other writhing on the ground, cursing violently as he clutched his wounded thigh.
‘Go,’ I called to the square-jawed man and to Gisulf: the only two left standing. ‘Unless, that is, you want to suffer the same fate as them or see your lord perish.’