Para Bellum | Afternoon, Thursday 15th September

[Charles Audley]

 

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Fencing Practice Hall

 

 

The enclosed area was filled with mirrors. In the middle a large circle was drawn with all kinds of lines, known as the Spanish style, it was used in the instruction of young men just learning the arts.

 

Several artful displays of armor and rapiers to the walls called attention. Two dummies were set up for those courtiers that wanted to practice their stabbing technique but more often than not the men gathered here to train with each other, or to observe others.

 

 

 

Charles had meant to read after the reception, rather than anything more strenuous. He had been altogether too conscious of the fact that he had drank slightly too much and eaten far too little to undertake anything that might require genuine exertion. It had just happened that the book his hand and eye had first chanced on in his apartment had been George Silver's Paradoxes of Defence.

"And moreover, the exercising of weapons putteth away aches, griefs, and diseases, it increases strength, and sharpens the wits, gives a perfect judgement, it expels melancholy, choleric and evil conceits, it keeps a man in breath, perfect health, and long life. It is unto him that has the perfection thereof a most friendly and comfortable companion when he is alone, having but only his weapon about him, it putteth him out of all fear, and in the wars and places of most danger it maketh him bold, hardy, and valiant."

Charles disagreed with the long dead fencing master on many points, but that had had the ring of truth to it, and so he had found himself here, in the fencing hall, sweating into an old shirt. He had lost his first two bouts, the first because he had had to work off the wine and the second because he had been focused on perfecting a tricky little imbrocatta Baselard had shown him during recess. That had stung a little, but the former had been expected and the latter he considered a fair trade. He had won his third in any case, with his favourite counter-riposte, which had gone some way to soothing his pride.

He had stepped away to face one of the dummies after that, working mechanically through his repertoire of thrusts and cuts. He had been going for some time without halt and was by now sweating, his breathing kept even only by an effort of will. 

His posture remained perfect, though, and his blade wavered not at all. 

[Francis Kirke]

Francis had been leaving his meeting with Cumberland when he heard the faint sound of noises from the Fencing Hall. Rather than feel like the Earl of Kingston, subject of annoying pamphleteers and horrible gossip, he had the pang of just wishing to be Francis. Simple life of sailing and swordplay. What he'd lived before coming to court. Life now was far more complex.

 

He entered the room and sighted Chatham and exhaled a sigh of relief, for he doubted Chatham would hold gossip against him, for the man knew him personally rather than not at all.

 

"It seems you have been at work for some time," he commented to the other lord. "Mind if I join you? I find myself missing the bits of my former life where practicing at swordplay was a prime activity to break the monotony of crossing seas."

 

His technique, unlike most courtiers in England, was of the Italian style. He had spent much of his time there.

[Charles Audley]

There was something wonderful in exertion, Charles had always found. Something wonderful and liberating, that let you transcend your cares and even conscious thought, leaving only the sublime feeling of focusing solely on physical excellence. It was simultaneously meditative and satisfying.

Silver had the right of that, give him his due.

As a child, first learning to fence, he had been prone to being swallowed up by the feeling and rendered totally insensible to the world around him. Now, even with only half as many eyes as he had had then, he was more the master of himself and accordingly more aware of his surroundings. He caught sight of Kingston's approach and straightened from his guard, inclining his head and smiling in greeting. He had heard the rumours swirling around the other man, of course, even occupied as he had been over recess, and paid them little mind. He liked Francis.

"Kingston! By all means, please. I would welcome the company – I, too, have always found that swordplay dispels boredom and keeps me in even temper, but it works better with a sparring partner."

He assessed his companion as he spoke. Kingston was taller than him, well practiced with a blade to judge from his words, and he moved with that grace and economy of motion that Charles had always associated with skilled swordsman. This would prove an excellent challenge, Charles suspected, and he relished the thought.

 

[Francis Kirke]

Unlike many courtiers, Francis had fought more than his share of duels (mostly over women in foreign lands) and had lived his life surrounded by battle. He shared many similarities in that way with Chatham. Both had strong minds and were deadly; though, admittedly, persons likely could believe the deadly part about Chatham sooner than they could about the youthful and almost femininely pretty Kingston. 

 

Kingston, though not a boastful fellow by any means, having been separated from his inheritance of Villiers vanity and ego at an early age by liberal application of birchings from his grandfather, had not been separated from the Villiers gift of swordsmanship. In fact, of all abilities in a man like Buckingham, Francis was most similar to his uncle in swordsmanship. It was a passion and passe-temps that they shared together frequently.

 

His Majesty also liked sparring with Francis for his height, for even having a height advantage over the "cub," Francis was not the size of a small child by comparison to the King's gargantuan height. Chatham was intelligent in his musing that height in swordplay provided a strong implicit advantage for reach was exponential, tall persons having both a longer arm and wielding a longer rapier. Unfortunately, Francis had not brough his own tipped practice sword, this being an impulse decision rather than planned, so sword length would not be an advantage for him, simply his arm, because the room was not stocked for tall men.

