"I've pistols, if you prefer," he offered courteously, watching as Jasper also shrugged out of his coat.
"No… no…" Jasper said calmly, bending to pull off his boots. "It should be done according to ritual, as always."
"And according to ritual, the honor of the woman falls to the victor."
"Exactly so."
Chloe understood what was happening; Jasper's bedtime story had left nothing out, and she knew all the details of the rules and rituals of the Congregation. Hugo was fighting for her as he'd fought for her mother. If he won, then she would never have to take her place in the crypt again. If he lost… but then nothing would matter. If he lost, he would be dead. The duels of the Congregation were always mortal combat.
Crispin was hissing through his teeth, his body very close to Chloe's. Hugo suddenly turned to look at Chloe for the first time. "Go and stand on the stairs, lass," he instructed in even tones.
"But I-"
"Do it!"
For once she obeyed immediately, and as she reached the stairs understood the reason for the order. Samuel was standing in the darkness behind her. Hugo was not going to play by the rules. Even if he lost, she would not be abandoned to the Congregation.
The two men saluted each other. Then Hugo said softly, "En garde." He lunged in a straight thrust and Jasper parried in quarte. The blades met and disengaged.
Chloe watched with a numb and dreadful fascination as the two men danced over the tombstone slabs, their blades glimmering, flashing with an almost impossible speed, moving from one position to another in a rapid series of attacks and counterattacks as they probed for an opening in their opponent's guard. It seemed to her that neither man held the attack for more than one engagement, as each attack was parried, the defender became the attacker.
Ten… fifteen… twenty minutes it went on, and it seemed impossible that any man could maintain such speed and accuracy for another second.
Finish it… please God, finish it. The prayer went around and around in Chloe's head. She could feel their growing fatigue amid the desperate clashing of invincible wills… the desperate purpose that fueled them both… the terrifying knowledge of imminent death.
Then came a moment when Hugo seemed to fall back on one knee, his free hand grazing the floor, then he sprang upright as Jasper's blade thrust beneath his arm, twisting sideways so the deadly attack met only air. His own blade caught his opponent's and the ring of steel echoed in the hushed vault. Hugo offered a feint to his opponent's forearm, and as Jasper jumped back to gather for a reprise, Hugo's blade came down and under.
Jasper fell to his knees, his blade clattering to the ground. Blood welled from his side.
Crispin with a frenzied hiss leapt forward, grabbing up his stepfather's weapon. His salute was perfunctory. "En garde."
Hugo didn't seem to draw breath. He parried his new opponent's attack smoothly, moving backward, allowing Crispin to press the attack as he assessed the skill of the younger man. He knew he was exhausted. Just as he knew that for one almost fatal second he had allowed himself to believe he'd won and it was over. Now he had to face the knowledge that it was far from over.
Chloe gasped in horror at this villainous intervention. She gazed around the room, waiting for someone to protest, to call a halt to such an infamously unfair fight. But they all remained still, watching closely. Denis was licking his lips almost convulsively in his anxiety, and once his eyes darted across to her, predatory and filled with hungry anticipation.
Hugo moved backward, invited a thrust in sixte, counterattacked to Crispin's left shoulder, lunged as his opponent feinted, and saw the epee snaking into his forearm too quickly to evade. It sliced through his shirt, nicking the skin. It was no fatal strike, but it was a deadly warning.
Chloe's heart seemed lodged somewhere in her throat, so she could hardly breathe. Her eyes raced around the crypt. Now no one seemed interested in her; their eyes were all fixed on the lethal combat. Jasper had been pulled to the side of the crypt and someone was staunching his wound. His eyes were closed and his labored breathing was an audible accompaniment to the ring of steel on steel.
She began to sidle around the wall until she stood against the strange, damask-covered, candlelit table. She licked the finger and thumb of one hand, slipped the hand behind her, and pinched out the flame of one of the candles. Then slowly she brought the heavy candlestick down to her side. All eyes were still on the two men locked in their mortal struggle.
She inched forward again. Sweat glistened on Hugo's brow; his face was drawn in a rictus of determination and exhaustion. Both men's movements were slowing perceptibly, but Crispin maintained the edge, pressing his attack.
Hugo felt now as he imagined Stephen had felt, facing his inevitable defeat at the hands of a younger, stronger man. But Crispin was not stronger… just younger and fresher. He tried to hang on to that, to keep at bay the destructive forces of hopelessness, but the blood was thundering in his head and his lungs screamed for air.
Chloe calmly, casually, put out her foot, catching Crispin's ankle as he lunged in full extension. He lost his balance, and as he swayed, she brought the candlestick down on his head. He fell sideways to the floor and lay still.
There was a moment of total silence, then Samuel, pistols in hand, appeared at the foot of the stairs. He leveled his weapons at the assembly in general and nodded curtly. "I shouldn't move if I were you, sirs."
Hugo doubled over, struggling for breath as the men in the crypt stared between Samuel and Chloe, still standing over the fallen Crispin.
"Have I killed him?" Chloe asked into the silence.
Hugo straightened slowly. "You don't play by the rules, do you, lass?" he gasped as his lungs expanded and he drew a deep shuddering breath.
"I wasn't going to let him kill you," Chloe said. "Of all the underhanded tricks."
"Shameful, I agree," he said dryly, bending over the fallen Crispin, feeling for the pulse in his neck. "And I suppose one underhanded trick deserves another. At least you seem to have stopped short of murder."
"But he has to be dead," she said in a voice that now didn't seem to be her own. She lifted the candlestick again. "I'm married to him, and I would prefer to be his widow."
Hugo caught her arm. "Steady now, lass." He spoke quietly but firmly as he twisted the candlestick out of her grip.
"But you don't understand-"
"Yes, I do," he interrupted, picking up the cloak they had taken off her earlier. "Put this on." He wrapped the cloak around her shoulders and lightly kissed her brow. 'Trust me, lass."
Jasper stirred and his eyes fluttered open. "Lattimer?" His voice was a thread.
Hugo crossed over to him. He stood over his fallen enemy and spoke with slow, deliberate clarity. "It's done, Jasper. Finished. The circle is completed. The girl is mine."
"And has been for quite some time, I understand." Blood trickled from the corner of Jasper's mouth as he moved his lips in the travesty of a mocking grin. "For all your self-righteous posturing, Lattimer, you debauched her. You're no better than the rest of us."
Hugo stood very still, his face white in the candle glow, but his voice was low and even. "Of course you would see it in those terms, wouldn't you, Jasper? You seek only to sully and you would see only defilement in love." His shoulders lifted in a dismissive shrug. "I've done finally with you and yours… and with this sewer."
His eyes ran around the crypt, lingered for an instant on the faces of the men gathered there, then he turned away from Jasper. As he did so, a harsh rattle came from the wounded man's throat and Jasper's head fell back. Hugo swung back to him. His expression was inscrutable as he watched death film the shallow eyes as they stared up at the vaulted roof of the crypt. Then he turned aside and strode back to Chloe.