Read Online The First Blade of Ostia by Duncan M. Hamilton - Free Book Online Page A

even if this was his first time in the arena he was not a threat to be quickly dismissed. Bryn took two steps back, not committing himself to any form or guard. Nozzo made two probing strikes, beating on Bryn’s blade with his own. They were either taunts or invitations, but Bryn would not be drawn. He would dictate his own actions.
    The first contact of steel against steel settled Bryn’s nerves. Gone were the thoughts of the audience, the heat and dust of the arena, the oppressive thirst he had felt. Now there was just him, his opponent, and their weapons—a situation he had been in more times than he could recall. If Nozzo was content to wait for the fight to be brought to him, then bring it Bryn would.
    He lunged forward. It was an obvious attack, but a feint. He hoped his inexperience in the arena might lead Nozzo to be less suspicious of deceptive swordplay. He made to parry Bryn’s thrust, but by the time his sword was where the strike had been aimed, there was nothing there. Bryn had quickly changed direction, the tip of his sword flicking through clear air and into the chest of his opponent.
    There was not enough force behind the attack to puncture the thick material on the front of his opponent’s doublet with the rounded, dull tip, but that was not necessary. A touch was all that was required, and it had been obvious and spotted by the Master of Arms. A ripple of excitement ran through Bryn’s chest. He had scored his first point in the arena.
    There was some applause from the stands, but so little that it was possible to identify each individual clap. Bryn didn’t care; all he was interested in was the reset and the chance to score a second touch in the best-of-five duel.
    The Master of Arms brought them back to the black marker and they saluted once more. Bryn’s opponent seized the initiative this time, coming at Bryn straight away. Bryn danced back, parrying effortlessly with his rapier, not needing to use his dagger. He felt light on his feet as he moved, the reward of the hours of nausea-inducing training that Bautisto had forced on them.
    Nozzo would be more wary now; if he had any brains at all he wouldn’t succumb to underestimation again and see a novice mistake where there was none. Bryn had only used the trick because he wanted the easiest way to get his first touch out of the way and calm his nerves. It wouldn’t work again, so the true test was to come.
    Bryn allowed Nozzo take the initiative, defending as he considered what to do next. He threw in the occasional riposte to keep Nozzo on his toes, but wanted time to find his rhythm. Bryn was revelling in the duel, but the sense of occasion made it difficult to concentrate. So many years watching, yearning. Now he was doing. There was something about it that made it feel far more real than any of the training, examination or competition duels he had fought. It seemed as though he had spent his life up to that point reading about a subject but was now, for the first time, experiencing it first-hand.
    Bryn shook all the nonsense from his head. He parried the attacking sword and dagger and launched into a blistering series of attacks. He pressed forward with speed and intensity, raining in strikes, none of which were intended to score a touch. He knew he was fitter, and wanted to take advantage of it. He kept up the intensity until he could see that it was beginning to have an effect. Nozzo was labouring for breath, strain showing on his face. Every moment of Bautisto’s punishing training was now paying dividends. To be able to drive up the pace of a duel to exhaust a more experienced swordsman without any detrimental effect to himself was an asset beyond description.
    When his opponent was red-faced and gasping for breath, Bryn fired in a scoring touch that the man didn’t have the wind to defend against. As they both returned to their places, Bryn could hear Bautisto’s applause standing out from the other more muted displays of