Birds of Prey - Smith Wilbur (версия книг TXT) 📗
"Let us hope so, Mister Bowles," the Buzzard grunted. "I go now to meet our guests. Remember, the signal is a red Chinese rocket. Wait until you see it burn."
"Aye, Captain!" Sam knuckled his forehead and slipped away into the shadows. Cumbrae strode down the sand to meet the leading boat. As it came in to the beach he could see in the lamplight that Llewellyn and Vincent Winterton were sitting together in the stern sheets. Vincent wore a dark woollen cloak against the dawn chill, but his head was bare. He had braided his hair into a thick pigtail down his back. He followed his captain ashore.
"Good morrow, gentlemen," Cumbrae greeted them. "I commend you for your punctuality."
Llewellyn nodded a greeting. "Mister Winterton is ready to begin."
The Buzzard waggled his beard. "Colonel Schreuder is waiting. This way, if you please." They strode abreast along the beach, the seamen from the boats following in an orderly column. "It is unusual to have such a crowd of ruffians to witness an affair of honour," he remarked.
"There are but a few conventions out here beyond the Line," Llewellyn retorted, "but one is to keep your back well covered."
"I take your point." Cumbrae chuckled. "But to demonstrate my good faith, I will not invite any of my own lads to join us. I am unarmed." He showed his hands, then opened the front of his tunic to demonstrate the fact. Making a comforting lump in the small of his back, where it was tucked into his belt, was one of the newfangled wheel-lock pistols, made by Fallon of Glasgow. It was a marvelous invention but prohibitively expensive, which was the main reason why it was not more widely employed. On pressing the trigger the spring-loaded wheel of the lock spun and the iron pyrites striker sent a shower of sparks into the pan to detonate the charge. The weapon had cost him well over twenty pounds but was worth the price for there was no burning match to betray its presence.
"To demonstrate your own good faith, my dear Christopher, will you kindly keep your men together at your side of the square and under your direct control?"
A short way down the beach, they came to the area where the sand had been levelled and a square roped off. A water cask had been set up at each of the four corners. "Twenty paces each side," Cumbrae told Llewellyn. "Will that give your man enough sea room in which to work?"
Winterton surveyed the square then nodded briefly. "It will suit us well enough." Llewellyn spoke for him.
"We will have some time to wait for the light to strengthen" Cumbrae said. "My cook has prepared a breakfast of hot biscuit and spiced wine. Will you partake?"
"Thank you, my lord. A cup of wine would be welcome." A steward brought the steaming cups to them, and Cumbrae said, "If you will excuse me, I will attend my principal." He bowed and went up the path into the trees, to return minutes later leading Colonel Schreuder.
They stood together at the far side of the roped square, talking quietly. At last Cumbrae looked up at the sky, said something to Schreuder, then nodded and came to where Llewellyn and Vincent waited. "I think the light is good enough now. Do you gentlemen agree?"
"We can begin." Llewellyn nodded stiffly.
"My principal offers his weapon for your examination," Cumbrae said, and proffered the Neptune sword hilt first. Llewellyn took it and held the gold-inlaid blade up to the morning light.
"A fancy piece of work," he murmured disparagingly. "These naked females would not be out of place in a whorehouse." He touched the gold engravings of sea nymphs. "But at least the point is not poisoned and the length matches that of my principal's blade." He held the two swords side by side to compare them, and then passed Vincent's sword to Cumbrae for inspection.
"A fair match," he agreed, and passed it back. "Five-minute rounds and first blood?" Llewellyn asked, drawing his gold timepiece from the pocket of his waistcoat.
"I am afraid we cannot agree to that." Cumbrae shook his head. "My man wishes to fight without pause until one of them cries for quarter or is dead."
"By God, sir!" Llewellyn burst out. "Those rules are murderous."
"If your man pisses like a puppy, then he should not aspire to howl with the wolves." Cumbrae shrugged.
"I agree!" Vincent interjected. "We will fight to the death, if that's the way the Dutchman wants it."
"That, sir, is exactly how he wants it," Cumbrae assured him. "We are ready to begin when you are. Will you give the signal, Captain Llewellyn?"
The Buzzard went back and, in a few terse sentences, explained the rules to Schreuder, who nodded and ducked under the rope of the barrier. He wore a thin shirt open at the throat so that it was clear that he wore no body armour beneath it. Traditionally, the brilliant white cotton would give his opponent a fair aiming mark, and show up the blood from a hit.
On the opposite side of the square Vincent loosened the clasp of his cloak and let it drop into the sand. He was dressed in a similar white shirt. With his sword in his hand, he vaulted lightly over the rope barrier and faced Schreuder across the swept beach sand. Both men began to limber up with a series of practice cuts and thrusts that made their blades sing and glitter in the early light.
"Are you ready, Colonel Schreuder?" After a few minutes, Llewellyn called from the side-line as he held on high a red silk scarf.
"Ready!"
"Are you ready, Mister Winterton?" "Ready!"
Llewellyn let the scarf drop, and a growl went up from the Gull's seamen at the far side of the square. The two swordsmen circled each other, closing in cautiously with their blades extended and their points circling and dipping. Suddenly Vincent, sprang forward, and feinted for Schreuder's throat, but Schreuder met him easily and locked his blade. For a long moment they strained silently, staring into each other's eyes. Perhaps Vincent saw death in the other man's implacable gaze, and felt the steel in his wrist, for he broke first. As he recoiled Schreuder came after him with a series of lightning ripostes that made his blade glint and glitter like a sunbeam.
