Greythorne, Tanner sustained his friendly conversation the whole way, as if they were fast friends instead of adversaries.
When they entered the Academy, Tanner received a warm greeting from the third-generation Angelo to run the establishment. Tanner and Greythorne both stripped to their shirtsleeves.
‘Choose your weapon,’ Tanner invited.
‘Épée?’ responded Greythorne. ‘And shall we forgo masks?’
Tanner approved of that bit of bravado. He preferred clearly seeing the expression on his adversary’s face. In Greythorne’s case, he assumed it would be like reading a book.
‘How many touches?’ Tanner asked.
Greythorne thought a moment. ‘Five.’
Tanner nodded.
With Angelo and a few others watching, they saluted and faced each other en garde. Tanner gave Greythorne invitation, carefully watching how the man moved. Greythorne engaged his sword, and the sound rang throughout the room. Parrying the thrust, Tanner executed his riposte with just enough speed and skill to keep Greythorne attacking.
Again and again, Greythorne lunged and engaged. The man was light on his feet and had a supple wrist. He also had confidence in his skill. Tanner had to concentrate to keep up his defence. Greythorne managed a clever glissade, sliding his blade along Tanner’s, creating music not unlike a bow across a violin. The point of his sword hit Tanner’s shoulder.
‘Touché,’ cried Greythorne.
‘Bravo,’ someone called from the sidelines. Gentlemen from White’s, who had overheard the challenge, took their places to witness the fun.
Tanner acknowledged the touch, while a flurry of bet-making commenced among the onlookers. As near as he could tell, the odds were not in his favour.
He and Greythorne walked back to the middle of the room. Tanner glanced over and saw his friend Pomroy standing next to Angelo. Pomroy regarded Tanner with raised brows. Tanner lifted a shoulder and gave Pomroy a rueful smile.
He took position opposite Greythorne again.
‘You will lose both this and our other little competition,’ Greythorne boasted, as his épée clanged against Tanner’s blade, driving Tanner backwards. Tanner allowed alarm to show on his face as Greythorne looked more and more self-assured. Greythorne whipped the blade upward, its edge catching Tanner’s face before the point pressed into his neck.
‘Touché,’ Greythorne repeated.
Tanner felt a trickle of blood slide down his cheek. Greythorne’s eyes shone with excitement, a change in demeanour Tanner did not miss. He swiped at his cheek with his sleeve, staining the cloth red.
The contest resumed, and the shouts of their onlookers grew louder. The épées touched in a flurry of thrusts and ripostes, clanging louder and louder. Salty sweat dripped down Tanner’s face and stung the cut on his cheek. Greythorne sweated as well, his pace slowing, but his skilled work with the sword continued to keep Tanner on alert. When Greythorne earned one more touch, his laughter at the feat lacked force. Three touchés to Tanner’s zero. The odds against Tanner winning went up.
Tanner breathed hard as they stood en garde again. Greythorne began the same pattern of thrusts and parries he’d executed before with great success. This time, however, they merely informed Tanner exactly what would happen next. At Greythorne’s counter-riposte, Tanner parried and lunged, forcing Greythorne’s blade aside. He quickly attacked again, the point of his épée pressing at Greythorne’s heart.
The onlookers applauded, and the wagering recommenced. Greythorne’s eyes widened in surprise.
They began again. This time Tanner went on the attack. He picked up the pace of his swordwork, then slowed it again, until Greythorne’s brows knitted in confusion and he began making simple mistakes. Tanner drove Greythorne back again and again, each time striking a different part of his body, all potentially lethal had the épées not been affixed with buttons to prevent the sword from running straight through the flesh. He earned three more touchés.
With the score four touchés to Greythorne’s three, Greythorne rallied, giving the contest more sport and increasing the frenzy of betting among the onlookers. The blades sang as they struck against each other, the sound much more pleasing to Tanner’s ear than what he heard in King’s Theatre or Lady Rawley’s music salon. He relished it all. The strategy and cunning, the rumble of the onlookers, the danger, the sheer exertion.
He and Greythorne drove each other back and forth across the floor as the onlookers shouted louder and louder, odds changing with each footstep. Greythorne engaged more closely in an impressive display, the look of victory on his face. He lunged.
Tanner twisted around, parrying the attack from behind. He continued to spin, lifting Greythorne’s blade into the air, forcing him off balance. Tanner made the circle complete as he swung his blade back to press against Greythorne’s gut. The surprised man stumbled and fell backwards to the floor.
‘That was five! Five touchés!’ someone cried from the side.
Tanner continued the pressure of the dulled tip of his blade on the buff-coloured pantaloons Greythorne wore. The fabric ripped.
‘You’ve damaged my clothes!’ Greythorne seethed.
Tanner flicked the épée slightly and the tear grew larger. ‘What say you?’
Greythorne moved the blade aside with his hand and sat up. He did not look at Tanner.
‘What progress?’ Tanner demanded.
Greythorne struggled to his feet. ‘I am to dine with her tonight at Vauxhall.’
The onlookers had not attended to what must have seemed to them an epilogue to the drama. Wagers were settled and the onlookers dispersed, a few gentlemen first coming up to Tanner and clapping him on the shoulder. The winners of the betting, he surmised. Pomroy waited while he dressed. After thanking Angelo, he and Pomroy walked to the door. Greythorne was just ahead of them.
Outside rain was falling as if from buckets.
‘My clothes will be ruined!’ Greythorne snarled.
He held back, but Tanner and Pomroy did not hesitate to step out into the downpour, breaking into laughter as they left Greythorne in the doorway.
‘Damned prig!’ Pomroy said.
They ducked into the first tavern they came to, already crowded with others escaping the weather, including some of the gentlemen who had witnessed the swordfight. Tanner accepted their congratulations good naturedly. He and Pomroy pushed their way to a small table in the back.
When they were settled and some ale was on the way, Pomroy said, ‘What the devil was that all about?’
Tanner grinned. ‘I exerted myself to discover what Greythorne next planned in his conquest of Miss O’Keefe.’
‘Such a trifle?’ Pomroy pointed to the cut on his cheek. ‘There was not an easier way to come upon that information?’
‘And miss that sport?’
