A Divided Inheritance (38 page)

She could not decide what was best, to wait until the morning session was over, or to interrupt the men’s business to speak with Zachary. She stood looking down on them in an agony of
indecision. A bead of sweat ran down her forehead and into her eye and she blinked it away. Señor Alvarez was still explaining about the twelve divisions of the sword, how there was the most
control at the division nearest the wrist – the
forte
– and how there was less as the force dwindles towards the
foible
– the tip at division twelve.

Alvarez pointed at the blade of his rapier and recited the names of the divisions like a litany, ‘
Uncia
,
Sextans
, or a sixth of a pound,
Quadrans
,
Triens
,
Quincunx
,
Semis
– that’s half a pound –
Septunx
,
Bes
,
Dodrans
,
Dextrans
,
Deunx
, and so to the whole
length.’

The names of the divisions caught her attention; the Latin half familiar to her ears. The tall Dutchman asked him to clarify their names.

‘Ah, Alexander, good question,’ Alvarez said. ‘They are named in Latin after the twelve divisions of a Roman pound, which concords with the proportion of the sword
arm.’

‘But why not three divisions? Three always served the Italians well enough,’ Zachary grumbled.

‘Three is not sufficient; it does not give enough sensitivity, what the French call
sentiment
. Besides, there is something about the number twelve . . .’ He left his words
hanging. ‘Get ready, we will try at point six,
semis
.’

Zachary swished his rapier through the air, impatient to start, and strolled over to Alexander who was ready with his sword outstretched. Alexander abruptly dropped his sword down and walked
stiffly away to face another student who nodded, and they took up position. Zachary was left standing alone in the morning sun, his face dark as thunder.

It was an obvious snub. What could have estranged the two men, Elspet wondered? At the same time she realized that now was certainly not going to be the best time to ask a favour of him, so she
did not move, but waited for the right moment to come. Alvarez set the men on a drill, to contact swords exactly on the mid-point.

Zachary sheathed and unsheathed his blade as if he could not keep still.

‘Mr Deane,’ Alvarez said, giving him a sharp look, and as he had no partner, Alvarez lined himself up opposite Zachary to demonstrate. In Alvarez’s hands the rapier seemed to
bend as if by magic. When Zachary made a thrust, Alvarez’s rapier was already there sticking to it. There was no possible way Zachary could penetrate his guard.

Alexander smiled a smug smile across at Zachary who scowled and made a sudden lurch towards Alvarez. Alvarez twisted his blade with a flick of his wrist and Zachary smacked on to his back on the
ground, his face clearly unable to take in what had just happened.

Alvarez stood calmly before him. ‘Get up, Mr Deane.’

Zachary scrambled up, brushed himself down.

‘That was coarse – gross. You were so intent on piercing through, that there was no chance you could change direction. Your mind was fixed, and it made you an easy target. What you
need is to develop
sentiment
.’

He looked up then to where Elspet was watching, half hidden by the shutters at the window.

‘Mistress Leviston!’ He shouted her name, addressing her the English way. It sounded strange in his accent. She was too astonished to answer. ‘Come down, if you please.’
The men trained curious eyes on the window, but it was Zachary’s face that she saw, his mouth pressed together in an angry line.

She stepped back inside, hand to her chest. Señor Alvarez must have changed his mind about her using the library, or perhaps Zachary had convinced him after all to send her away. She
almost tripped and fell down the stairs in her hurry, steeling herself for one last attempt to persuade him. By the time she reached the yard, she was agitated. She waved the agreement at
Señor Alvarez.

‘I beg pardon if I have offended, but I must—’ she began.

‘Stand there, if you would.’ Alvarez pointed at a spot to his left.

‘But I—’

‘There.’ He pointed again. It was an order, and she found she obeyed. Something in his voice commanded her. Even when he went to a leather arms case and handed her an old rusty
rapier she took it from his hand without demur, tucking the paper into the hanging pocket in her skirts.

‘A moment’s favour.’ He smiled at her. ‘Hold the weapon out thus.’ He stood with one foot forward, his sword arm extended. She placed her feet exactly where his had
been.

