Children of the Fountain (10 page)

The following morning Matthias decided to get up early so he could take a look at the turnout for the tournament. He noticed Harry’s bed was already vacant as he made his way to the mustering hall to help himself to some porridge. The hall too was empty. Even though lessons normally didn’t begin for another hour it looked like all the other children had similar ideas. Everybody, it seemed, wanted to see what was going on.

He made his way outside and even before he emerged he could hear the cheers. Out in the courtyard a space had been transformed into an arena with the students gathered on all sides. At the far edge Mr Cook was standing in a leather coat, whilst in front of him two boys were fencing with tipped foils. Matthias recognised them; Gerard, whose knife he had snatched on his first day and Alexander.

He spotted Sophie and Harry standing near the action and made his way to them. Just as he arrived a large cheer went up as Gerard, landed a blow. The tipped foil bent up but the impact still sent Alexander stumbling back.

Mr Cook held up his arms, “End of contest.” More cheers followed and as Matthias got Harry’s attention another boy entered the ring and started to stretch.

“You’ve missed all the action!”

“I didn’t realise it started so early.”

“Mr Cook doesn’t beat about the bush,” said Sophie. “These idiots are going at each other like animals. I think Edgar has possibly lost an eye.” She stifled a yawn.

Alexander trudged past them rubbing his ribs. He stopped near the edge of the ring, turned back to look at Gerard who was practising his thrusts before swiping at the floor with his own foil in anger.

He caught Matthias’s eyes as he went past, his face looking like thunder and his fists clenched.

“Unlucky,” said Matthias.

The blue eyes looked back blankly. “I’m a little out of practice.”

“Too much time in the chapel, perhaps?”

Alexander smiled, and a lock of blond hair fell over his eyes which he brushed back. “How are your classes?”

“I’m starting to enjoy it.”

“That’s too bad,” said Alexander, before striding off.

Matthias watched as he walked away, kicking at the dirt before turning to Harry. “Have you been up yet?” he said, trying to sound encouraging.

Harry turned around with a sour look on his face and pointed to a neat fresh cut on the top of his forehead “Gerard took me out in the first bout.”

Sophie scoffed, “You were lucky he didn’t take your head off!”

“I slipped!” said Harry. “Have you seen this surface? It’s dusty and dry. I was wearing the wrong shoes!”

There was a loud roar as Gerard despatched another; this time a girl lay on her side holding her ribs. Even though their padding stopped any serious injury the children were clearly feeling the blows.

Matthias noticed Mr Cook was working his way down through a list and was stood next to O’Grady. It appeared as if the flame haired solider was studying the names in detail and asking O’Grady questions about the combatants.

Back in the arena Gerard strutted around the ring like a cockerel on a farmyard. His chest swelled and he lifted back his head to acknowledge the cheers. Matthias remembered the sneering comments the boy had made when they first met and felt his fist clench.

“You’ve got to hand it to him,” said Harry, “he’s taking no prisoners.”

“I could teach him a lesson,” said Matthias.

“Don’t be silly,” said Sophie. “He’s about a foot taller and has the strength of five men!”

He picked up Harry’s leather jerkin off the floor. “What are you doing?” said Harry.

“Skipping a school year!” said Matthias, and he started to make his way around the ring. This was his chance. To show what he was capable of and start to get the real training he deserved. As he approached Mr Cook looked up from his paper with a smile.

“Matthias? What can I do for you?”

“I’d like to put myself forward, sir,” he said, with just a hint of shakiness in his voice.

“The contest is only for apprentices or journeymen. I believe you are still a junior?”

“That doesn’t bother me. Unless Gerard has any objections?” He looked over at the older boy who merely shrugged.

“Very well then,” said Mr Cook. “Matthias please choose your weapon.”

Matthias picked up one of the tipped training sabres from a pile on the floor. In all his lessons so far the slashing strokes of the sabre were his strongest attack. A foil or rapier required balance and height. Being shorter, Matthias realised this would be too much of an advantage for Gerard. He practiced a few swift strokes and the blade whistled through the air around him. Finally he walked to the centre of the arena where Gerard was waiting.

As they stood apart only now did a slither of fear trickle into him. Gerard was a good foot taller than him, stronger and with a longer reach. Matthias realised he was going to have to use his speed and agility to outfox the boy.
Attack from the sides and underneath but don’t try and take him head on.

Mr Cook called for silence and then shouted, “Take positions.”

The two boys stood to attention and saluted each other with their blades before adopting their relative stances. Gerard with one foot placed behind him stood sideways; the foil resting at an angle from his front thigh, his back arm slightly outstretched with fingers pointing to the rising sun.

