A Duel of Belief

1589-03-15
Street outside the Crescent Hearth

He came at noon with the harbor wind in his cloak and old campaigns in his eyes. A veteran by the set of his shoulders, he pushed through the tavern door and set a gauntlet on the table.

“You are turning men soft,” he said. “You teach dances where there should be steel.”

“The floor is for lessons, not for quarrels,” I told him, and stepped into the street.

He followed, sword already half drawn. A small crowd gathered: fishmongers, two students, and sailors who had taken morning ale too seriously. I slipped the lute strap off my shoulder and set the instrument on my left forearm, the belly outward. The sight pleased him.

“Name your measure,” I said.

“An arm’s length,” he growled, and came in hard.

Stone answered first. Weight settled, edge aligned, the lute took the slap meant for my fingers and did not complain. He pressed. I gave him Wind with a slant step along the same star I had chalked a dozen times inside, letting his cut pass the place I had been a breath before. He swung again, faster now. Water carried my blade from parry to parry without halt. Each time he met only the ghost of my line and his breath grew short.

Anger made him certain. Certainty made him plain. The crowd’s murmur thickened.

When he drove a thrust at my heart, the lute’s rim caught his forte. I turned it aside in a small circle. Steel kissed. I rode the bind, slid along, and found the opening he had left by his own haste. Flame showed itself for the space of a spark. I set a thrust an inch from his breastbone and stopped.

Silence fell like snow.

“Lutefecht,” I said, lowering the blade, “is for those who wish not to kill.”

His jaw worked. Pride argued with sense. At last he turned his sword and offered the hilt in acknowledgment. The crowd exhaled. Someone laughed softly, not at him, but at the breath we had all been holding.

He returned at first light with his cloak folded over his arm and his eyes clearer than before.

“Teach me the steps,” he said.

We began with measure. We kept the Fifth Song in silence.