 

Coming further into the room, Francis chuckled as Chatham said a partner worked even better. He pat the dummy's shoulder and said with a grin, "This fellow cannot provide a man like you with much challenge." He gave a soft snicker of a laugh, "And provides as much witty repartee as reposte." 

 

He shucked his justacorps and waistcoat, tossed his cravat on the pile, and untied the neck of his shirt, feeling far more Francis than he usually did at court. Kingston looked the part, but he oft did not feel it. His comfort was a simplicity and freedom this new life would never provide. 

 

"These are a bit shorter than I am used to, but this was an spur of the moment decision for me. I confess I heard noises and felt the call of the sword," he added, as he moved to select one to practice with. 

[Charles Audley]

Charles laughed along with Kingston and raised his blade in salute to the dummy.

"To be wholly fair to our friend Manichino*, while neither a swordsman nor a wit, he is an utterly superlative Stoic, and his unflinching endurance of all that comes his way a shining example to us all."

In truth there were any number of courtiers who could have done with emulating Signor Manichino in that regard, but Charles did not count Kingston among their number any more than he did himself. However pretty the other man might be, Kingston had been a sailor and a captain, and Charles had spent enough time afloat to know that that was a life that sharpened and hardened a man full as much as his own had sharpened and hardened him.

"It's funny," he mused, gesturing at the dummy, "how as a boy one imagines all one's opponents thus — dumb in every sense of the word, and utterly helpless before the superior swordsman — and then one becomes a man, and finds such a thing wholly unsatisfying."

He waited patiently as Kingston made ready, considering how he should approach this. Height was second only to left-handedness in the list of things that made a swordsman difficult to deal with in his opinion. (He remember the Scottish officer he had fenced the previous Christmas, Dundarg or something like that, and suppressed a wince. The man had been both left-handed and hugely tall, which had made for quite a chastening experience, even before he had headbutted Charles.) Kingston was not that tall, thankfully, but he still had a few inches on Charles.

There were ways to deal with taller men, of course. They tended to be slightly slower in transition, for one, but that was very much a relative thing, and even at its best less of an edge than a simple several inches of added reach. It relied, too, on your being willing and able to outwork the other man, which was not an assumption Charles felt safe making here.

At least the spontaneous nature of Kingston's decision meant his greater reach would not be as great as it might have been. Charles grinned at the other man's revelation.

"I have to be very careful coming within earshot of the fencing hall at Whitehall," he offered in kind, "lest I find myself within two hours later, now late for a prior engagement."

 

*Manichino – Mannequin

[Francis Kirke]

Francis could not help but laugh. As a child in exile, he had learned his swordsmanship from books and with wooden "swords" as tutors in such things could not be afforded, and he had two older "brothers" who were truly his like-aged uncles, so he had never been afforded the notion his opponents would be stupid.

 

"I suppose I should not be surprised that you were either the oldest or did not have brothers given your title," he explained. "I, on the other hand, had two uncles of a similar age to me in our household who were either taller or bigger, and I the youngest. My imaginings as a boy were quite different!"

 

He selected a sword and held it out, testing a few guards with the unfamiliar length and weight of weapon with a "hmm."

 

"As a youth, though, I oft had a better conceit of myself than I should have. Naval service dispelled me of that somewhat. Later exploits in Naples proved I could learn and did learn some fine lessons from skilled swordsmen." With a grin, he said, "There's little sport in a contest easily won, and I gather you will be quite sporting."

 

His blue eyes cast over the Spanish style circle on the floor. That style was more up close than a tall man like Francis needed. Italians favored lines and less "dancing" as some of the Neopolitans might call it. 

 

"So, Chatham, do you prefer sparring more a la macchia* or traditional?" he asked. "I do not personally mind either, but at court it behooves me not to show up to attend the King with a black eye or fat lip." 

 

Not used to this practice weapon, he contemplated beginning with a different guard, but his preferred was the most used of the mixed guards of practiced swordsmen in the Italian style, a combination of 3rd and 4th. 

 

(OOC - *rough and tumble style)

[Charles Audley]

"Oh? You never dreamt yourself a new Achilles, tearing through armies of men who might as well have been stuffed with straw? Perhaps I was an even more arrogant child than I thought, then."

Charles laughed again, but behind the amusement he noted the care Kingston was taking over the selection of his weapon, and revised his estimation of the other man's skill up another notch.

"And I certainly had a finer conceit of myself than was warranted as a youth, but then so did every man ever born I think. One knows too little of the world at that age to measure oneself accurately against it."

He moved the tip of his blade in figure eights as he spoke, keeping his wrist limber.

"It was Tangiers that taught me, both that I might be genuinely good at this and that despite that I was not a tenth as good as I had thought. I was almost all athleticism and aggression then. I have endeavoured since to add refinement and science." He answered Kingston's grin in kind. "Enough to provide you with ample sport, I hope."

Charles considered Kingston's question a moment, and shrugged easily.

"I believe in practicing as you mean to play, and so generally favour a la macchia, but in light of your position, and my own need to avoid any further damage to my visage, perhaps we might extend one another scholar's privilege?"

