Touché
Touché (too-shay) -Used to acknowledge a hit in fencing, a successful criticism or an effective point in an argument.
Thanks: A heart-felt thank-you to rann whose insight and understanding of the characters and their interactions made my swordfight caper more genuine.
Setting: Immediately following Divine Right.
Summary: En garde! Marguerite gets some fencing lessons from Roxton and puts her new skills into action against a formidable foe.
"So tell me, Lord John Roxton, how ever did you become so adept with a quarter staff?"
The grass in the meadow flattened in waves with the passing of the sultry wind. It had been an uneventful trip back to the treehouse after having helped King Sigurd regain his throne. They were all tired from their exertions the previous day and the long night's celebration as the village toasted both the king's return and the announcement of the date of his nuptials. Conversation had been understandably subdued on their return journey. The explorers were strung out in a long line, Veronica leading at a brisk pace, Lord Roxton in the rear. Marguerite Krux fell back beside him to satisfy her curiosity.
"For a 'thoroughly modern warrior', you mean?" the hunter's eyes twinkled in remembrance of her earlier teasing.
"Well, yes. Don't tell me Winchester and Cambridge are still giving instruction in the handling of maces and lances."
"As part of a classical education? Not formally perhaps, but boys will be boys. Before I went away to school I spent many an hour with my fellow Merry Men fighting the Sheriff of Nottingham in the forest on my family's estate. And though I never fought a joust until we met Gawain, I often imagined myself as a knight-errant at good King Arthur's court."
"Taking on the groom's children hardly qualifies one to fight a real knight." Marguerite's voice held a mocking lilt that typified their repartee.
"Don't forget, I did train as an army officer. Swordsmanship is still part of the regimen. They say it builds character and teaches military strategy."
"Strange to think that handling a sword would be a requisite skill for life in the 20th century. I'm afraid my education was sadly lacking."
"So, don't the women at Oxford College take fencing in their Sports classes?"
"I –um- studied rather informally there, just a few classes – Classical languages and the like. But a gentleman I once knew did teach me the rudiments of fencing."
"With an epée, I suppose?"
"Well, initially, yes." Her slight smirk was acknowledged by a quirk of Lord Roxton's eyebrow. "It appears, however, that swordplay on this plateau is a decidedly more rollicking affair."
"Yes, the parry and thrust of the rapier is of little use against the broadsword's slash."
"I'm afraid I need to improve my skills."
"So I noticed - in your duel with Hippolyta." He chuckled until he glimpsed the brunette's scowl. "You're not still upset because you were bested by that Amazon? She is quite an amazing warrior. She even had me at a disadvantage."
"And, in my defence, I explained that to Veronica. However, she continues to point out that she defeated two warriors while I was flat on my back with that woman's boot at my throat. She forgets- the real problem was her plan. It would never have worked."
"We'll go to the Amazon village. They know me. They'll let us in." Veronica was thinking on her feet, formulating a plan to rescue the men from being turned over to the waiting cannibals.
"And then what? There will be two of us against a bloody troop of Amazons." Marguerite was frustrated by Veronica's approach. Why did the woman have to meet everything head-on? Couldn't she use skills other than her fighting ability and her indomitable spirit? There was any number of ways to achieve one's goals without butting heads with every bloodthirsty warrior on the plateau.
"What if we tell them we want to join them? Then we can scout around, find the men and get out of there." Veronica was eager to take some sort of action. Standing around here was just inviting an attack by cannibals.
Marguerite sighed at the flawed strategy. "That won't help. The men will be guarded."
"Fine then, you stay here and I'll go in alone."
"Veronica!, Are you crazy? That will never work. You'll be killed or thrown in prison. The men will be dinner for the cannibals. And on my own out here, I'll end up as a midnight snack."
The blonde simply set her jaw, turned and walked away. Marguerite hurried to catch up.
"Wait for me."
"So are you going to help me or not?" Veronica didn't quite trust the brunette to follow any plan that wasn't her own.
"Okay, we'll do it your way, but let me do the talking. And if this doesn't work, I'll make the plans."