‘Mr Deane,’ he said, ‘you there.’ He indicated a spot opposite her. ‘You need to learn the gentle touch. Who better to learn it from than a woman?’

‘But I know nothing –’ She began to protest again.

At the same time, Zachary said, ‘No,’ and made to move away.

‘Stop.’ The sudden command fixed them all to the spot like a spell. Nobody moved. Like the men, Elspet stayed immobile until, after a long pause, Alvarez’s voice said quietly,
‘Mr Deane, it is your choice. Either you take my instruction, and learn the art of swordsmanship, or you leave and do not return. Your choice. Which is it to be?’

A small muscle worked in Zachary’s neck. He looked over Elspet’s shoulder; he would not look her in the face. His humiliation moved her, and she felt for him. She lowered her
sword.

‘He need not, I will leave him alone,’ she said.

‘Stay where you are, please, Mistress Leviston. Raise the rapier.’

Reluctantly she raised the sword again.

‘Choose, Mr Deane.’

‘I stay.’ His voice was a croak.

‘Very well. And Mistress Leviston, as you are so intent on sojourning here, you might as well be of some use. Begin.’

She held the sword out in front as he had shown her, and Zachary advanced to each side of it in turn, touching exactly at point six to move it away in a parry. At first, Elspet felt like a
wooden signpost with its arm stuck out in front, but it made her shoulder ache so she had to relax a little. She hoped nobody noticed it had dropped.

Zachary’s eyes were fixed on his own blade, but it hardly touched hers. It was as if he was miming the exercise, she did not understand why, unless it was that his sword was new. It looked
it, and expensive too; well-wrought with an elaborate silver-gilt guard. His breath hissed as he moved forward, a sheen of damp on his forehead.

‘No, Mr Deane,’ shouted Señor Alvarez, approaching, ‘you must blend your sword with theirs, become one blade first, then your opponent will mistake your movement for
their own. . .’ Señor Alvarez guided Zachary’s wrist – ‘Here, subtle, like this.’ He pushed the sword against hers.

When he left, Zachary ignored the instruction and went back to pretending to make the move, never actually contacting her sword. But after half an hour he was tiring. His was the more strenuous
role, and the tension of not touching showed in his raised shoulders, the clench of his other hand.

‘Change,’ Alvarez’s voice rang out. Zachary stomped away from her towards the other men without so much as a nod.

Alvarez called out from the other side of the yard, ‘No, Mr Deane, you will keep your partner. And Señorita Leviston, your turn to advance.’

Zachary kicked a foot hard against the wall, before turning and coming back to face her. She dared not look him in the face. He stood rigidly and a palpable mist of anger almost shimmered in the
heat. She ignored his glowering expression, felt the weight of the hilt in her hand and lifted the sword.

‘Don’t you dare touch my new sword with that rusty blade,’ he hissed.

‘Advance!’ Alvarez had come to stand next to them. Zachary turned his face away as if to divorce himself from what was happening. She advanced tentatively, feeling a little foolish,
and mimicked what Alvarez did with his sword.

She shifted forward with her sword held aloft until the weight of it rested against Zachary’s weapon. In that instant his angry eyes met hers. It disconcerted her, her hand jumped like a
fish. She averted her gaze, tried to blend with his blade.

‘Good. Again.’ Alvarez watched them. Zachary’s lips trembled, whether from humiliation at being paired with her, or from exhaustion, she did not know.

All morning they drilled. One exercise after another in the growing heat. Zachary was forced to contact her blade at last and perspiration ran down her legs under her heavy skirt. But the
feeling of moving, of doing something, was a release. She had spent so long waiting, with nothing to occupy her, and she could think of nothing else when she was engaged thus. Not the future, nor
about what would become of Mr Wilmot and Martha. She could only concentrate on the shaft of metal at the end of her arm.

When it was clear that she was to remain his partner, Zachary treated her with disdain, as if she were no more than a tilt-horse. When the call finally came to lay down arms Zachary made a
vicious swipe and the rapier flew out of her hand to clatter on the ground behind. Mortified, she stooped to pick it up, and by the time she had retrieved it he was sitting with a few of the other
fellows and shaking his head, examining the edge of his blade. She put the rapier back in the arms case and went to sit on the bench, as far away as possible from Zachary and the staring gaggle of
men.

