All of the men turned around stared with surprise at William as he stood tall and confident, the firelight illuminating his face in tones of red, scarlet and orange, which gave his grey hawk-eyes an unnatural glow. Some sort of preternatural power seemed to be radiating from a furnace-core deep within him; none of his friends had ever seen this side of him.
‘Will, you dunnae need—’ Paul began, but William gently hushed him.
‘No Paul, I do need tae. I’ll no’ be cowed an’ humiliated by this bullying drunkard no longer. And if you dunnae who I’m calling a bully an’ a drunkard, just tae be crystal clear, it’s you, Private Bryan Watson. Now get out ay’ here, we dunnae want your vile presence pollutin’ our otherwise fine company.’
Watson stood slack-jawed and dumbfounded, still having a hard time processing the fact that William was actually standing up to him. His jaw hung open for a few terse, drawn-out seconds before he finally spoke.
‘You little maggot, Cake! How dare you bleedin’ well speak to me like that!’
‘Dunnae call me “Cake” no more!’
‘Filthy little Scotch bastard!’
Watson flung his rum bottle with all his might at William’s head, but he managed to duck and avoid the hurtling projectile, which sailed with a whoosh through the space where his face had just been, spewing rum as it tumbled. William stood up straight again, shaking his head as he brushed some spilled liquor off of his shoulders.
‘Go chase your stupid bottle. Follow it, an’ dunnae come back,’ he said in a dry, even tone.
‘You fink that because you’s an officer’s pet, you’re special now? Is that what you fink, Cake?! Let’s bloody well see, let’s see just ‘ow bleedin’ special you are,’ Watson hissed, and with this he drew his sabre and began advancing on William.
‘Oy! Are you bloody mad, Watty?!’ Michael shouted, springing to his feet. ‘This is live, sharp steel you’re playing with! These’re no’ training blades!’
He lunged forward and grabbed Watson by his sword arm, but as quick as a flash, despite his drunkenness, Watson spun around on his heels and crashed his left elbow into Michael’s jaw. Michael grunted, swayed briefly, and then crumpled to his knees, reeling and dazed from the force of the blow.
‘Watson, you evil bastard!’ Paul snarled, unsheathing his sabre. ‘Andrew, draw your sword! Watty, you’ll face three ay us wi’ sabres if you come a step further!’
However, before Paul could make another move William held up a hand to stop him.
‘No Paul, this here is my battle. I’m going tae put a stop tae this once an’ fir all.’
William then drew his sabre from its scabbard. Holding it in a loose grip, he turned to face the advancing Watson in a mid-guard stance.
‘Think about what you’re doing, Watty,’ William warned as the big man continued to advance on him. ‘Use your damned brain an’ bloody well think about it.’
Watson merely growled, twirling his sabre in his right hand as he prepared to strike. William and Watson began circling one another, keeping the campfire between them as they did. The flickering flames illuminated both men’s faces, throwing splashes of intense chiaroscuro shadow, alternating with blazes of orange and yellow flares, across their features.
‘Let’s see what you’re really made of, Cake,’ Watson growled. ‘Come on, stop ‘iding behind those flames like a bleedin’ meater!’
Watson lunged forward suddenly and wildly, slashing his blade through the fire at William, but he was easily able to evade the clumsy strike.
‘Fight me!’ Watson snarled. ‘Stop running, you coward!’
‘This is your last chance tae put tha’ blade down,’ William warned. ‘Put it down an’ walk away, now.’
‘That’s right you fool!’ Paul cried in agreement. ‘Put the sword away an’ come tae your blasted senses, man!’
‘Bah!’
Watson kicked a mass of burning coals and embers from the fire at William, but he sprang nimbly to the side and avoided the shotgun-blast of hot projectiles.
‘I’ve ‘ad it wiff’ you!’ Watson shouted, and he leaped clean over the fire and hacked at William, who parried the vicious but uncoordinated blow, counterattacking with a whistling, lightning-fast riposte that caught Watson on the side of his head with the flat of the blade. The big man yelped in pain and stumbled back, clutching at his head with his left hand but keeping his sabre pointed at William with his right.
‘That cut could ay ended your sorry life had Will used the edge ay the blade, Watty!’ Paul jeered from the sidelines. ‘We’d all be laughin’ at the three wee drops ay brain, because that’s all there’d bloody well be, drippin’ out your split-open skull right now!’
‘Shut up!’ Watson hissed, still clutching his head, which was ringing and smarting terribly. ‘Bleedin’ shut your trap!’
‘Stop this folly now, Watty,’ William said, still speaking in a calm and even tone. ‘I’ve given you one warning. The next one’ll hurt a great deal more.’
William was putting Captain Liversage’s teachings into action here with great success; he was fully in control of the base emotions of fear and anger, and he was able to feel every muscle, tendon and joint in his body all working in flowing unison. The sword had become an extension of his arm; a living, dynamic body part, melded to his flesh, bone and sinew. He watched Watson staggering towards him in an attempt to make another assault, and he looked for the signs in his opponent’s most minute and subtle of movements – cues which to the initiated were glaring road signs, screaming out the exact course of action the hapless combatant was about to take.
‘Show me how you dance, Watty. Show me your moves, boyo,’ William whispered under his breath.
Watson expelled a guttural, garbled shout of aggression and lunged forward with a vicious thrust. William sidestepped the attack with rapid ease and once again struck with blinding quickness at the opening that Watson had exposed with his over-aggressive
