A Lesson for the Cyclops

Chapter 29

As soon as D’Arbignal had taken two steps towards Alfredo, the Cyclops realized that he had been fooling everybody. There was something about the economy of his motion, the grace in the way he placed his feet that made the Cyclops realize that D’Arbignal was far, far more skilled with the rapier than he had been letting on.

Blinded by rage, Alfredo didn’t seem to notice. Their blades collided like the ringing of bells, the clashing of cymbals. It was like the first day they had sparred, only escalated to an epic scale. Dizzying combinations of thrusts, slices, parries, and ripostes whirled by too quickly for the conscious mind to register. Instead, the Cyclops saw the battle as interpreted by her subconscious, as a series of after-images

The more aggressive Alfredo became, the more D’Arbignal grinned, as though he had no fear—or perhaps even that he longed for a spectacular death.

“Come on!” he shouted. “You’re supposed to be the Master Fencer! Show us some master fencing!”

When Alfredo lunged at him next, D’Arbignal squatted and then leapt into the air, somersaulting over Alfredo’s head and landing behind him. He kicked Alfredo squarely in the buttocks, and sent him staggering.

“Mistress Gilliam’s acrobats taught me that!” D’Arbignal said to Marco.

The crowd roared with approval.

Alfredo whirled and came at D’Arbignal again, but D’Arbignal back-flipped out of the way, parrying Alfredo’s rapier in mid-air.

“Her acrobats taught me that one, too!” D’Arbignal shouted.

Another round of applause.

Once again, Alfredo lunged. This time, D’Arbignal did a complicated mid-air cartwheel, where his hands did not touch the ground. He landed with a pirouette, did a quick bow to the audience, then turned back to face Alfredo just in time to parry another onslaught.

“I made that one up myself,” D’Arbignal confided, and the crowd rewarded him with laughter and applause.

“Damn it,” Conchinara called to Alfredo, “kill him, will you?”

D’Arbignal touched his forelock, bowed to Conchinara, and winked at the crowd.

Then he made his error. Once more, he stepped forward with his left foot, squaring his torso to Alfredo. As had happened numerous times before, Alfredo was there to seize the opportunity. There was murder in his eyes.

Alfredo sidestepped, lunging at D’Arbignal’s exposed torso. Only this time, D’Arbignal stepped forward with his right, spinning into the space beside Alfredo’s blade. D’Arbignal wrapped his arm around Alfredo’s, trapping it, and then gently elbowed Alfredo in the nose. Even from where she stood, the Cyclops could hear the sound of Alfredo’s nose breaking.

“Come on,” D’Arbignal said, disengaging. “You didn’t really think I was making that mistake accidentally, did you? I mean, did you really believe I’d just keep making the same error every time and never learn from it? How dumb do you think I am?”

“No wait,” he said, his eyebrows raised. “Don’t answer that. I’m not sure I want to know.”

The audience received the jest well, laughing and cheering. They likely had never seen such a show before, nor ever would again.

“Maria,” D’Arbignal called out. “How many teacups did you say Alfredo smashed?”

The Cyclops froze, surprised at being pulled into the act. Then without intending to, she held up two fingers and said, “Two. He broke two of my teacups.”

D’Arbignal’s eyes hardened and his orange blade leapt forward, a small spray of blood shot from Alfredo’s chest, where D’Arbignal had carved a circle the size of a copper coin.

“That’s one,” he said, with no mirth in his voice this time.

Again, he struck, and Alfredo was defenseless against him. Again, blood sprayed, leaving behind a second circle.

“And that’s two.”

D’Arbignal glanced at the Cyclops, and then raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, why not?” he said. His rapier darted forward again, in a semi-circular slashing motion, leaving behind a curved cut on Alfredo’s torso.

When viewed together, the two circles and the curved slash resembled a crude drawing of a smiling face.

“What can I say?” D’Arbignal said. “I’m in a good mood.”

The crowd’s reaction to this was mixed. Some laughed at D’Arbignal’s jest, but others gasped at the the carnage.

Alfredo roared, charging at D’Arbignal. D’Arbignal responded with a dizzying series of parries and ripostes, and then suddenly, Alfredo’s rapier was flying through the air only to land point-first precisely between Conchinara’s feet. Terrified, she leapt back, but collided with one of the haulmen and fell to her knees.

“That wasn’t an accident,” D’Arbignal said, eyes blazing.

Now Alfredo dropped to his knees, too, surrendering, his hands raised upwards, pleading.

“Spare me!” he cried.

Conchinara grabbed the rapier from the ground and tossed it to her husband. “Alfredo, here!”

But Alfredo just let the rapier fall to the ground.

“You know,” D’Arbignal said to Conchinara, “you’re not a very nice person.”