Kingston had suggested he was trained in the Italian school, and so Charles expected him to take either the third or the bastard guard, or the counterguards to either favoured by Fabris and Alfieri. For himself, Charles favoured the counterguards when fencing rapier, and had since his own time in Italy, a preference only strengthened when Baselard suggested that he read the Italian masters again.

[Francis Kirke]

Francis snorted, "Yes, athleticism and aggression had most of us rushing into a false opening as youths. We learn to be more measured and calculating as we age; those of us that survived the false openings at least. My ward is still succumbing to false openings with vigor in practice, until we practice with an edge, then he feels his own vulnerability more clearly." It was his habit to practice most mornings with Tommy, but his summons from Cumberland had prevented that on this particular day. 

 

"As you wish," Francis replied with a laugh. "Feel free to knock me on my arse if you can," he added with a jaunty little bow of his head. 

 

He took up his favored starting position, which was as Chatham had mused a bastard guard of 3rd and 4th, but Francis for himself preferred the term mista, and awaited those opening moves where one generally sussed out the ability and style of their opponent. If Chatham did not make the first move, Francis was fully ready to toy with him some. Height allowed boldness while staying out of the measure. 

[Charles Audley]

"The prospect of seeing your own blood does tend to prompt a certain level of focus and caution," Charles agreed.

He answered Kingston's nod with a flicked salute of his blade and came into his own guard, the counterposture to the mixed guard. To a casual observer it was a mirror of KIngston's, and it mostly was, only with the subtle difference of a slight angle to his wrist ensuring that the line between his opponent's tip and his own body was completely covered by the forte of his sword. Always important, the closing of that line was a necessity here, for to come within his own measure Charles would first have to pass into Kingston's.

That fact also mandated that he play proactively and press the other man, for let alone Kingston could pick him apart in relative safety. That suited Charles, who in general held that risk increased in exponential proportion to the length of a bout, and who in this specific case thought it likely that he would tire before Kingston, if only because he had been at this longer.

Athleticism and aggression shall have their day again, it seems, though hopefully tempered with vastly greater calculation.

He came forward smoothly and unhurriedly, confident in his guard but edging ever so slightly to his left as he advanced. Charles had always liked to get outside his opponent's blade, and since losing the eye that slight drift helped keep those opponents out of his blind spot. Coming into distance, he tested Kingston's responses with some light probing, the customary cautious Investigatory manoeuvring of two swordsmen at their first engagement. It was dangerous, though, to linger like this against a taller swordsman, and so Charles launched his first earnest attack.

It started with a smooth cavazione, as though he were still playing the traditional patient game, and then accelerated as he committed and closed the distance with a rapid passing step, his left foot moving forward of his right. Simultaneously, his left hand came up to grasp his blade at the midpoint, allowing him to force Kingston's blade down and away with a two-handed beat and then thrust home as though he were wielding a short spear or bayonet. The botte de paysan, it was called, more common among the French than the Italians in his experience. Charles liked it because the passing step helped displace his torso should the opponent try a counter-in-tempo, and if instead they attempted a disengage around his beat, it would perforce be a larger, slower motion, needing as it did to move around his arm as well as his blade. Finally, should they manage to get their point on target despite all that, he could attempt a parry with his off-hand.

All that was in theory, of course. Practice could often prove a different matter.

[Charles Blount]

Charles and Francis fencing as a wild Mountjoy appears 

 

As his Ursula was attending the Queen and the Queen seemed to be content to stay in her apartments Charles had no particular calls upon his time so he decided to head down to the stables and spend some quality time with his horse Roland. Descending to the ground floor of the main tower and passing the suite of the Duke of Buckingham he noticed a fruit bowel near the entrance of the Dukes Suite. Thinking that His Grace of Buckingham would not begrudge his horse a snack he pocketed an apple and continued on his way. He was wearing a simple coat of brown wool broadcloth with cloth covered buttons and no lace, a waistcoat of dark green boiled wool with small gold buttons and tan elk skin breeches with brown hunting boots. The outfit was plain but immaculately tailored except for the now unsightly bulge in his coat.

His journey took him through the Middle ward and as he was passing, he heard scuffling and voices from the fencing hall and decided to pop in for it was not unusual for gentlemen to observe sparring matches and he had been dreadfully neglecting his swordsmanship as of late. Quietly entering the room was empty but for Kingston and the Pirate-like gentleman that he had seen often at court but did not recall ever being formally introduced. As they appeared to just be facing off Mountjoy did not disturb them content to allow them to proceed as he observed.  

[Francis Kirke]

Francis was only minutely aware of Mountjoy's arrival and only because he was more accustomed to pay attention to his surroundings than most. Serving on a ship and having been boarded before, you never knew where an opponent could come from when in the midst of fighting another.

 

The cavazione was all too frequent an initial attempt, and Francis moved his blade into a controcavazione, neglecting the attempt, and trying to use his superior reach to keep Chatham's sword, thus keeping his lines closed. It was a move to keep Chatham to the inside when he seemed to want the outside. He followed it with a quick ridoppio.

 

It became clear rather quickly that neither was going to make a point on the other very easily. Both knew what they were doing.

