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“No, we were invited to see a friendly duel between you and Robert, this morning,” Alec replied. “He said there would be plenty of free whisky!”
Fergus laughed, but he was seething inside. Robert had planned this! He had arranged for their whole family to be together today, to watch this pathetic spectacle. He had allowed Fergus to divert the conversation to where he wanted it to go, so that he had an excuse to suggest the duel—for what? Their former encounter had been no more than a playful skirmish, and hardly the stuff to hold grudges over.
Still, he reasoned, they were playing with blunted old swords which could not do either of them much harm, and if this was Robert’s way of gathering the clan around him, who was he to argue? He thought about the many times they had enjoyed together, the tumbles, cuts and scrapes, the stories they made up and told each other. They had been children then, however.
As Robert grew older and more mature, however, he had begun to become a little condescending towards Fergus, who was at that time much smaller than he was. This soon changed to a certain wariness as Fergus grew, and grew, and grew, until eventually, he towered over his older brother. After that, Fergus sensed a sense of resentment from Robert, and gradually, they drifted apart from one another.
Fergus knew, however, that if anything happened to either of them, the other would be there to support and defend him, and it was one of the reasons he loved Robert so much.
Presently, he saw his brother marching towards him, grinning from ear to ear. “Ready to be beaten, brother?” he asked airily, handing Fergus a sword.
Fergus took the weapon and frowned at his brother. “Why did you not tell me that all our family was coming?” he asked.
“I wanted it to be a surprise!” Robert replied, grinning.
“I would rather you had told me,” Fergus grumbled. “I like to be prepared.”
“Prepare to be thrashed!” Robert said menacingly, but there was a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
They took their positions and bowed to each other, and the fight began.
As soon as Fergus took the sword out of its scabbard, he could feel that there was something wrong with it. He could not grasp it properly; the harder he tried to grip it, the more slippery it became. When Robert made his first thrust and Fergus tried to parry, the sword twisted in his grasp, and almost slipped from his hand onto the floor.
His brother lunged at him but Fergus quickly sidestepped and managed to bring the weapon down on the blade of his brother’s weapon, twisting it upwards so that Robert’s entire torso was exposed. Fergus tried to thrust with the point of the blunted sword but again the weapon twirled in his grasp, and his strike went wide. Robert was upon him in a flash, but Fergus managed with great difficulty to fend him off, and they stood face to face for a moment, breathing hard and glaring at each other. This time there was no brotherly love in their eyes.
Fergus could see and feel that the contest had changed. There was a look of menace on Robert’s face that he had never seen there before, and for the first time in his life, he was afraid of his brother. He fought on, but it was clear that Robert was getting the better of him.
Nevertheless, Fergus persevered, but Robert knocked him back again and he had to put one hand on the floor to steady himself before leaping to his feet again. His hand came back covered in grit, which was clinging to the oil on his hands. Fergus gripped his sword and found that he had a much better grip than he had had before.
The tide turned. Fergus was bigger and stronger than Robert, and had a longer reach. Gradually, he pushed his brother back until he was almost touching the wall. Suddenly, with one twist of his wrist, he flicked his brother’s sword out of his hand. At the same moment, Robert tripped on a loose flagstone and fell down on his backside, then sat breathing heavily, recovering from his exertions.
Looking down, Fergus realized that somewhere in the middle of the fight, his forearm had been gashed. He was puzzled. How could this have happened if the swords were blunt? He decided not to make an issue of it at that moment, however, lest he be accused of sour grapes. Instead, he reached down and pulled Robert to his feet, then gave him a pat on the back.
“Honors even,” he said, smiling.
“No, brother,” Robert replied, shaking his head. “You won fair and square.” He sighed and gave Fergus a smile that looked slightly forced. “I need a drink.”
“Is it not a little early in the morning for that?” Fergus asked, concerned.
“It’s not an ordinary morning,” his brother replied. He looked at Fergus’s arm. “You had better have that tended to,” he advised.
Fergus looked down. Blood was seeping all over his shirt, and he suddenly felt the sting of the pain and grimaced, as he clamped his hand over the wound. Once again, he thought of the swords. They had been removed by the guards, so it was impossible to check them, but he wondered if a mistake had been made, and they had been supplied with ordinary sharp swords.
Robert called one of the manservants over and guided his brother to a chair. “I’m so sorry.” He frowned in concern as he looked at his brother’s wound. “I’ll send for the wise woman.”
Fergus felt a little dizzy, but when Robert mentioned sending for a healer, he shook his head. “It’s not deep,” he observed as he looked at it. “I’ll clean it and put on a bandage. One of the maidservants can help me.”
“The maidservants are always glad to help you,” Robert said enviously. He began to turn away, but Fergus laid a hand on his arm to stop him.
“I thought the swords were supposed to be blunt.” Despite himself, Fergus could not keep a note of accusation out of his voice.
Robert looked baffled. “They were,” he answered. “There must have been a mistake. I’ll look into it.” He left, and Fergus stood up, intending to go to his chamber.
Until then, he had been left alone, but now dozens of friends came to see how he was faring, wish him well, and congratulate him on winning the bout. Grace, however, was not amongst them. Fergus endured it for as long as he could, until he made his exit.
5
During the duel, William came up behind Grace and tapped on her shoulder. “There is something wrong with Fergus’s sword,” he observed. “Look. He can’t grip it properly.”