"She never listens to me. No-one does. Besides, my plan worked out just fine." Roxton heard an almost wistful tone beneath her grumbling. It was a rare sign of vulnerability in the defensive heiress. The hunter almost felt a little guilty.
The enigmatic woman rarely made him feel guilty anymore. He had made a conscious effort to make sure she didn't. He had chosen to distance himself from her a while ago and assured himself that he was making a success of it. Roxton had been dismayed when he had realized that he was forming an attachment to a woman who was about as cold and manipulative as anyone he had met. And that kind of woman was not someone he was going to fall for.
It had taken a long while to get over his brother's death, but eventually he had erected a barrier of indifference, built of equal parts Buddhist philosophy, a sense of duty, high living and danger. He had no desire to open his heart to anyone again. Unintentionally he had come to enjoy Marguerite's presence - her wit, good looks, becoming figure, even her fiery temper entranced him. They had gotten too tangled up with each other for a while until he came to his senses and remembered that Marguerite was the last kind of person he wanted to let under his guard. She would just rip a big hole in his heart and move on without a backward glance. It was the nature of the beast. And his heart was nicely healed if perhaps a little scarred.
Marguerite continued to gripe. "It's not my fault that I can't handle a sword like she does."
She had a point. In this dangerous environment self-defence was a skill that they all had to develop. Training his fellow-explorers fell to him as the expert on survival in the group.
"Fear not, milady. If we have an idle hour at the treehouse, I will teach you a few tricks of the knightly trade. Perhaps Veronica will be more respectful when she sees how proficient you become." He sketched a comic bow.
"Hah! I'm afraid that gaining Veronica's respect is more than I could ever aspire to. It's a lucky thing I have no interest in doing so. However, I am interested in surviving until we find a way off this dreadful plateau so I may take you up on your offer."
"No, no, no. Don't dab at it like you're a painting a picture. It's a sabre. Use the edge."
His pupil abandoned her attempts to master the complicated 'fleche' manoeuvre he'd been teaching her and lunged at her target with a savage thrust. Her wooden sword imbedded itself in the heart of the crude straw dummy. Soaked with perspiration, her pulled-back hair frizzy with dampness, Marguerite levelled a murderous glare at her tormentor.
"I am not 'dabbing' at it, Lord Roxton, I just - rrrr" She broke off in frustration.
He met her furious gaze with a sheepish look. "Marguerite, you're doing fine. I'm just pushing you to work at it a little harder because-" The fact was Lord Roxton could think of no good reason for criticism. The often reluctant Miss Krux had been diligent to the extreme. She was a quick learner and far more athletic than he had realized. "- well, because you could be quite good at this."
Slightly mollified, she tugged the sword from its target. "Just don't forget that I'm not a common foot-soldier in your battalion, Major Lord Roxton."
"Company, actually. I commanded a company."
"Only a company? How modest of you to admit it!" Her face softened into a teasing smile for a moment before becoming serious once again. "So what am I supposed to do?" she quizzed, determined to master this new skill.
Roxton picked up the other mock sword he had fashioned from a piece of wood. He demonstrated the actions in slow motion as he explained what he was doing.
"In a real battle, the sabre is just part of your arsenal. A skilled fighter uses his feet to trip up his opponent, his fists and his body to throw him off balance. The blade delivers the coup de grâce. Here I'll show you"
In slow motion they exchanged blows. As he parried an attack, Marguerite's sword slid off Roxton's. She teetered forward, a little off-balance. Sensing a weakness the seasoned fighter put his shoulder into her side as he passed by and his pupil sprawled awkwardly onto the ground. Marguerite laid there face-down with Roxton's wooden blade patting her backside.
"That's not fair. You're a lot bigger than I am." She rolled over onto her back, smacking the hilt of her mock-sword on the ground in vexation.
"Ah, you didn't tell me you only wanted to defend yourself against people your own size." He cast an appreciative look at the slim woman now propped up on her elbows, her face filled with indignation. "You're not going to find too many opponents like that."
She slumped onto her back and looked at the clouds scudding across the sky. "This is useless."
