‘I could ay had your eye, Watty. If I’d wanted tae, I could ay taken your eye out wi’ that cut.’
William’s voice was flint-sharp, and with a swift epiphany of clarity Watson understood that he could not win this fight. Still, injured pride and drunken rage propelled him on; he refused to back down, even now.
‘Come off it Watty!’ shouted Michael, who was recovering from the brutal elbow Watson had smashed into his jaw earlier. ‘We can all see tha’ Will’s got you licked! You’re pished an’ angry, an’ now you’ve got yoursel’ a wee souvenir on your cheek tha’s gonnae hurt like blazes tomorrow morning! It’s time tae stop this nonsense!’
‘Shut up! All of you, shut up!’ Watson howled, still intent on finishing the fight.
Again he attacked, but now he was far more cautious in his assault, and this time he was able to exchange a handful of feints, parries and blows with William. William, however, moved with the grace of a ballerina and the speed of a flighty cat, and in just a few seconds he had outmanoeuvred his opponent. With a swift duck and an agile dash under a too-wild slash, followed up with a deft leg hook, William sent Watson crashing face-first into the ground. Watson’s sabre fell into the fire and he lay groaning on his stomach, his face a mess of blood, with grass, dirt and leaves from the ground now stuck to the congealing liquid all over his cheeks.
William pressed the edge of his sabre against Watson’s throat.
‘I hope you’ve learned yersel’ a wee lesson here, Watty,’ he said. ‘Dunnae underestimate your opponent, an’ dunnae fight when you’re under the influence.’
William said this in a steady tone of voice, but inside he was aflame with a strange, heady rush; this was a drug that he had never before experienced, and the potent intoxication that it pulsed through his veins and nerves was at once exhilarating and addictive: this was the thing that men called power. Captain Liversage had warned him about this, the most dangerous of all drugs. His words rang clear in William’s mind:
Do not relish in the dominance that these skills with which I am equipping you will give you over others. Never, ever believe yourself to be superior to other beings, even if in some capacity you are. Power is a dangerous addiction, my boy, and it is one that all too often spirals completely out of control, destroying those who seek to harness it for purposes good or evil. It is an ancient and malevolent entity, William, this thing we call ‘power’. It is a demon birthed in the deepest realms of darkness, and it will possess your mind, body and soul with a finality and totality that cannot be fought against. As Cain struck down his own brother, so too will an enslavement to the rush of power cause any individual to commit all sorts of evil deeds against their fellow men in the neverending pursuit of fuelling that terrible addiction. Never fall slave to the damning enthrallment of power, for I tell you this: it will be the end of you, as surely as the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. Humility, empathy and selflessness, my boy, those are the only antidotes to the poison called ‘power’. Drink often and deeply of them.
William shouted wordlessly, forcefully jolting himself out of the trance-like state induced by the electrifying feeling of power. He stared down at his sabre blade, with its deadly edge pressing against the vulnerable flesh of Watson’s throat, and he felt a sudden revulsion at the proximity of the sharp metal to the warm, living skin. At this a hot flush of shame and self-disgust washed through his body, and he quickly withdrew his blade and sheathed it. He knelt down and offered a hand to Watson.
‘I’m sorry Watty,’ he said. ‘Here, let me help you up.’
Watson looked up at William with eyes that blazed like those of a cornered panther. He hissed a primal growl through gritted, blood-browned teeth, and gripped William’s extended hand with his left hand.
‘That’s right,’ William said. ‘Come on, up wi’—’
As Watson rose up from the ground, he swung his right fist in a vicious hook that caught William square in his solar plexus and knocked the wind right out of him. Watson jerked his left hand out of William’s, and in the same motion he balled his fist and smashed it against William’s jaw in a cracking left cross. William sank to his knees, stunned and winded, and Watson pounced on top of him, ready to unleash all of his pent-up fury. This time, however, Michael was waiting and ready. He dived across the fire and tore Watson off William, and with one mighty heave he threw the big man to the ground and pinned him down.
‘You honourless, back-stabbin’ coward!’ Michael spat. ‘Tae think I’ve called you “friend” in recent days! I’ve dishonoured mysel’ wi’ tha’, I bleeding well have! Pish tae you, Watty!’
‘Bah!’ roared Watson defiantly. ‘Get off o’ me!’
‘Take his sabre away!’ Michael shouted to Andrew, who kicked the sabre out of the flames and picked up the glowing-hot weapon with a rag wrapped around his hand.
‘Got it Mikey,’ Andrew said. ‘This bastard can have it back when he’s slept off this inebriation.’
‘You bloody fookin’ bastards!’ Watson screamed, still struggling against Michael’s lock. ‘I’ll report all of yous to Sergeant Fray, he’ll flay you alive for takin’ my sword!’
‘Wouldn’t tha’ be rich,’ Paul sneered with a smirk. ‘You crawlin’ on hands an’ knees tae the sergeant now, all muddied an’ bloodied up, stinkin’ ay booze, an’ tryin’ tae lay a complaint! Ha!