Matthias stood facing front; his feet a shoulder width apart and crouching slightly. The blade was pointed high and directly in front of his face; a stance he had been taught by O’Grady. From this position he could bring the blade up or down with equal speed and then direct it at his opponent with a slashing motion from either above or the flanks. All he had to do was make contact with Gerard’s torso to score a point and win the bout.

“I’m going to enjoy this,” said Gerard, with a sneer.

“En garde!” shouted Mr Cook, and his voice was followed by a roar from the gathered students.

Gerard attacked first. The lunge was straight and true but predictable and Matthias was already prepared to glance the boy’s blade sideways with his own. This gave him the opportunity to strike but he suspected Gerard was feigning imbalance and held back.

Sure enough another lunge followed immediately and Matthias stepped sideways as it probed near his stomach. Now was his chance and he brought the sabre down and across Gerard who was momentarily off balance. The blade caught his foil with a clang sending the boy a couple of steps back.

“Still having fun?” said Matthias.

Gerard sneered back and took his stance once more. This time there was a feint and a thrust. The boy’s height helped him as Matthias was too far back to retaliate and it was all he could do to parry. The sheer force of steel upon steel sent him staggering backwards as Gerard’s infamous strength hit him like an ox.

Breathing, he left himself open for only a second but Gerard had spotted it and lunged again. Matthias dived to his side and rolled onto the floor. When he looked up, thankfully, Gerard was still recovering from his lunge and pulling his foil out of the dirt. Matthias could see from the fire in his eyes that the ‘first point’ scored might mean more than a scratch.

As he got on to one knee Gerard lunged again. He heard the boys breath grunt out of his mouth and the foil passed within an inch of his ear. He knocked it aside and returned a blow to the boy’s legs. His strike was quick, cool and true. Matthias saw his black leggings split open to reveal the creamy skin below, shortly followed by a widening red line where his blade had nicked him. The contest was over...or so he thought.

“First blood! End of the contest!” bellowed Mr Cook, amidst the sounds of cheers. Matthias looked up and saw Mr Cook regard him with a wry smile from the other side of the arena. His two friends stood nearby and he noted with satisfaction that even Sophie was grinning. Harry looked as if he was going to positively explode!

Sophie’s warm grin suddenly froze and he saw her eyes dart behind him. Perhaps it was the movement of air or a sense of something but he immediately dived to his right and rolled on the ground again. It was Gerard! He had tried to strike after the contest. The boy’s face was red and his eyes blank and lost.

“En garde!” he screamed, and then lunged.

The power completely took Matthias by surprise and he was sent hurtling backwards onto the ground. He felt a sharp pain in his ribs and as his hand touched the area he felt the wetness of his blood. He didn’t have time to collect his thoughts as he saw the foil come down at him from above, the flat point catching the sun’s rays. Gerard screamed as again Matthias rolled away.

He could see Mr Cook and Mr Hardy running over but it was too late. As he tried to bring his sabre up he felt Gerard’s foot crash into his hand. Screaming in pain he had no choice but to release the sword and when he looked up Gerard loomed over him. One foot was crushing his wrist as he held his foil tight, point first, against Matthias’s throat.

“Yield!” he shouted.

The blade dug into Matthias’s windpipe. “I yield,” he croaked.

Footsteps soon followed and he heard Mr Hardy bellow, “Stand down!”

Matthias looked into Gerard’s hateful eyes. Was he going to stand down? He thought he saw him grin and his shoulders tense as if preparing to make a final thrust.

But he didn’t get the chance. There was a whipping sound of a sword and suddenly the foil was no more at his throat. Both Matthias and Gerard turned to see Mr Hardy wielding his own sword, Gerard’s bouncing away to his right. The master took a step toward Gerard and hit him a mighty blow with the back of his hand across the boy’s face. Gerard flew to the floor and crumpled near Matthias’s feet.

He had never seen the normally calm master so outraged. Mr Hardy breathed heavily and looked around at the gathered crowd. “I believe you all have lessons to go to?” he shouted, with such authority that Matthias struggled to get up himself.

“You stay, Matthias,” he said, “and you Gerard.” The murmuring and chatter of the children soon quietened as they dispersed to whatever class they were supposed to be at. O’Grady followed them in but Mr Cook stayed behind and walked over to stand next to Mr Hardy. The two boys got to their feet and dusted themselves off.

Matthias tried to stop the flow of blood from the wound to his ribs with little success. He looked across at Gerard who stood in silence, rubbing his face.

“What is the meaning of this?” Mr Cook said to Gerard.

“H-he had no r-right to be in the contest,” said Gerard, still surging with fury. “He’s not an apprentice!”

“I decided he could enter,” cut in Mr Cook. “I made the rules.”

Gerard looked at Mr Cook with a sneer. “Well one
Cortés
aiding another is hardly surprising.”

Instantly Mr Cook’s face turned white. He regarded Gerard with something approaching disgust.

