Free 00 - Templar's Acre by Michael Jecks

sorry, my friend. I have learned much from my enemies here in Outremer. They tend to fight with lighter mail, and move with great speed. It is useful, I have found, to emulate
them. Please?’ With his sword held in an apparently negligent grip, he beckoned Baldwin with his left hand.
    It was infuriating. Baldwin took the high guard, and slashed a blow to the left, followed by a feint to the heart and a raking movement from the right, but each time, the older knight was simply
not there. Once Baldwin almost caught a trailing length of tunic, but that was the nearest he came to marking his man.
    ‘How do you do this?’ Baldwin demanded. ‘Whatever I try, you have moved before I strike.’
    ‘I have practised my manoeuvres every day for five and twenty years,’ the Leper said.
    ‘But doesn’t your disease slow you?’
    ‘Oh! You were being kind to me, allowing for my disability?’ Jacques said with a beaming smile. ‘I had not realised.’
    ‘No, I mean . . .’ Baldwin was confused. He had thought Sir Jacques must be leprous to be a member of his Order, but the man moved with the rapidity of a striking snake. It was clear
he was no cripple.
    ‘I do not have leprosy, my friend. I serve my Order from compassion for others, and to repay a debt.’
    ‘Why did you join the Lepers, if you don’t have the disease?’
    ‘I wanted to offer my life in service. If it pleases God, and I hope my efforts do, then I can die knowing my life has not been wasted. And helping a young Crusader must also give comfort
to God. Or so, at least, I pray.’
    Baldwin was feeling the strain. His arm was tired, and the air from the sea humid; his armpits were sweaty, his back running with moisture. He wiped his face.
    ‘Come, Master Baldwin. Another bout?’
    Again that infuriating beckon. Baldwin took his time, placing his feet carefully, thinking. Each time the Leper Knight had whirled, he had moved to the right, coming back behind Baldwin’s
sword hand. This time, he resolved, he would meet his opponent as he went.
    His sword rose into the True Gardant, his fist above his line of sight, the swordpoint dropping down before him, aiming at the knight’s belly, and then he moved. He stabbed downwards, then
span, bringing the sword round to hack at the knight’s thigh – but the knight wasn’t there.
    A sword tapped his head.
    ‘Sorry, I thought you might try that.’
    Baldwin was furious. He gritted his teeth, grasping his sword tightly, almost thinking to attack in earnest, but then he saw the smile on the knight’s face grow pensive.
    ‘My friend, I hope I have not offended you? However, if you are to survive here, you will need to practise with a Saracen I know. He can teach you much. It is not that your skills are at
fault, but here men use curved blades, and a drawing cut. If you wield a sword in battle against men in armour, it is less a cutting device than a hammer. You wield a hand-and-a-half sword like a
long-handled maul, because cutting through mail is not easy. Sometimes you may use it as a spear, which can work, but not always. However, in the city here you will find few wear mail. Good
swordsmanship is more important. Especially against the Genoese.’
    Pietro walked into the garden bearing a tray of cool drinks, and behind him was Ivo.
    ‘I asked Sir Jacques to test you,’ Ivo said. ‘If you become embroiled in a fight with Buscarel, you will need more speed and guile than the skills you learned in
England.’
    ‘So you think me incompetent with a sword?’ Baldwin snapped.
    ‘No. You are good. Just not good enough,’ Ivo said.
    Sir Jacques chuckled. ‘We all had to learn when we came here.’
    ‘If I fought the Genoese, I would die in moments,’ Baldwin said sulkily, shoving his sword away. He felt a wave of self-pity. ‘I didn’t land a single blow on
you.’
    ‘If you met with a man as old and feeble as me, perhaps yes,’ Jacques chuckled.
    ‘I came here to fight, and at that I am a failure.