The Shadows of God - J. Gregory Keyes [64]
What need to cross the river? We will help him from here. Bring down the ships.
He doesn't know us. He won't understand we're helping.
Bring down the ships, or I will order an attack anyway. I swear it to you.
You don't know what you're asking.
I don't care what I'm asking.
Very well. You will regret it.
And he flew toward the battle, drawing all of her legion of servants behind him.
“Hercule,” she said softly, her gaze fixed on the ships that held her son. “Order the advance.”
Don Pedro attacked first, bouncing in and darting his blade ferociously toward Sterne's heart. For an instant, Franklin thought the duel was already over, but the sharp point came up an inch short. Sterne, completely unperturbed, snaked his own blade against the attacking one, bound it up, then exploded forward in a shallow lunge. Don Pedro leapt back and raised his blade back to guard.
“Shit!” Robert hissed. Franklin saw it too —a petal of red on Don Pedro's sword arm, blooming quickly into a rose.
Sterne stepped back and lowered his guard. “First blood,” he said. “If your honor is satisfied now, I am willing.”
“A fair touch,” Don Pedro replied, “but a mosquito bite. Return to guard, sir.”
Sterne shrugged and resumed his stance.
Don Pedro advanced, much more cautiously this time.
“Did you see how fast he went with the rapier?” Robert whispered.
“You're the second. Call it off.”
“He'll never agree.”
Again, Don Pedro was the first to attack, feinting low and attacking high. Again, Sterne returned with another bind and attack. This time, however, Don Pedro managed to slip from the bind and circle to the side. He riposted, but again too slowly and too short—he looked like a sparrow trying to keep up with a hummingbird. Sterne swept the don's blade high and darted in for the kill.
A second blood flower budded on the Apalachee, this one on his chest.
“Yield, sir,” Sterne said.
“Never,” Don Pedro replied.
“A moment!” Robert called. “Let me examine his wounds.”
“Do that,” Sterne said. “Perhaps as second, you will show the wisdom he lacks.”
Don Pedro came over obediently. He was breathing hard.
“Do not call off the duel,” he warned.
“Wouldn't dream of it,” Robert replied. “But you have to get inside that point, or he will most certainly nick you to death.”
“He is fast. I can feel the strength of the devil in him when our blades cross.”
“Please, Don Pedro—”
“Please, Mr. Franklin. Have a little faith in God. He will grant me the victory.”
He went back and squared off with Sterne again. He went as soon as the signal was given, beating at a blade that wasn't there but was whisking around his. Then the Apalachee did an astonishing thing; he got his blade back around in a huge circle, catching Sterne's blade in time to keep it from penetrating but not in time to keep it from ripping an ugly scratch up his belly. Ignoring that, he ducked and thrust. His blade went a half inch into Sterne's belly, who cried out softly and staggered back.
Don Pedro stepped back, too. “Let me know when you are ready to resume,” he said.
Sterne looked angrily down at the stain growing on his shirt, waved off the protestations of his second, and came on.
This time Sterne was the attacker, beating the blade, thrusting, trying to force the don to give ground. The Apalachee would not retreat, however, working in a circle instead, always after Sterne's exposed flank. He touched the Englishman again, in the arm, but this time the duel didn't even pause. The two men, tiring, crashed together, blades blurring.
Finally they fell back from each other, each bleeding from several new wounds. Both were panting like racehorses after a long stretch, but Don Pedro's legs were visibly quivering.
“I'm going to kill you, sir,” Don Pedro said. “For my God, my country, my honor—I am going to kill you.”
“The hell with you,” Sterne replied, and came on.
But in the next moment he was forced to retreat, as Don Pedro replied with hard,