[Charles Audley]

Charles was vaguely aware that someone had entered the fencing hall, though what sense prompted that awareness he could not say. The sound of the door hinges, perhaps, or a change in the air as the door was opened. No one appeared to be charging him screaming, however, so he kept his attention firmly focused on the failure of his first assault.

KIngston had remained composed (which not many even among experienced fencers did when Charles closed so fast and aggressively, which in turn was no small part of the reason he favoured manoeuvres such as the botte de paysan) and denied him the outside line he wanted for his attack, thus leaving him in a somewhat vulnerable position. His opponent, naturally, was disinclined to allow him to extricate himself and moved swiftly to take advantage with a smooth mandritto aimed at clearing his blade. (Or so Charles judged in the frozen half-instant he had to decide.) 

He derobed the cut and then broke measure to avoid the anticipated follow-up, his point out to discourage too close a pursuit. He might have lingered to try a parry or an attack-of-tempo, but Kingston was fast, and the risk of being hit in contratempo or simply being doubled grew massively with every second spent in distance.

And there is little I hate like being doubled.

Charles, almost despite himself, found himself grinning. He had had the worst of that exchange, he judged, because he had revealed a little more of how he liked to fence than Kingston and lost the initiative. He had learned a few things as well, of course. Kingston had speed and nerve, knew how to use his height without relying on it, and, more importantly, paid attention to small details like Charles subtly edging left. None of these were good things from his perspective, but that made them good things to know.

His grin widened, the joy of the challenge singing in his veins. Kingston was almost certainly the best swordsman he had faced in quite some time, and he was going to have to be artful if he was to triumph. Bearing that in mind, he baited a trap — the slightest change in angle in his guard, leaving the slightest hint of an opening to his outside, the sort a man who had been working all morning might easily leave in the grasp of fatigue.

[Charles Blount]

The two swordsmen engaged in a spirited engagement. He moved to the side where he could better view the action and also position himself so as not to disturb their play. He casually leant against a window recess as the click clack of blades connecting and the shuffle of feet gave testament to their sport. They both seemed most competent. Audley appeared more winded than Kingston but still evenly matched.

 

[OCC: Not a lot for me to comment on at this point so feel free to continue without waiting for me to post if I lag.]

[Francis Kirke]

Facing a new opponent at swordplay was rather like facing a new opponent at cards. You never knew what they had up their sleeve, nor their tells, nor their tendencies. The youthful Francis might look to be barely of age, if even of age, but he was far older and more experienced that looks told.

 

What Francis betrayed in his movements was not betrayed by the movements of his sword themselves but rather by what Chatham could see one the forearm of his left. If Chatham noticed it or what he would make of it was unknown, but when Francis' white, lacy shirtsleeve rode up, the boney side of his forearm was littered with raised scars. It could mean one of two things, that he had used the less damaging part of his forearm to block attacks, which might say something about the type of attack that was successful with him, or that he'd fought in enough duels where he had distinct advantage that his opponent pulled a surprise dagger on him with some frequency. Unless one agreed to sword and dagger first, pulling one was generally an ignoble attempt to save one's life. One way or another, it betrayed the type of experience Francis had with a sword. 

 

WIth his swift movements, it was obvious he was enjoying himself immensely in the quick tit for tat with Chatham, the clanking of their attempts and blocks rapid. 

 

When Francis saw the opening, he did not take it in the typical fashion but nor did he let it pass. Instead he raised his foot as if he were readying a lunge, but stamped it down short in a feint, ready to take advantage of how Chatham tried to close, whether the opening had been real or a play. Even so, it was highly likely with Chatham's skill, he would not find an opening even then.

[Charles Audley]

Charles noticed Kingston's forearm scars with the watchful part of his mind that handled the thinking while hands and feet did what they had been trained to do. He bore similar marks himself, similarly acquired, as Kingston could see when his own shirt sleeve rode up. Most probably the scars simply signified that both of them were proper bravos as well as gentlemen, but Charles did start to distantly consider what sort of actions might necessitate a fend with the forearm. 

In turn, of course, Kingston seems to have noticed that I like to edge to the left...

In immediate reality, beyond such considerations, Charles thought for half an instant that his little trap had succeeded, and so nearly fell into Kingston's. Only the fact that the deliberately shortened lunge was one of his own favourite deceptions saved him. A planned lunge to counter in opposition was delayed just a fraction and became instead a step to flush the counter paired with a girata to the left, voiding any target he might have presented to Kingston and allowing him to strike home in the tempo thus created. Of course the other man knew he liked to move to the outside line, and the girata naturally left his blade unsupported by the rest of his body and thus very vulnerable to being seized. 

But that was fine, for this was a layered deception. If the initial attack should land, all well and good, but Charles's true intention was to coupé over the attempt to find his sword and finish with an imbrocatta. Risky, of course, for Kingston was by no means guaranteed to act as expected and should he do otherwise Charles would be very exposed, but as a skilled swordsman the other man should naturally look for advantage of the sword, or so Charles calculated. He was conscious, too, that he was almost certain to tire before Kingston and so was obliged to take risks to seek an early conclusion, for his chances of victory diminished with every passing moment. The gamble, then, seemed to him the best option.

Presuming, that is, that Kingston does not surprise me again...