Mr Hardy sheathed his sword. “How dare you use a family name!”

Gerard gathered himself up to his full height and eyed Mr Hardy with disdain. “Everybody knows. They say he’s the image of his father, the traitor.”

Matthias tensed his body and had to hold himself back from attacking the boy there and then, a feat made somewhat easier by the sharp look Mr Cook cast him.

Mr Hardy spoke again, but in a more controlled manner, “The house of Pizarro has long held animosity to the house of Cortés, but why you Gerard?”

Gerard looked harshly at Matthias, “He dishonoured me, sir.”

“You dishonoured yourself,” said Mr Hardy. “Report to my office at four o’clock today for your punishment. Dismissed.”

The boy looked at each of the men in turn and finally at Matthias before walking away. As he disappeared into the building Mr Hardy spoke. “You have proven yourself today, Matthias. I will be making the necessary arrangements to have your classes progressed so that you may join your friends as I know you wish to. You are now an Apprentice.”

Matthias smiled, it was what he had hoped for. Now he would be able to take part in classes with Harry and Sophie. He thought about teaching Harry a thing or two and couldn’t wait to get back and tell him.

“Thank you, sir,” he said and made to leave. As he did so Mr Cook had something to say.

“Matthias.” He halted and Mr Cook looked at him with a serious face. “Today you came away with an enhanced reputation, honour but more importantly your life. Remember that.”

He nodded and hurried back into the castle as the morning sun made its way to the middle of a cloudless sky.

The entrance to the cave was over a hundred feet high. An enormous gash in the side of the mountain; its sharp edges and detritus littered entrance made it look as if some giant creature had clawed away at the rocks. There was no breeze here even at this height thousands of feet above the sea. Alonso looked around him, always wary when approaching the secret lair of his kin. There were no guards at the entrance. No flaming torches or gate. Few could get here; fewer still would even notice the cave mouth and none had ever entered.

He could see the plains of Spain from these peaks, the purple twilight just brushing the hills and towns. It had been so long that his heart fluttered for a moment with memories. Breathing in deeply, he turned and headed towards the cavern. As he approached the light was slowly swallowed by the mountain; darkness rising around him until finally, some twenty yards inside, the entrance itself was a mere suggestion. That is, to a normal man, but Alonso being a mystic saw things differently. His eyes picked up on the light that others never saw. A purplish tinge to the rocks and rubble on the floor was accompanied by strange colours that could not even be described as he ploughed on ahead through the cave. Far at the back he could see a smaller entrance which led to the meeting chamber.

The three other mystics stood in a circle around a small fire; its smoke climbing so high above them it was lost in the black canopies of rock. They lived solitary lives in the mountains, hardly ever coming across each other and only meeting for trade or, as in this case, an assembly. As Alonso entered one looked up from underneath a hooded cowl.

“Why have you summoned us?”

“I seek advice,” responded Alonso, his head bowed at the fire. “My vision has become clouded. I no longer see myself in the boy’s future; indeed, I see a strange battle. A curious clash between two men, one of whom may already be dead. Hopefully, my peers will grant me their eyes and we may search together.”

“It has been a long time since we all looked for something. What you ask is no small matter.”

“No it is not. But it is my duty to try to find out, for in his future I saw my own and perhaps all of ours. I would ask this of you only in the name of my quest.”

One of the others looked up now also; tiny slithers of light sparkling from underneath the hood suggested eyes. “Alonso you have been searching for this boy now for too long. Is it not time, perhaps, to admit you were mistaken?”

Alonso shook his head. “No it is not. I found him some months ago and have been in England watching him.”

“The last head jerked up, “We received no message?”

“Forgive me brothers, but it was not possible to get one to you. I have been tracking a man on behalf of my employer.”

The three mystics appeared to confer, but from across the crackling fire their words were barely audible to Alonso. He had taken a risk coming here, of that much he was certain. Whether his brothers shared his faith in his quest was not his concern. He only knew what his visions had told him.

Mystics saw visions all the time; images and patterns amongst every day signs. Often they would guide people. Kings paid princely sums for their counsel whilst noblemen begged for their advice. Sometimes they gave it, for a price, other times they refused to depart such knowledge. However, one thing had always been constant - the visions were never about themselves. They never saw their own fate or that of their brothers. Mystic’s lives were a zigzagging stream of events darting along the surface of time.

But strangely Alonso had seen himself and also a boy. Graver still, he had seen his brothers. He had shared this knowledge with them and asked for their help in his search to find the boy. After it was refused, he had left the caves. That had been ten years ago.

Since then his quest had become entwined with that of the Guard. But that was another story. Right now, he needed help to understand his dreams and only the four of them working together and sharing their minds could do this. The question was, would they help?