Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin stepped out of the men's locker room to the gymnasium at U.N.C.L.E. headquarters in New York City, both completely clothed in white fencing uniforms.
A special guest instructor would be giving a lecture and demonstration in the fine art of fencing today; he was a world famous master and former Olympic medalist named Georgio Santonelli, was born in Budapest Hungary. He kept his Italian citizenship though, as he was the son of a renowned fencing master from Italy who revolutionised sabre technique and was often referred to as the "Father of Modern Sabre Fencing."
It was rare that an outsider was welcomed into U.N.C.L.E. to instruct and those agents who had an interest in the sport were all abuzz about the world famous visitor. Fencing was not exactly high on the list of required disciplines in hand to hand combat, but Alexander Waverly was old school in that respect, and liked his field agents to be well rounded.
Fencing, archery, karate, ju-jitsu, judo and a number of other disciplines were required training for field agents...though some were frequently more useful than others.
There was a sense of excitement in the air among the Section II and III agents attending the workshop and even Napoleon admitted to feeling a tingle of anticipation. He knew his partner had to be looking forward to this, but by Illya's placid demeanor you would think it was just another day.
Santonelli was famed for his teaching techniques, especially with the sabre. Although the foil was Napoleon's favorite choice of weapon, his partner leaned towards the sabre, no doubt because it was simply a favorite of the Russians. They and the Hungarians were masters with it and were usually the winners with that weapon at the Olympics…
Solo fenced the classical French style, using the foil, though he was familiar with epee and sabre. He'd learned to fence many years ago in college and to him it was an elegant sport, requiring a minimum of body movement on his part, except for the lunge of course, and a few other techniques.
It was all about the delicate manipulations of the blade by his wrist and fingers, using them to outwit and outmaneuver his opponent with a minimum of effort. The elegance of the French technique of fencing appealed to his style of doing things.
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The would-be students gathered around the piste as Santonelli lectured about each of the three weapons, choosing to give a quick display first with the foil. The target area was more confined than with the other blades. Like the epee, it was a weapon that was controlled with fine movements and required finesse.
Each volunteer who stepped up to spar with the Maestro was trounced, and quickly at that. For a man who was nearing his sixty-seventh birthday, Santonelli moved like a youngster, full of vim and vigor. He was an astounding study in small and efficient movement.
Napoleon took his turn on the fencing strip with his foil after watching a few demonstrations. He assumed his proper stance, saluted elegantly with his sword and engaged the Master in a bout.
Their movement up and down the piste was controlled, but exciting. Napoleon holding his own, tying Santonelli 4 to 4. Yet out of nowhere, the Master scored the winning touch against him and Solo was beaten in the blink of an eye in just under the requisite match time of three minutes.
The Maestro shook hands with the senior agent, congratulating him on an excellent match and offered a few comments on his style, to the resounding applause from the others in the gym.
"Bravo!" Illya called to his partner with uncharacteristic grin. He was proud that Napoleon managed to score that many points against Santonelli, as no one had managed to do so thus far.
The Master continued his lecture and demonstration with the épeé, a sword descended from the rapier; the style used for this weapon being a little more aggressive and animated when compared to the foil. Instead of the torso as in foil, the entire body becomes the target,
Santonelli spoke of it not just in regards to the sport, knowing these people here might actually have to use a sword as a true weapon due to their line of work, though the possibility of that was rare. His friend Waverly hand requested that frame of mind be kept when addressing his people.
Napoleon was surprised that Illya had not participated in any of the bouts, knowing his friend was quite a talented, though aggressive enthusiast of the sport.
The fencing master at last brought out his sabre and it was then Solo finally saw a twinkle appear in Illya's baby blues. After a few bouts, the Russian, having observed Santonelli's technique enough, volunteered for his turn with the instructor. He stepped onto the piste, donning his mask and briskly sweeping the air with his blade, saluting the Maestro. Santonelli nodded to the slight blond, and Illya did the same.
Judging was often done in French, in which case the referee called out "En garde. Prêt. Allez_ on guard, ready, go.
Both fencers assumed the 'engarde' position after it was announced and as soon as the words Prêt. and Allez were said, Illya charged, gaining his first point against his opponent.