[Charles Blount]

Mountjoy observed and thought to himself ‘Hmmm… if Kingston were a bear Audley would be in serious trouble right now.’  Blount was more experienced in fighting animals instead of men.

[Blackguard]

As luck, and skill, would have it, Kingston landed the first touch.

 

 

OOC~ die roll

[Francis Kirke]

The two players were well-matched. Both had much experience and intellect behind their moves. They were sly opponents who understood the finer parts of swordplay. Classical training generally paid off in spades, but clearly both had more than that. Most knowledgeable onlookers would not wish to challenge either man to a real duel. The two men seemed as if they had been in many, for only the threat of real cut, stab, and spilling of one's own blood bred men who did not fall easily into traps, false openings, or typical maneuvers. Men who had only sparred fell into such patterns, because their was no true risk.

 

It could have been that Francis evidenced more skill, or had two eyes, or was taller, or was simply less spent. Then again, he had also been less warmed-up and not using a sparring sword of his own. At any rate, Francis was quick and Chatham's ploy to strike home did not pan out. In Francis' experience an incortata or girata was risky and best for defending a committed attack because of body movement and because it left your own body exposed if unsuccessful. Francis had good footwork for a tall man and redirected Chatham's sword away to the outside of his own body with his forte, keeping his leg out of range, and with his superior reach passing his own sword down and scoring on his exposed flank in his lower back.

 

He then pulled back and smiled, catching his breath, "We should spar far more often Chatham. You are tricky and cerebral. A very good challenge."

 

Noting who had joined them, Francis smiled and offered a bow to Lord Mountjoy. "Good afternoon, my lord." He looked between the other two men, "Are you both acquainted?"

[Charles Audley]

Charles liked to use the girata on the attack because his usual aggressive style tempted opponents to try and stop hit him, and because he trusted his bladework to keep his sword from being found before he could finish.

In this case, however, he had misjudged the distance. Whether as a result of some deceptive footwork on Kingston's part or a mistake on his own, his girata ended with him too close to Kingston, lacking the space and time for the coupé he was already committed to and allowing Kingston to find his sword.

His first instinct was to cut down out of the bind, but his opponent had already covered that possibility and so Charles resorted to a desperate last ploy. He tried to pivot clockwise on his toes and whipped his blade back, wrapping his sword arm around the back of his neck and looking to strike over his left shoulder, but his weight was set poorly for such an expansive manoeuvre and Kingston had put his point into his kidney before he had much more than begun.

"Well struck," he complimented, straightening up and returning the other's smile. It genuinely had been. Charles hated to lose, but you had to admire the understated elegance of Kingston's clean, efficient competence. 'The essence of excellence is to do the simple things well,' his uncle had told him years ago, when he had first been learning to fence, and if Charles had not always managed to live by the precept he had never disagreed with it.

"We should. You're the best sport I've had blade in hand in a year or more, and your footwork is exquisite," he continued, returning the compliment. "I intend to be here most mornings where a court function does not prevent me, and the afternoons when one does."

Remembering that they had an audience, Charles turned to face Mountjoy and bowed in greeting.

"We have not been formally introduced, but I have observed Lord Mountjoy's oratory in Lords with great admiration."

Edited December 5, 2022 by Charles Audley

[Charles Blount]

The two men finished their match and it appeared Kingston had won but they appeared to have been evenly matched as evidenced by their after-bout banter. As Kingston took a breather from his exertions, he acknowledged Blount with a welcoming bow. Returning the courtesy, he replied. “A good morning it indeed is.” He was in fact not acquainted with the new Earl’s former advisory although he had seen him at Court.   

Admitting that same fact, the stranger bowed and complimented his oration. Returning his bow, he offered his own greeting. “Charles Blount, at your service. How kind of you to remember my mumblings in the Lords. It appears that we have inhabited the same halls yet have in some way or another contrived to never have the pleasure.” It was not in Blount’s nature to use simple words like ‘No, how are you?’ when there were other words that said the same thing yet used many more syllables.

“I was by happenstance passing and the clacking of the blades drew my attention. I can not in all honesty declare myself a swordsman but have had enough training to appreciate good form and in observing you two gentlemen I was witness to a fine example of the art.”

[Francis Kirke]

He nodded at Chatham's agreement that their bout was very sporting. "I tend to spar very early with my ward for his practice, so that he can get about his other studies, but his skill is far from your own. He surprises me now and again but very rarely. Perhaps we shall join you some mornings? He could benefit from another blade than mine and you would keep me far sharper, no pun intended." 

 

Francis did not make a habit of sparring with many people to his full ability. It was best to keep surprises on one's side if one needed them for a duel, but considering he and Chatham had always gotten on when they had been in each other's presence, he saw little need for too much of that. Buckingham he sparred with, and the King when he wished for some sport, but he was usually quite private with his skill. 

 

Lord Mountjoy was then greeted, and it seemed Chatham knew of him even if they had not been introduced. The marquess, of course, was eloquent as ever. 

 

"My impromptu sparring partner here is Lord Chatham," Francis introduced the other man to Lord Mountjoy.

