presents...
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Training Bout
"You cannot just drop your guard when you riposte, Marco."
Marco wiped his brow and just looked at Renato. The older man was leaning carelessly on his training sword and not even breathing hard. "Sure I can. I just did, didn't I?"
Renato smiled and shifted his weight. Marco saw it an instant too late; before he could bring his own sword up, the wooden staff had rapped his shin. "Dammit!"
"Well, yes you can but it's not especially wise, is it? And have a care with your language," Renato said, glancing upward. If he wasn't mistaken, they had a bit of an audience. "Your drill work is coming along well. You can perform the maneuver correctly. But the fight, it distracts you."
"Getting hit with a stick is pretty distracting."
"Not what I meant. Before I hit you with the stick, you're still not as focused as you are in drill. Because there's more to keep track of in a sparring match, of course. But you need to bring that focus to every moment of a fight. Every thing you see, for that instant, be in a drill and respond to it. And then when what you see changes, respond to that. Live in the moment."
"Shouldn't I be living ahead of the moment? To, you know, win the fight?"
"If you are too far ahead, you won't get there. Let us get you into the moment, and then you can worry about getting ahead of it."
Marco sighed heavily. "Yes, sir. Ready to be hit with the stick some more, sir."
Renato obliged, rapping him lightly on the other shin. "Lose the attitude."
"You're better than I am, all right? You're going to win. You always do, except when you're holding back. Sir."
Renato paused. His tyro certainly wasn't going to even improve if he didn't believe that he could. Renato believed that Marco had it in him, but how to get Marco to believe that? His eyes floated up to the windows overlooking the courtyard again, and he had an idea. "Well, if that's the case, I think I will call on the ladies and see if I cannot steal a good-morning kiss from Donna Francesca."
"What?" Marco startled. "You're not serious." Renato shrugged but headed for the door into the palazzo. "You're trying to get a favor from my father."
Renato smiled over his shoulder. "She's a pretty girl. I have not met a pretty girl yet who minds being kissed. I don't think she'll tell him."
Marco shook himself and hurried after, grabbing the Knight's shoulder. "You're not... what is this about?"
Renato shrugged him off. "Does it matter? Let go."
"No! You can't do that."
Out of the corner of his eye, Renato saw Marco bring his wooden sword up. He turned fully, bringing his own en guarde. His tyro was still clearly confused by the turn of events, but there was a determined cast to his features. Renato smiled broadly. "Then stop me."
It was an excellent bout. Renato laughed for sheer joy. The youth's focus was dagger-sharp, his reflexes faster, his movements more sure. This was the right goad, then. He tried a parry-riposte and was surprised but pleased to have it batted aside. But typically for him, Marco had over-reacted and put his weapon too far out of line. Which left him an opening...
Except that, before he could bring his own weapon back into play, Marco had simply shouldered into him, knocking him down. His head bounced off of the ground and he blinked, dazed for a moment. Shaking his head and wincing, he tried to get up and got a hard poke in the chest for his efforts. His tyro was scowling down at him. "You're going to leave her alone."
He grinned and laughed again. "Yes, of course! Ha! You did it, do you see? All you needed was some proper motivation. Beat me fair and square. Now, we'll try best two out of three, all right? And then we'd best clean up for breakfast."
Back to Game 14 log.
"Um... do you think I should stop?"
Marco put his finger into the book to mark his place and looked up at Francesca on her horse. He'd thought "Avalonian fairy stories" were about knights having adventures and slaying dragons and such. And, well, they were.
But this one was also about how the the king's best knight was sent to go collect an Inish princess to marry the king; except the knight had killed her brother, so she hated him for ten pages or so and kept insulting him all the time. Then on the boat back to Avalon, they were getting along and decided to have a drink together, which ended up being the magic love potion that she was supposed to share with her husband on their wedding night. And now they were about to, well...
"I..." Francesca had been looking at him (and he was looking back, he realized belatedly), but she dropped her gaze to the reins in her hands. "I don't see why you should."
"I don't want to, you know, read anything inappropriate. It's getting a little..." He hunted for the right word, trying to find one that didn't sound itself inappropriate.
Francesca laughed a little. "It's a story, make-believe. These people aren't real, so I don't think they'll mind what we say about them." She glanced back his way. "Besides, I want to know what happens to them."
"Yeah." His mouth was suddenly dry for some reason. "I... I do too. So, um, let me..." He opened the book again and found his place. "And they get the basket and the bottle and..."
"The maid had come in... "
"Right." He picked the tale up again. The knight and the princess fell into bed on board the boat, and remained lovers for the rest of the voyage. The writer seemed to be saying an awful lot about the roll and pitch of the boat - maybe he wasn't used to sailing? Anyway, land was coming into sight and they realized that their honeymoon was about to end. There had to be some way, they thought, of continuing their affair even after the wed--
Nose in the book, finger following the words along, Marco had totally failed to see a hole in the road ahead of him. His foot hit its edge and his ankle twisted, throwing him off balance. He instinctively dropped the book and reached for something to keep from falling. His fingers caught something cloth-covered and he re-balanced, righting himself. "Who-whoa! Didn't even see -" He looked up at Francesca, smiling at his own clumsiness, and noticed that the thing he'd grabbed was her calf.
The smile fled his face. He really hadn't meant to do that, and if she was angry with him... She didn't look angry. Her dark eyes were wide and her cheeks were reddened, but she wasn't scowling. No, her brow was smooth - maybe raised a little in surprise - and her mouth... her lips were parted just slightly and he thought he could hear her sudden intake of breath.
He was still holding her leg. Looking from those sweet lips to her eyes again, he forced an uncertain smile and gently let go. Feeling bold, he held her gaze. "I'm sorry," he apologized.
She nodded abruptly, but didn't yet look away. "That's... all right. It was reflex."
"Yes."
"Well, I'm glad you didn't fall."
"Me, too."
They both paused. He felt that he could become drunk on those eyes, and smiled more widely. That seemed to break the spell. She turned her head away. "Well, if you're all right, we should walk on." Gianina and Renato were well ahead of them now; the carriage was coming up behind them.
"Right! Of course. I'll, um, get the book."
"Yes; don't lose that."
Back to Game 14 log.
"You...?"
"Yeah, it's kind of dumb. I guess I just like to watch them fly, you know? They're..." Marco gestured with his hand, making it swoop and dive like the sea birds. "Graceful, I guess." He tossed out another handful of bread, and four of the gulls darted down, snatching it before it could hit the water. "You want to do it?"
"Sure!" Francesca took the paper sack of old bread from him. He stepped back so she could get to the railing. She threw the bread - good throwing arm, she had - and laughed delightedly to see the birds chase it.
He only watched the birds for another moment. They were alone on the stern, and he would much rather watch her. The sea breeze tossed her dark hair, and the sunlight that glinted on the water shone in her eyes as well. She was standing so close...
Live in the moment. He took a half-step forward and lightly put an arm around her waist. His breath caught for the longest second of his life.
She didn't move away. She kept throwing bread to the birds.
He bent his neck, resting his temple against her hair. It was so soft he wanted to run a hand through it, but that would be too much. He tightened his arm gently around her, pulling her to him more closely. "Francesca," he breathed, putting all of the longing he felt into her name.
He felt the footsteps through the deck before he heard them. He let her go and took a step back, not too quickly, because that would look suspicious. Sure enough, the captain approached, checking on his passengers. Some of the others were feeling ill and he was offering an old seasickness remedy around. They both smiled and thanked him but said that they were fine. He left, but the bag of bread was empty, and Gianina was beckoning them from amidships. The moment had gone.
Back to Game 14 log.
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