sword-edge, I thrust my knife deep into his thigh, leaving it there as blood, dark and warm and sticky, spurted forth over my hand. At once the man doubled over, and as he did so I landed a kick on his chest, sending him falling backwards. He landed on top of a screaming Papia, who was still on the ground.
‘Get up,’ I shouted to her. ‘Get up!’
The other three formed a ring around me, but having seen two of their companions wounded, they were no longer as confident as they had been. Uncertain whether to keep their distance or to attack, they hesitated, though not for long. Their broken-nosed lord charged, his eyes filled with fury and hatred and thoughts of revenge.
‘You’ll pay,’ he snarled, even as I saw the other two glance nervously at each other. ‘You’ll pay for what you’ve done.’
He threw himself at me, his sword flashing across my path. Thinking to come around his flank, I tried to dance to one side, but he was quicker than I had imagined, and I was still in mid-step when his sword-point found my right shoulder. Pain seared through me and I stumbled sideways, my sword falling out of position as with my free hand I clutched at the wound. But I had no time to pause and gather myself as my attacker came at me again.
‘Die, damn you,’ he said. ‘Die, you whoreson!’
Gritting my teeth, I forced myself to lift my blade once more, ready for his next strike and the next and the next, as he began to rain blows upon me. It was all I could do to parry them as he pressed me back towards the houses at the side of the street. My back came up against something hard, and I realised then that I had nowhere to go.
I met his gaze and saw the look of victory in his eyes. He raised his sword high, preparing for one final blow, when from behind there came a cry of agony. Except that this time it did not sound like a girl’s scream, but that of a man. It was enough to make their lord hesitate, just for a heartbeat, but it was all the chance I needed. Head down, I barrelled into his lower half, grabbing hold of his tunic and wrestling him from his feet. The street rushed up to meet us, and then together we struck the ground. There was blood in my mouth, and dirt as well, but even as he tried to scramble for his sword-hilt, which lay beyond reach of his outstretched hand, I was getting to my feet again, levelling my blade at his neck.
‘Move and I will kill you,’ I said.
He froze at once, his eyes wide as he saw the steel and realised that in a single stroke his life would be over. ‘Mercy,’ he said. ‘Mercy, please, I beg of you.’
Breathless, my brow and my underarms running with sweat, I stood in the stillness of night. All I could hear was the thumping of my own heart. Of the other two men who had been left, one lay crumpled in a puddle. Blood pooled around him, flowing from a wound in his side that even at a glance I knew could not be staunched. Papia stood over the body, tears streaming down her cheeks, and in her hand was a knife. My knife, I realised, for I would have recognised it anywhere. She did not move, as if her feet had taken root — in some shock, I didn’t wonder, at herself and what she had done.
The last one stood numbly in the middle of the road, his square jaw hanging agape as he glanced first at his dying friend, then at me standing over his lord, then finally at his two injured drinking-companions: the one named Gisulf with the gash to his arm, and the other writhing on the ground, cursing violently as he clutched his wounded thigh.
‘Go,’ I called to the square-jawed man and to Gisulf: the only two left standing. ‘Unless, that is, you want to suffer the same fate as them or see your lord perish.’
Each stared at me as if uncomprehending, then back at their comrades, before finally their senses returned and the two of them fled into one of the narrow alleyways. I heard their footsteps receding into the night, but before long they were gone.
I turned my attention back to their lord. All the man’s earlier arrogance had vanished and now he lay at the point of my sword, whimpering, still pleading for mercy.
‘Why should I spare you?’ I asked him. ‘You tried to rape the girl. You tried to kill me.’
He had no answer to that, and instead he closed his eyes, muttering a prayer to God and shivering as he waited for the strike that would end his life. I left him there to lie in the dirt and hurried to Papia’s side, carefully taking the knife from her still-shaking hand and wiping its blade on the corpse’s cloak before sheathing it. At the same time I was joined by Beatrice, who, now that the danger had passed, had come rushing from the churchyard and threw her arms around the sobbing girl, hugging her tight.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said as she smoothed down Papia’s hair. ‘I’m so sorry. Are you hurt?’