 

"High praise, my lord. Thank you." He smiled to Mountjoy and added, "Is that true modesty or false modesty, Mountjoy? If you wish some exertion, I can fit my ability to challenge anyone opposite me appropriately. Chatham here had a bit of disadvantage in that he had already been at it for some time before I arrived." With a wry grin he added, "I promise I play nicely."

[Charles Audley]

"That would suit me admirably," Charles said agreeably, accepting Kingston's suggestion. "A variety of opponents is important, particularly when one is learning, and I have no objections to lending a hand to the education of a young gentleman." He grinned widely. "Especially when in return I am offered the opportunity to revenge myself."

Moving to greet Mountjoy, Charles took the opportunity to observe the marquess at close quarters. Taller than he had realised – if there was more than a hair's difference between them than he would be surprised – and no idle gentleman of leisure to judge from the erect carriage and trim figure.

And, of course, a speaker every bit as eloquent as his riding suit was exquisitely tailored. Charles, who had been known to indulge in the use of excessive syllables himself and who still cherished the appellation of 'Lord Chat'em' once given him by the Duchess of Cleveland, felt something stir.

"How indeed my lord. It is a great mystery, is it not, how two lives may be lived in such relatively close proximity and yet, by chance and contrivance, never intersect? But, now that fate and fortune have seen fit to calm the currents that have kept our ships from hailing distance, allow me to say that it is a great pleasure to finally and formally make your acquaintance."

It was pleasant to be complimented, even when he had lost, and Charles inclined his head again in thanks.

"It is kind of you to say so my lord. I have of late had the luxury to devote no small amount of time to putting the polish back on my swordplay, and it is good to hear that it has had an effect. I would in no wise have been Lord Kingston's opponent when I first returned to court, so out of practice was I."

He turned to Francis.

"And you are very gracious to offer me the excuse, Kingston, but I do not think any lack of freshness on my part played a material role in the outcome."

No, the only role his tiredness had played was that his consciousness of it had meant that he felt he could not let the match drag on, which had encouraged him to seek an early conclusion.

[Charles Blount]

“My Lord Chatam,. He said bowing. “Indeed in the vastness of the see it is not uncommon for ships to travel with neigh ever a chance to hail one another but in the pond that is the court it is an extraordinary accomplishment. One that we have managed until now. So it is a pleasure that I have heaved to… hove to?... to hail you a hearty ahoy.” Mountjoy loved naval terms even if he did not completely understand them.

“I assure you Lord Kingston that there is noting false to my modesty. I would venture to say I am the greatest personage at court when it comes to modesty.” He said the following with a straight face to judge its reception. “I would not wish to put Lord Chatham all in a sweat, although I daresay it would not faze him, but if he is content to observe, I will take you up on your kind offer of a little exertion.”

He divested himself of his coat and draped it on a rack so it would not get wrinkled and inspected the swords choosing a heavier specimen. “I fear I have neglected my swordplay to such an extent that it would dismay my former master so hope I will be able to offer you some challenge. If you, as you say, wish to play nicely and oppose me appropriately, it would be more familiar to me if you were to jump out from under a bush and charge me. I am more used to that sort of thing.” He said with a little grin.      

[Francis Kirke]

Francis was not one to bait a gentleman by inflating his own conceit of himself when he won; it was hardly sporting to do so and just encouraged bad feelings. Chatham seemed equally willing to follow the same or similar principle in allowing his defeat without blaming it on being overexerted and diminishing Francis' skill. It was far more agreeable to spar with someone with some sense and some mind than all bluster and need to wave around one's...sword...as if it were the best ever made. The same translated to many masculine pursuits.

 

"High praise, indeed, Chatham, and gracious of you to say so. You both shall make me blush. It used to be my sword was one of the few things I had in the world to advance myself." Honestly, to provide for himself and his mother, but it was not something courtiers ever mentioned. "And it has been a daily practice since I was a boy. I've collected books on swordsmanship on my journeys at sea as a sort of hobby. Books are good company on long voyages and decks are good places to learn balance."

 

There had once been a time where one of the few gifts he had received from his father (other than blushing and a feminine face) had been his innate skill with a sword. It had been part of a modest inheritance of only traits, when on arriving at court he had nothing but his business and newly begot baronetcy in compensation for losing two ships privateering in the war. He had known nothing then. Much had changed since and now there were other gains people saw first. He was not a relatively poor gentleman anymore and with that brought its own risks as the broadsheets announced to all. 

 

In that way, he was rather pleased Lord Mountjoy was still speaking to him!

 

Speaking to him in a way that made him laugh brightly. Most modest of all court indeed! "I have noticed men in awe of your modesty, my lord. Especially during your speeches and in the execution of your duties." He chuckled a bit further.

 

"Even Lord Chatham and I did scholar's privilege, so worry not over your fine visage,  my lord!" Francis said to Mountjoy.

 

"Don't tempt me. Do not think I have never yelled and charged a man with a sword like a lunatic." He chuckled again. "It scares the young men even if not a man who's been to war, and not you Lord Mountjoy for the tales of you facing down boar are legend. It's a tell for a man's courage, if he's off-balanced in the mind easily." Francis circled his own practice sword widely as Mountjoy choose his weapon.