The Dutchman Alexander walked over, bowed and raised his eyebrows in question. He held out a cup of ale, and mouthed, ‘Drink, mistress?’

His courtesy touched her, so she smiled, and mouthed back ‘Thank you,’ embarrassed, because her hair had worked loose from its binding and was hanging unkempt round her face.

She was thirsty enough to drink it all at once in one long draught. She would have never have contemplated such a thing at home, nor would she have sat alone in a courtyard full of men. But
somehow this was a place apart. She had the sense that different rules applied here, that once you were through that gate you were in a whole different order of things. It was Señor Alvarez.
How he did it, she did not know, but it was as if she could taste Agrippa’s quintessence.

Perhaps it was to do with the silence. When the men were not engaged in the training they did not talk. Where else were people dumb for so long, except at Mass? She was glad of it, though; it
meant she need not try to converse, need not put on any airs or explain anything.

She let thoughts of the future, the sea passage and England, drift away. Her legs shook after the morning’s exertion, her heart was only just beginning to quieten in her chest. She was
glad to rest, let the quiet and the gentle breeze soothe her.

Alexander sat a little apart, not with the other men, but closer to Elspet. She saw him glance at Zachary, and Zachary’s eyes stray to him and then back to her. Suddenly she remembered the
agreement – she had been sitting on it. She brought it out, distressed to see it was damp with perspiration. She baulked at handing Zachary such a rag of a thing to sign, but another chance
might not come. She steeled herself.

As she walked towards him, he turned to his companions and whispered something with a smirk, provoking a muffled explosion of laughter from the men. She knew they were talking about her and her
cheeks burned, but she kept on walking.

‘Who spoke?’

It was Señor Alvarez. Nobody said a word. Zachary looked down at his lap where the remains of his bread rested half-eaten.

‘Who has read Agrippa’s
Declamatio
? Nobody? I don’t see why not. It is in the library for all to see.
Declamatio de nobilitate et praecellentia foeminei
sexus
.’

She caught the Latin words, and immediately understood it to concern her, as the only woman in the yard. ‘Whilst you train here,’ he said quietly, ‘women are to be treated with
every respect. If you are to fight, you need their qualities. Perhaps you thought fighting with a woman was a punishment, Mr Deane.’ He smiled. ‘On the contrary, it is a privilege.
Women have something to teach us. If Señorita Leviston is willing, she will partner you again this afternoon.’

Elspet felt her cheeks grow hot. The idea terrified her, but she remained where she stood only because she might yet have the chance to reason with her cousin, to find the right moment to
petition him to sign.

‘You agree, yes?’ Alvarez looked to her.

She dipped her head in an almost imperceptible nod.

‘Now silence. Finish your refreshments and rest.’

Zachary pressed his lips together in a scowl, did not look up, just began to rip the bread into smaller and smaller pieces and scatter them on the ground. She returned stiffly to the bench, the
eyes of the men upon her. She ignored their attention and turned her back to them.

In the afternoon after more drills, they were sent into the cool of the library for silent study. She stretched her aching legs under her skirts despite feeling awkward, as though she should not
be there. That was until she overheard Zachary take the señor to one side and ask him why he allowed her to stay.

‘She stays by my invitation,’ he said.

After that she relaxed a little, since she seemed to have Señor Alvarez’s blessing, and she set herself to study along with the men under the señor’s hawk-like gaze.
Zachary deliberately positioned himself away from her at the far end of the room. Fortunately, the Agrippa was free, so she was able to re-make its acquaintance after all.

A passing thought about what on earth Mr Wilmot would make of her activities was quashed by her interest in the book. Soon she was engrossed in Agrippa’s ideas, and the room settled into
quietude, broken only by the slight creak and hiss of the turning pages.

In the late afternoon they were made to drill more. When she stood, her legs had stiffened so much that she had to limp downstairs, and her wrist was already aching from the morning drill. When
she gathered with the others around Señor Alvarez, she was acutely aware of the way her skirts brushed the ground; the only woman amongst all these men.