"Now, now, my dear, don't lose heart. Use your strengths. Bigger opponents are often slow and clumsy. You must take advantage of your balance and leverage. Don't face the assault head-on. Give ground, deflect the blow, wait out the first fury of the attack." He demonstrated as she sat up, nodding.
They practised for another half hour. Finally Roxton called a halt to the lesson. His pupil was so tired her legs quivered and her sword tip sagged toward the ground. He had expected her to call it quits long ago, but she had proved more stubborn than he could have imagined.
"Shall we do this again sometime?" he asked, eyebrow raised in inquiry.
"You'd better believe it. We'll keep at it until you're the one sitting in the dirt."
The determined words of the dark-haired woman drew a soft chuckle from Roxton. He turned and led the way back to elevator.
The next day's lesson was a short one. The heiress was so stiff that she could hardly move, but she insisted on instruction. The modern warrior told her about tactics and strategy. She eased herself onto a tree round stood on end to watch him demonstrate standard fencing moves. She noticed many similarities between the cut and thrust of battle and the give and take of espionage. A dance was what it was, but with a victor.
Every day for a week they trained, Marguerite growing stronger and more skilled with each session. At the end they would spar, Roxton shouting instructions as he set her through her paces.
"Attack, attack, that's it. Footwork. Good." He parried her blow and counterattacked. "Disengage. Then riposte." Marguerite deftly moved Roxton's blade aside with a circular motion of her own blade, followed it up with a lightning attack. "Feint. Feint. Now lunge. Pass by," he urged as she followed her sword, knocking his sword-arm aside with her shoulder.
"Nice corps-a-corps!" He grinned as he regained his balance. A devilish smile broke out on the woman's face and Roxton was momentarily transfixed. In that brief moment of distraction, she came in under his guard with a solid slash to his midsection. As he doubled up in pain, he felt her boot at his shoulder. Before he could react he was knocked flat on his back, his arm wrapped around his gut. He gasped for air and made to scramble to his feet. He was prevented from rising by a sword tip at his chest. He looked up to see an exultant Marguerite, cheeks flushed with colour.
"Do you yield?" Roxton was amused to hear the authoritative way Marguerite spoke the old-fashioned words. She must have practised them more than once.
"No fair. I've never had an opponent who used her feminine wiles in a swordfight." He grinned, the words ragged as he tried to catch his breath. "I yield, I yield," he yelped as her blunt sword jabbed him in the chest.
"You told me to use my strengths." She smiled, putting aside her sword and extending a hand. He clasped it and pulled himself to his feet. As he rose they ended up standing so close together that Roxton could smell the jasmine scent she wore. He stepped back hurriedly, bending in a near-bow. "Congratulations, milady! I think you can hold your own in a swordfight now."
"Thank you, kind sir." She turned in a half-pirouette, tossing her head in a way that captivated his attention. Careful, Johnnie-boy, he warned himself, don't get carried away.
Every chance they could find to steal away from their other chores, Roxton would put Marguerite through her paces. Marguerite became increasingly skilful with the wooden weapon, showing a ruthless quickness and verve for combat. She usually wore a smile of such fierce enjoyment that Roxton found it quite unnerving to fence with her.
Malone annoyed Marguerite by saying that he was going to describe her in his journals as a 'modern-day Mademoiselle de Maupin'. When Challenger scoffed at the journalist comparing her to Gautier's heroine, Ned vigorously defended himself, insisting that the Frenchman's novel was based on a real 17th century woman – an opera star and swordswoman who once defeated three men in a duel. Eventually Challenger allowed that Ned's expertise 'at least in this one area eclipsed his own'. It was a sure sign of Marguerite's growing expertise that even Veronica grudgingly admitted she was getting pretty good.
Mostly though the jungle native merely grumbled about the amount of time Roxton was spending on Marguerite's training. She would walk away shaking her head at the two of them. The jungle woman felt a little wistful when she thought back to the time when the explorers first took up residence in the treehouse. Back then Malone used to take her out to teach her how to use a rifle. Though she soon dismissed firearms as weapons unsuitable for her, she had enjoyed the time they had spent together. Those days seemed a long time ago.