for both of us and the planets were uncertain, but in any case I would not act before Torstensson’s return. There was little for me to do until then, as I had no intention of going into Elsinore, and so I left my room to seek the kitchens. My chamber was near the armory, and as I passed by it I heard the unmistakable steel-on-steel ring of swordplay. I paused at the open door and saw within Prince Christian, practicing at the rapier against the king’s master-at-arms.
Some men are said to be born with a sword in hand. Christian was one of those men, as was his father. The prince was intelligent and had been mostly mindful of his studies under my care, but he always showed the greatest diligence for his fencing lessons.
“Fencing is a dance, a felicitous glory,” he would say to me, excusing his tardiness to a lesson in Greek or mathematics. The prince’s face shone with sweat, his eyes burned bright, and he would mime a series of feints and thrusts before me as I waited with some impatience for him to sit down and pick up a book. More often than I can remember did young Christian offer to teach me fencing.
“Every nobleman wears a sword and knows at least how to heft it,” he said.
“I am no nobleman.”
“You are noble in your heart, and it is such a wondrous pastime, Soren! Come, there are blunt wooden swords and helms and gloves and I promise not to harm you ever.”
“My lord, it is presently the hour to study Heraclitus.”
And so it went during Christian’s adolescence. I had not seen him fence in a long time and it gave me some pleasure to watch him that morning against the master-at-arms. Christian’s every movement was a grace no matter if he was fencing or walking or swatting at a fly. He had never drawn blood nor been injured in a real duel, for what man would dare challenge the king’s son in earnest?
Christian cut a wide arc with his sword to knock aside the master’s high thrust.
“Do not parry so wildly,” the master-at-arms barked. “Use your dagger, boy; that’s why you’re holding it. You’ll exhaust yourself and allow your enemy to cut you into a feast for his hounds.”
Christian growled at the master and circled, moving counterclockwise. The master growled back and Christian threw aside his dagger, leaping forward to seize the hilt of the master’s rapier and fighting to prise it from his grasp. The master let his own dagger fall and mirrored Christian’s attack, the men now chest-to-chest, both struggling to wrest his opponent’s sword away. With a cry the combatants wrenched and separated, each holding the other’s rapier.
“You are better at left-hand seizure than many,” the master said. “Most Danes are familiar with di Grassi, but few have read Didier’s manual.”
“Has my father read Didier, do you think?”
“Very like, my lord. Do you wish to play with more French tactics, then?”
“We have played enough this morning.” Christian wiped his brow on his sleeve. “I thank you, good master. We can discuss my footwork tomorrow.”
“Nay, my lord, by your leave. The king commands me that I shall work you tomorrow with broadsword from horseback, as you are to ride into battle with him soon.”
“Ah. Yes. Well, then I shall see you tomorrow.” Christian gave his rapier and gloves to the master and turned to leave, seeing me then standing in the doorway.
“Soren! Well met. How do you this morning?” He ran, nearly, to take my arm and propel me down the hall away from the armory.
“My lord, are you going off to war?”
“Tush, Soren. It is nothing.”
“My lord—”
“Enough, I say. Have you eaten?”
“I was even now headed to the cooks.”
“I am famished. We have battled since dawn, the master-at-arms and I. Come, I recall the pantry lies this way.”
We walked down the long hallway. Rays of pure white from the windows along the eastern wall streamed across our path and the polished marble floor reflected hard, blinding light in rectangular patches every eight paces. The air in the hallway was alternately warm and cold as we hurried along from sunglow to shadow, my face and hands heated and cooled and then heated again in a pleasant sort of way.
Christian was but half dressed in breeches, stockings, slippers, and an untucked blouse like a page roused from sleep, but everyone knew his face and all bowed low, generals and gentlemen and chambermaids, as we passed along.