Santonelli took a step back for a moment, sizing up this young man who moved in the lightning fast style of the Soviets, finding that an unexpected surprise.
The bout continued, back and forth, the Russian and the Italian Master matching each other point for point. Nearing the fifteen minute time limit, they were now tied at 14-14, la belle, the final point to be made to win the match, referred to as the 'beautiful one.' One last touch would decide the winner as it had been in Napoleon's match.
Santonelli steadied himself, waiting for the young man to charge, and after a bit of dancing back and forth the attack finally came; surprisingly the U.N.C.L.E. agent seemed to drop his guard at the last second and lost the match.
They both removed their masks and shook hands as they walked off the piste to a round of applause and cheers by those watching in the gymnasium.
"Well done young man," Santonelli said. "You fence in the Russian style but I see Hungarian influences as well...where did you learn that here in the United States? I have never seen you at my school," he asked, assuming Illya was an American.
"I did not learn here, Maestro, as I am Russian," Illya tried hiding his smile. "My teacher was Gregorovich, a man with whom, no doubt, you are familiar."
"Yes indeed, a legend in Hungarian fencing, but you said you were Russian?"
"Yes, but I lived for a time in Hungary and had the opportunity to work with him."
Santonelli paused for a minute, studying Illya's face. "Tell me young man, why did you throw that last point of the match. You could have beaten me."
Illya's face flushed at the discovery of his treachery.
"I did not wish to cause embarrassment as you are a guest here."
Georgio Santonelli nodded at that gentlemanly gesture. "What is your name young man?"
"Illya Nickovich Kuryakin sir."
"Well Illya Nickovich, never throw a bout, no matter who your opponent is, do you understand me? That is simply not done in the honored sport of fencing."
"Yes sir, I apologize. I will remember that." Illya took his chastisement without flinching.
The next thing said to the Russian came rather unexpectedly.
"Illya, would you be interested in joining my team at Salle Santonelli in Philadelphia? We could use you on our next Olympic squad,' the older man smiled. "Or perhaps you might like doing a little instructing yourself?"
"I must decline Maestro, but am flattered at your invitation. I have a job to do at U.N.C.L.E. and that must remain the focus of my attention."
The Master handed him a business card. "If you ever change your mind, please give me a call."
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Napoleon caught up with his partner, heading back to the locker room to shower and change.
"That was some match you had tovarisch, nicely done."
"Thank you, I did enjoy it," Illya smiled. "Yours was also well met."
So what were you and the Maestro so chatty about?"
Illya leaned in, whispering his response, as if it were a state secret. "He just gave me a few pointers."
"Really?" Napoleon remained suspicious.
"Really..." Illya smiled, his face void of anything revealing as always.
Solo knew his partner better than that. "He invited you to work for him didn't he? I saw the business card pass hands."
"And what makes you assume that? He could have merely been offering me private lessons." Illya grabbed a towel, draping it around his neck.
"Hmmm, my instincts are telling me you're lying Kuryakin."
In a moment of exasperation, Illya huffed. "If I tell you, will you leave it be."
"I'm all ears," Napoleon grinned at his success at breaking down the wall Illya had erected around him, at least for the moment.
"He asked me to join his team for the Olympic squad and when I declined he offered me a job, teaching at his Salle in Philadelphia...to which I also declined. I already have a job here, a very important one. I could not in good conscience engage in such a self indulgent act, not when we have work to do."
"Wow, he asked you to join his Olympic squad, that's really something. Imagine you going to the Olympics."
"I have been there and done that already Napoleon."
"Wait, you were in the Olympics, no way." The two had reached the showers in the locker room and had begun to strip down.
Illya peeked out from behind his shower curtain. "I was on gymnastics team...it was when I attended University of Georgia, though I was second string and did not really get to compete. Overall it was an interesting experience."
Napoleon shook his head, thinking only Illya Kuryakin could talk about having been a member of his country's Olympic squad with such a blaisél attitude, and get away with it.
Then again, he wondered if his partner was telling the truth. One never knew for sure with his enigmatic Russian friend...