Papia shook her head, but I knew it straightaway for a lie. Even if she had not been visibly harmed, she had seen things this night that no woman should ever have to see, and certainly no girl her age. And it was my fault, since it was because of me that she was here in the first place.
I looked away, gripping my shoulder where I’d been struck. I couldn’t see the wound but I could feel it, for every time I moved my arm a fresh bolt of pain shot through it.
‘You’re bleeding,’ Beatrice said.
‘I’ll live.’ After all, it could have been much worse: had I been but a fraction slower, my opponent’s sword- edge would have found my face or my chest, and I might not be standing here. I tried to put it from my mind.
Dogs barked and I heard voices coming from inside some of the houses. It would not be long before the townsmen mustered enough courage to venture out and see what had happened, and when they did I wanted to be far away from here.
‘We can’t stay here,’ I said. ‘Those men will return, and when they do they’ll bring others with them.’
At that moment, though, there came a grunt, followed by heavy footsteps, and I turned. The lord had risen to his feet and, brandishing his sword before him, he came slowly towards me, except that he must have come down hard on his ankle when he fell or otherwise have hurt himself in the fight, for he was hobbling.
‘Get back,’ I said to the two women. ‘Behind me, now!’
They did not need telling a second time, but obeyed without question. I fixed my gaze upon the man and his twisted, scarred face, and he stared back at me, his broken teeth clenched.
‘It’s over,’ I said. ‘You don’t have to fight me. Throw down your sword and I’ll let you run.’
He halted about ten paces from me. ‘I won’t run, you bastard,’ he said, and he spat upon the ground. ‘Your whore killed one of my men. He did nothing to any of you.’
I almost laughed. It wasn’t my fault that they had failed to kill me, nor that that man had wasted his life in pursuit of slaking his lust.
‘Take my advice and go,’ I said. ‘Otherwise I will kill you too.’
He did not listen, but with a howl of rage he rushed towards me, wielding his blade in both hands, his eyes wild with madness as if he were the Devil’s own son. He was slowed by his injured leg but I didn’t risk making the same mistake as before, instead meeting him face to face. He aimed a cut towards my neck and I raised my sword to parry his, ignoring the protests from my injured shoulder, trusting in the steel not to break as I forced his blade to one side. He stumbled and, as he tried to recover, I suddenly had the opening I needed.
Before he could bring his weapon to bear again I gritted my teeth and lunged forward, thrusting my sword towards his chest. He saw it coming and desperately tried to twist out of the way. It was too late. All at once my blade-point was penetrating cloth and flesh, burying itself in his gut. My attacker screamed out in a greater agony than I could begin to imagine as I twisted the blade and wrenched it free.
Still he clutched his weapon, though he must have known that it was useless to him now. His breath came in stutters as he looked up at me despairingly, then collapsed backwards into a puddle. From down the hill came shouting and the sound of hooves, and as I glanced up I thought I could make out the flicker of lantern-light coming from around the corner, though I was not sure. Men were on their way, at any rate, and I didn’t want to have to spill any more blood this night. We could not stay here much longer.
‘Who are you?’ the man managed, his voice barely more than a croak. He was not long for this life.
I crouched down beside him. ‘My name is Tancred,’ I said. ‘And I am your death.’
He stared back at me, his eyes moist as he saw the last moments of his life slipping by and knew that he would never wield a sword, never feel a woman’s touch, never so much as eat or drink or breathe again.
‘Do it,’ he whispered. ‘Make it quick.’
I nodded, lifting my sword in both hands so that I held it like a dagger over his chest, then in one clean blow drove it between his ribs, thrusting it deeper until it found his heart. One final gasp escaped his lips, and then his eyes closed and his head rolled to one side. I wrested my blade free, rising without another glance at him, leaving