[Charles Audley]

"An ahoy most happily returned my lord," Charles said, grinning. He quite enjoyed the nautical terminology, which he saw as a sign of playful wit.

He moved off a little way to give the other two some room, refighting his match with Kingston in his mind as he did. The coupé had been a mistake, in retrospect, and he would have been better served with a mezza cavazione and thrust into the low line, but that, he fancied, was just the culmination of the far larger mistake that had been rushing the match. He could have spent another phrase or two establishing the correct distance and lulling Kingston.

There is plenty to dissect in that match in any case, and I look forward to it...

"A good shout and a vigorous charge can shake even an experienced man, if he is not expecting you to attack," he opined, for he had kept an ear bent to the conversation. (He himself had found the screaming onslaught particularly effective when caught in flagrante or in the bath. People generally expected a man to at least cover his genitals before leaping into the fray, and found it unsettling when he did not.)

"But unlikely to work here, I think, for if I am any judge you are both possessed of that greatest of gifts — nerve and grace under pressure. There is little to test it like a sea-fight or standing before a charging boar."

Charles had done both, and frankly had found each a sterner test of his own nerve than the breach at Maastricht or receiving a cavalry charge.

[Charles Blount]

[OOC: I am going to narrate CB’s fencing skill/moves in a more narrative style so as not to over tax my brain.]

 

Finding a weapon that he liked he preformed a few practice swings and lunges before deciding that it would do. From this brief exhibition practiced swordsmen such as Chatam and Kingston would unlikely be in a state of awe. Like most gentlemen he had had some education in fencing and although he was certainly proficient enough to skewer some insolent and inebriated Earl (and Francis was only one of those) at dawn in Hyde Park, it appeared that, in a formal engagement his technique could be said to be satisfactorily trained but not expert.

“Shall we begin My Lord?”

Mountjoy took up his position bowed and saluted which he did quite well and took his stance which was less so. He then abruptly stopped and held up a hand. “I beg your pardon.” He fished out a small ivory handled dirk from his breeches. “An old Scottish custom I have taken to since our card game. It would be most embarrassing if it were to fall out during our fencing practice.”  He said as he laid the small blade aside and resumed his position. “At your convenience I am now ready to begin.”

 

He waited for his opponent to begin the match and after the first few exchanges Kingston was able to discover that his opponent was not so unskilled as first appeared. True his form was irregular but his reactions were like lightning and the strength of his wrist was formidable. A beat that would normally clear a way past another’s blade hardly nudged Blount’s weapon. His footwork was casual but highly effective and his parries seemed to come from nowhere.

Both Kingston and Chatam were indeed better swordsmen and they were also experienced on the battlefield but Mountjoy hunted almost every week and had done so for many years withstanding many more potentially fatal encounters than the most seasoned warrior. And besides, it was quite possible to survive a battle unharmed. The cumulation of a bear or boar charge frequently resulted in one of the participants lying dead.

Mountjoy’s style was perplexing to a trained swordsman for although he often started and attack or defense in accordance with the teachings of an accepted style, when he was inevitably countered by his opponent’s superior fencing skill, his hunting instincts kicked in and he would do something unexpected yet effectual. There were no small scars upon the Marquis’s forearms as remembrances of former duels, his scars were more serious and confined to less visible but more vital areas for like the Heart’s disemboweling slash in a real fight Mountjoy’s method would be to kill and kill quickly.

Blount’s unorthodox style was proving tricky to counter and Kingston realized that he would not have to hold back that much as the sparring match was turning out to be an interesting and unusual challenge. But after several exchanges of increasing complexity, Kingston was able to more fully gain the measure of his unconventional opponent. Although Blount’s ripostes and volts were proving quite effective at deflecting Kingston’s attacks, Blount’s own ripostes, while quick and direct, were unsophisticated and easily countered and his reprises tended to be reactionary thus ceding the initiative to Kingston.

Mountjoy was having his own challenges. Kingston was proving to be much cleverer than your average bear and was able to obstinately deflect all of Mountjoy’s various attacks that had proven to be the bane of woodland creatures throughout England. Kingston was obviously well practiced and a more sophisticated swordsman than he. Blount so far was relying upon his reactions, as some had described as catlike, and determination, which others had described as doglike, to counter his opponent’s greater skill. Mountjoy had not had to exert himself like this for some time and the challenge was proving to be quite enjoyable.  

[Francis Kirke]

The thing about rapier, is that is was very little about strength, so while Mountjoy presented an interesting opponent for his bizarre technique, Chatham was far more capable as a swordsman.

 

A sword wasn't a spear and holding it too tightly and sturdily was no advantage. In fact, such a tactic could easily be used against such a person because it altered their agility. Such a strong hold might function against those ingenues and beginning swordsmen who relied upon attaccare di spada as their preferred methodology, or perhaps woodland creatures, but that was not proper rapier technique. It only worked against someone using the same tactic, and then it was more like wrestling with a pointy object. A yield maneuver once locked blade to blade easily moved an opponent off balance from the pressure and force in their body and left them open to an experienced swordsman. Francis could have exploited such a firmness if he wished, but it simply would have been quite boring, and it probably would have annoyed the marquess. 

