“Sawney said you were a bastard. He was right,” a voice said behind him.
Hawkwood spun. Hyde was standing perfectly still. A sword was in his hand, the point resting on the floor by his foot. He had divested himself of the blood-splattered apron. He looked perfectly at ease. His face was grey in the moonlight. His eyes were black and as hard as stone.
Hawkwood assumed Hyde had taken the sword from one of the racks on the wall. The room was lined with them. It was clear now why there was no furniture. This must have been where Hyde had obtained the sword-stick he’d been carrying the other evening. The selection of weapons displayed around the room’s perimeter was hugely impressive and would have done justice to a regimental armoury. There weren’t just swords, Hawkwood saw, there were pole-arms, too. Stilettos, sabres and foils vied for space with halberds, glaives, guisarmes and pikes.
“I can see you’re wondering where you are,” Hyde said. “This was Hunter’s house, too. He owned both properties. Go through those rooms and out of the front door and you’ll find yourself in Leicester Square. He had all this part built on afterwards – the operating room, everything. There was even a museum for his specimens. He welcomed his patrons and his patients through the door in Leicester Square and he took delivery of his bodies in Castle Street. Fascinating, isn’t it?
“They used to call this the conversazione room,” Hyde continued blithely. “It was his reception room. Curious that its purpose is now to do with the teaching of combat rather than the art of conversation. From soirées to swordplay, eh? Who’d have thought? They’ve preserved it rather well, though, don’t you think? The paintings aren’t the originals, of course. They were sold off with the rest of the contents when Hunter died. That’s when the main house was rented out. I’m not sure who was here before, but it’s a fencing academy now; a place for the sons of the nobility to learn the noble science. That’s what they call it, you know. Hunter would probably find that ironic, too.” Hyde gave a little laugh.
“Fortunately for me, the maître d’armes is indisposed. He’s recovering from a rather severe wound inflicted by an over-enthusiastic pupil. By a happy coincidence he is also one of Eden Carslow’s patients. We had the place to ourselves until you blundered in.”
Hawkwood watched the blade. He wondered what his chances were of getting to a weapon. He wondered why Hyde hadn’t attacked him as soon as he’d entered the room. It occurred to him that it had probably been Hyde’s intention to lead him here in the first place.
Hawkwood gauged the distance to the wall. It would be close. The colonel was quick on his feet. He, on the other hand, was still wearing his bloody coat. That was bound to slow him down. There was no button on the point of Hyde’s weapon, Hawkwood saw.
“How’s the arm?” Hyde said. “I almost forgot to ask. If it’s giving you pain, you should let me take a look at it. The cut on your cheek looks as if it’s healing nicely, though.”
Hyde smiled suddenly. “By the way, did you know – and this really is a most extraordinary coincidence – that I attended the Delancey boy after you’d shot him? Couldn’t do anything for him, of course. He was stone dead. A pistol ball to the heart will do that.”
Hawkwood stared at him. Delancey had been the Guards’ officer he’d killed in a duel following the battle at Talavera. Delancey had called him out after Hawkwood accused him of recklessly endangering his men. But for Wellington’s intervention, Hawkwood would have been cashiered and shipped home. Instead, he’d joined Colquhoun Grant’s intelligence unit as liaison with the guerrilleros.
“Made me wonder how you might be with a sword instead of a pistol. Ever used a blade, Hawkwood?”
“Occasionally,” Hawkwood said.
“Really? Ah, yes, but you were an officer, weren’t you? Eden told me. Well, how about it?”
“How about what?”
“Why, man to man, what else? At least I’m giving you more of a fighting chance than you were willing to give me back there. Tell you what; I’ll make it easier for you. Here, catch –”
Hyde tossed the rapier high towards him. Had it not been for the moonlight catching on the turning blade, Hawkwood would have lost sight of it in the air. But the high parabola had been a deliberate ploy, providing Hyde with the opportunity to re-arm himself. By the time the weapon was in Hawkwood’s hand, Hyde had turned and retrieved a second sword from the rack behind him. “You might find it easier if you removed your coat.”
Hawkwood hesitated. This is madness, he thought.
“Well?” Hyde said. The challenge in the soft voice was unmistakable.
Hawkwood took off his coat, dropped it to the floor. He heard Hyde chuckle.
There was, Hawkwood discovered, a distinct chill in the room. He looked towards the windows. There wasn’t a lot of light coming in. He wondered if the snow that Jago had predicted was finally on its way.
Hyde attacked. His sword arm was a blur as the rapier blade plunged towards Hawkwood’s throat.
Instinctively, Hawkwood parried, quarte to prime. The room rang as blade clashed on blade. Hawkwood riposted, drove the point of his sword down towards Hyde’s flank. Hyde parried easily, disengaged, and withdrew.
“I see you have some knowledge,” Hyde said dismissively.
Hawkwood knew then that Hyde’s opening gambit had been merely a reconnaissance to test his reflexes. A good swordsman’s strategy was dictated by his opponent’s defensive actions. Hyde would have seen how Hawkwood held his sword, how he moved, and the speed at which he had executed his response. The second attack was likely to be more aggressive, but probably still exploratory.
Hawkwood waited.
Hyde’s next foray was a strike towards Hawkwood’s sword arm. Hawkwood parried, using his forte and the curve of his sword guard to deflect the blade. He riposted towards Hyde’s flank. Hyde parried and moved in again, his sword blade flickering in the light from the windows. Hawkwood parried, riposted, and lunged towards his opponent’s right side. Hyde brought his sword up and Hawkwood withdrew his feint. As he did so, he turned his wrist palm down and slashed his sword back-handed towards Hyde’s belly. He felt the point rasp across Hyde’s chest, heard Hyde grunt as the blade raked the underside of his throat. As Hyde twisted, Hawkwood stepped back before Hyde could riposte. Hyde lifted his hand to his breast and chin and stared at the blood on his fingers. He looked up. There was a new understanding in his dark eyes.
Suddenly, he launched himself forward. Hawkwood barely had time to react as the edge of Hyde’s blade slashed towards his ribs. Hawkwood sucked in air, brought his sword around and felt the nerves in his wrist jar as his blade caught the full force of Hyde’s attack. He heard Hyde grunt. Hawkwood pushed Hyde’s blade away and adjusted his grip in preparation for the colonel’s next offensive.
Hyde came in again. Sword held high, Hawkwood moved to block the cut, realized, too late, that he’d misread the signal and felt a searing pain lance down his right arm as the point of Hyde’s blade sliced across his bicep. He heard Hyde’s hiss of pleasure at the contact.
It was time to end it.
Hawkwood snapped a strike towards Hyde’s sword arm. Hyde flicked the blade away with contemptuous ease and scythed his sword towards Hawkwood’s ribcage. Hawkwood smashed Hyde’s blade aside. Hyde counter-attacked. Hawkwood brought his sword across the front of his body and struck hard on the outside of Hyde’s blade, driving it down and away. As Hyde’s shoulders began to turn, Hawkwood made his move. Sidestepping left, he spun right, turning into his opponent and locking his left arm over Hyde’s sword arm. Hyde was a slender man with a long reach. By stepping forward into Hyde’s attack and thus shortening the distance between them, Hawkwood had reduced his opponent’s room to manoeuvre. Hyde’s cadence was disrupted.