Read Online The Point of Death by Peter Tonkin - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Peter Tonkin
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arm-pit, its point sticking out behind his back. Safe in the knowledge that it was well and safely leaded, he pulled his right hand sharply in towards his own breast and was rewarded by a sharp cry from behind. He stepped forward, swinging the sword out to defend himself once more. But Ugo's blade was at his heart.
Now it was Tom's turn to freeze. 'Too slow, Tom,' said Ugo, heavily.
'Aye, and a mite wild to boot. I am hurt, sir, but not killed.' Will's voice echoed Ugo's, but the dry irony was gone. The playwright seemed genuinely shaken. Even though the black line from the sooty blade ran along his ribs almost exactly over the welt he had received earlier on that deadly day, he nevertheless saw as clearly as the rest of them that Tom had unmasked the dark heart of the murder.
But Tom was not satisfied. The blade had gone awry. Unless the duellist opposed to the murderer were a confederate willing to hold the killing stroke as Ugo had done, then that moment of defencelessness would have spelt death for the murderer in any case. He stood, racking his brains for the one vital element he had overlooked – the one thing that would turn this rough botch into a mirror simulacrum of the lethal act.
As he stood - and the rest stood, still frozen at his command - the rain started again. A stealthy pattering like the footfalls of a prowling cat hunting rats among the rushes. The association of sounds made Tom think of the tiring house with its blood-dripping occupant and the way the pattering of blood had made the most recent downpour seem to come into the room from the rose garden when he had first discovered the cause of Morton's death. And, in a flash, even as the others, groaning, turned to find shelter from the gathering storm, Tom thought of the window, the rose garden and the black-clad gallant standing at the corner of Dead Man's Alley looking back. The gallant standing with a rapier hanging across the solid breadth of his right thigh.
'Hold,' bellowed Tom, freezing them all once again. Freezing them all as though they had been struck with the same icy touch as Tom's own heart had been. For only two sorts of swordsmen wore their foils like that - left-handers and ambidexters.
Tom was actually shaking as he swapped the leaded rapier to his own left hand and slid his long Ferrara blade out into the right. Ugo stood before him, white to the lips - the only man there to see as clearly as Tom the horrible danger of what he was proposing. At Tom's curt nod, the Hollander fell to again. Both he and Tom knew that Ugo could have had a companion at his side almost as well-tutored as he was, and Tom would have held them both in play. But what Tom was doing now he had never essayed outside the main salon of Maestro Capo Ferro's school in Siena, for an ability such as this was dangerously close to witchcraft and was even more likely than his uncanny ability with logic and deduction to get him hanged as a witch.
'Hey,' called Tom, thrusting forward with his right hand as he reversed the point in his left. The motion was so swift that not even the increasingly intrigued actors realised what was going on. Tom straightened, keeping Ugo easily in play. Behind him, Will cried out with shock and surprise, lurching forward into Dick Burbage's arms. The pair of them lurched against Sly and Condell and - but for the slap - the re-enactment was terrifyingly perfect. And, when they looked, in the muggy dryness of the tiring house a few minutes later, the black mark on Will's shirt was on the very point that the blade had run through Julius Morton's linen with so much more deadly effect.
Inevitably, it was Will who pressed him hardest to reveal exactly what he had done to reproduce the method of the murder so perfectly. But Tom remained reticent. Of all the men there, only Ugo, he believed - and hoped – understood exactly what he had done. The ability to fight with both hands at once - using two rapiers instead of one, or rapier and dagger
Now it was Tom's turn to freeze. 'Too slow, Tom,' said Ugo, heavily.
'Aye, and a mite wild to boot. I am hurt, sir, but not killed.' Will's voice echoed Ugo's, but the dry irony was gone. The playwright seemed genuinely shaken. Even though the black line from the sooty blade ran along his ribs almost exactly over the welt he had received earlier on that deadly day, he nevertheless saw as clearly as the rest of them that Tom had unmasked the dark heart of the murder.
But Tom was not satisfied. The blade had gone awry. Unless the duellist opposed to the murderer were a confederate willing to hold the killing stroke as Ugo had done, then that moment of defencelessness would have spelt death for the murderer in any case. He stood, racking his brains for the one vital element he had overlooked – the one thing that would turn this rough botch into a mirror simulacrum of the lethal act.
As he stood - and the rest stood, still frozen at his command - the rain started again. A stealthy pattering like the footfalls of a prowling cat hunting rats among the rushes. The association of sounds made Tom think of the tiring house with its blood-dripping occupant and the way the pattering of blood had made the most recent downpour seem to come into the room from the rose garden when he had first discovered the cause of Morton's death. And, in a flash, even as the others, groaning, turned to find shelter from the gathering storm, Tom thought of the window, the rose garden and the black-clad gallant standing at the corner of Dead Man's Alley looking back. The gallant standing with a rapier hanging across the solid breadth of his right thigh.
'Hold,' bellowed Tom, freezing them all once again. Freezing them all as though they had been struck with the same icy touch as Tom's own heart had been. For only two sorts of swordsmen wore their foils like that - left-handers and ambidexters.
Tom was actually shaking as he swapped the leaded rapier to his own left hand and slid his long Ferrara blade out into the right. Ugo stood before him, white to the lips - the only man there to see as clearly as Tom the horrible danger of what he was proposing. At Tom's curt nod, the Hollander fell to again. Both he and Tom knew that Ugo could have had a companion at his side almost as well-tutored as he was, and Tom would have held them both in play. But what Tom was doing now he had never essayed outside the main salon of Maestro Capo Ferro's school in Siena, for an ability such as this was dangerously close to witchcraft and was even more likely than his uncanny ability with logic and deduction to get him hanged as a witch.
'Hey,' called Tom, thrusting forward with his right hand as he reversed the point in his left. The motion was so swift that not even the increasingly intrigued actors realised what was going on. Tom straightened, keeping Ugo easily in play. Behind him, Will cried out with shock and surprise, lurching forward into Dick Burbage's arms. The pair of them lurched against Sly and Condell and - but for the slap - the re-enactment was terrifyingly perfect. And, when they looked, in the muggy dryness of the tiring house a few minutes later, the black mark on Will's shirt was on the very point that the blade had run through Julius Morton's linen with so much more deadly effect.
Inevitably, it was Will who pressed him hardest to reveal exactly what he had done to reproduce the method of the murder so perfectly. But Tom remained reticent. Of all the men there, only Ugo, he believed - and hoped – understood exactly what he had done. The ability to fight with both hands at once - using two rapiers instead of one, or rapier and dagger
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