Captain Liversage unbuckled his sabre and handed it to William. Despite his lack of interest in weapons and the arts of combat, William could not help but be impressed with the Captain’s sabre.
‘Sir, this sword is beautiful!’ he gasped, cradling the sabre as if it was some ancient, priceless artefact, freshly unearthed.
Captain Liversage smiled.
‘It is, is it not? It is an artwork, forged by one of the greatest masters in the world, a Spanish grandmaster swordsmith. It was a gift from my late father to me, upon my attaining of the rank of captain. Draw it from its scabbard, come on, give it a swing and get a feel for its exquisite balance.’
William drew the sword from its silver scabbard, which itself was a work of art, with its gold lace artwork and intricately detailed engravings. The blade of the sabre was etched with beautifully complex artwork, and in ornate lettering an inscription read, ‘let mercy, justice and compassion be your unwavering light against the rising tide of dark,’. The grip of the sword was sharkskin, wrapped with fine gold wire which was bent into labyrinthine patterns, while the pommel and basket guard were wrought in the shape of a tiger’s body, culminating in its head, which formed the pommel.
‘After Waterloo,’ Liversage said, ‘my regiment was sent to India, so before I left England my father had the swordsmith design the sabre with a tiger motif, the animal being native to India, of course. My father thought it would bring me luck, you see. I ended up staying there for some twenty odd years. Here lad, hand me the scabbard and give the blade a swing or two. You’ll find it a good few degrees more fluid and manoeuvrable than your cumbersome trooper’s sabre.’
William handed Captain Liversage the scabbard and assumed a standard guard. Feeling suddenly self-conscious and rather clumsy, he nonetheless attempted to practice a few of the cuts and lunges that Private Smythe had taught him.
‘Not bad form, lad, not bad. You’ve improved a great deal since I first saw you struggling on the practice grounds, but your footwork, form and technique are still going to need a lot of work if we’re to get you up to scratch.’
‘This blade is light, sir!’ William exclaimed, delight and wonder vanquishing his embarrassment at his poor technique. ‘Light and fast!’
‘Feel that balance, boy. Feel it! The sword dances in your fingers, does it not? I dare say there’s no better-balanced blade in this entire army.’
‘I think you’re right, sir! I’ve ne’er felt a better-balanced sword in me’ life! Er, not that I know much about swords, sir.’
‘No, my boy, but you shall! You certainly shall! Feel the edge of the blade. Careful now, it’s—’
‘Razor sharp, sir!’ William murmured, running his fingertip along the sabre’s edge.
‘That’s Toledo steel, Gisborne, the finest sword steel in all of the world. Much stronger than your trooper’s blade, yet more flexible and far less likely to break under a hefty blow. Lighter in weight too, as you can no doubt feel. Feel the tip, lad. Watch out though, a mere prick will break the skin and draw blood.’
William touched the tip of the sword gingerly, and as Captain Liversage had said, a touch of the tip was enough to puncture his skin and draw a drop of blood.
‘I make sure that my edges and point are always as sharp as they can be, and I will show you the proper techniques to keep your own blade in such a condition. Far too many of your troopers’ blades are blunt and poorly maintained, you see, and going into battle with such weapons is a sure way to increase your odds of dying rather than killing. The point especially is important; see how this blade is straighter than yours. Yours is strongly curved, designed primarily for slashing from atop a horse, but mine is closer to an infantry officer’s blade. It has a curve, yes, in order to facilitate effective cutting and slashing power, but the greater degree of straightness is designed to maximise the deadliness of the thrust. The blade is longer than average too – close in length to the blade of a heavy cavalry sabre. A few inches of extra reach can mean the difference between life and death, and thanks to the design, the extra steel does not add any cumbersome weight, nor upset the sword’s superb balance. If you can deliver a good, true thrust with this weapon it’ll run a man straight through, as easily as if you were piercing an overripe plum with a knife – even if your opponent is a fellow in a leather coat, or one of those thick continental greatcoats. With this balance of properties, this sword can be used as effectively on foot as from horseback.’
‘I see sir, I see. It is indeed a remarkably fine blade, sir.’
Captain Liversage grinned and his face once again shone with the glow of boyish delight.
‘The finest, Gisborne, the finest. Now be a good lad and return it to my tent, and then retrieve those practice sabres, please. We must get to work on your swordsmanship at once!’
36
WILLIAM
23rd October 1854. British Light Cavalry Brigade Camp, near Balaclava Valley, The Crimea, Ukraine
‘Don’t betray your intentions with your eyes, nor indeed with any other part of your body, William; I saw that feint coming before you even moved a finger. Come on, pick up the sabre and