 

Blade contact was actually dispreferred unless parrying in most skilled swordsmen, and Francis did not need to rely upon pushing someone's sword out of the way by force, so Mountjoy would not find Francis bullying his sword with contact. A good swordsman coaxed it out of the way by his methodology of attack, defense, and footwork. It was more about being clever, adaptable, and quick than force.

 

Francis had little idea what was going on in Mountjoy's mind, but he allowed the man to expend his energy in his unconventional methods that were more fighting than swordplay. The Marquess was, as most gentlemen, educated in swordsmanship, but he was clearly not comfortable with it in practice. It was not that difficult to keep him out of measure so that he couldn't get either a thrust or a slice to Francis, who was considerably taller. For his own part, he fenced as he had promised, and he wasn't particularly surprised that Mountjoy was not quite as bad as he had insinuated. He should avoid duels, sure, but he was capable enough for a gentleman. A court room or a hunt was probably the better type of fight for Mountjoy and neither place would have suited Francis' skill set.

 

He could carry on for some time, but he took advantage of Mountjoy's reactionary processes to gain the initiative and press the Marquess a bit harder than he had been, making use of the longer reach of his height.

[Charles Audley]

Mountjoy was no mean athlete, Charles saw, and even a somewhat more tutored swordsman than he had implied, but his rigid grip bespoke a man more used to matching force with beasts than blades with men, and the simple direct ripostes named him a trained fencer, but not a practiced one in the sense of Kingston or even Charles himself.

Not that he was a bad swordsman, by any means — athleticism and a sense for distance and timing were universally useful — he simply lacked the science, and that deprecated what grasp he had of the art. Counter-ripostes would be his method of choice should he and the Marquess ever cross blades in earnest, Charles decided. Mountjoy's agility and occasional bouts of unorthodoxy demanded a degree of respect. (And it was really not all that long ago that his own swordplay had relied on those two pillars as well, and that had not stopped him from besting many scientific swordsmen.)

Kingston, now...

Charles was a great admirer of excellence, and Kingston was excellent. His footwork, in particular, was a joy, with none of the laziness that sometimes afflicted tall men. Indeed, the more Charles watched, the happier he was with his own performance. There was a particular blend of training, physicality, mentality and that nebulous je ne sais quoi which constituted 'the gift' of the truly talented swordsman. At his absolute best, Charles thought he might have occasionally brushed against it. Kingston, he suspected, lived in its embrace.

[Charles Blount]

Kingston was indeed the better swordsman, proficient enough to match his opponent’s skill to the extent of making it an interesting match between two gentlemen. After attaining his measure, it was no strain to gain the initiative and press his opponent a bit harder. The new tempo of the attacks put Mountjoy on the back foot and it was only his quick reactions and the giving of ground that managed to prevent Kingston’s attacks from landing home.

After a few exchanges Mountjoy was able to adjust to this increased difficulty and counter some of Kingston’s new moves. His hunting exploits had prepared him to face advisories that were taller, larger, stronger and quicker than he was. He also was showing no signs of becoming fatigued. The cherubic Earl still was in little danger of one of the loquacious Marquess’ attacks landing home but also his own attacks were being deflected although not quite that easily.

Mountjoy was able to rise to the continuing complexity of Kingston’s attacks for a respectable amount of time before, ultimately, his hunting prowess was stretched to the limit and were overmatched by Kingston’s finesse and training. Mountjoy was a sportsman however and would make Kingston work for it even though he now realized that the match was lost unless one of Kingston’s flowing locks entangled his blade allowing Mountjoy a cheeky victory. Although his reactions did not slow a bead of perspiration appeared on his brow and the fine cambric of his shirt began to cling to the now moist chest of the struggling Marquis.   

It became evident that it would only be a matter of time before, at his choosing, one of Kingston’s ripostes would find its way home and end the match.

[Francis Kirke]

Francis admired Mountjoy's determination and adaptability. Those were mental strengths that could not truly be learned. If he was actively thinking, he would have ascribed it to Mountjoy's skill at law, but he was too busy focusing on what was going on in the match.

 

At the very least the marquess should take heart in the fact that Kingston was also quite sweaty by this point. His shirt was sticking to his arms, down the middle of his chest and stomach, and across his back. The draw at the top of his shirt open, it hung wide, exposing the top of his trail of golden chest hair. A few ringlets of blond were stuck to his forehead and cheeks. It would not have been possible for him to face Chatham and Mountjoy without breaking a sweat. 

 

However, despite Mountjoy determination Francis found a perfect opportunity to perform a yield against Mountjoy's firm way of meeting swords followed by a cavazione underneath to poke the man right above the navel with a quick stocatta di quarta in the opening thus created.

 

Not having had to lunge at all in the maneuver, Francis merely pulled his front foot back and took a deep breath as he stood. "Well, Mountjoy, I do not think you are unskilled as you let on. That was well-done," he complimented before taking another deep breath. He pulled the bottom of his shirt up and wiped off his face, exposing most of his stomach to the welcome cool air of the room.