A Mixture of Madness, Book II of The Bow - By Levkoff, Andrew Page 0,45
surrendered it to me, handle first, looking as if I were about to stab him with his own knife. I held it by the tip of its seven inch blade, thrust him aside and with an atavistic shriek hurled it at the training post, over thirty feet away. By the time Betto finished shouting ‘LOOK OUT!’ the blade was vibrating chest-high in the center of the wood. Malchus, who had instinctively shoved Hanno to the ground along with himself on top of the poor boy, rose on one elbow and let out a whoop that stopped all activity on the field.
“Very good, master,” laughed Hanno, half obscured by Malchus’ stomach.
Malchus slapped the flattened boy on the shoulder and shouted, “That was one throw in a hundred!”
But it wasn’t.
From that moment on, my early morning exercise regimen ended with a good half-hour of knife practice. Not hand-to-hand—I was still a dead man up close, but I had found my combative niche. This gift had its limits, to be sure—for one thing, more than half the time it was the butt of the knife that hit the target, but hit the target I could! It was better than standing by helpless when help was sorely needed. There was nothing I could not do with a dagger. I threw side-arm, over-arm, blade-first, haft-first, over distances that actually drew crowds when I practiced. I could unsheathe and deliver with accuracy from either side; the normal throw when unsheathed from the right, or across the body in a single motion when flung from the left. Anything with an edge and a handle would do: kitchen knives, carving knives, butcher knives, even gladii. It was as if my right arm and wrist had become imbued with a godlike harmony of balance and motion any time a blade was placed in my hand.
I was, to the surprise of all, a natural.
There was no question but that Betto would be my instructor and guide. One day long past, Nestor and Pío, two jealous members of the Crassus household had conspired to relieve me of my household chores, all of them and forever. If not for Betto’s skill with a dagger, not to mention the accuracy of his aim with the remnants of a half-eaten apple, the assassins those two sent to kill me would most assuredly have earned their fee. As for Pío and Nestor, one was dead, the other branded and sent to the mines—as good as dead.
News of my prowess traveled quickly; it was not long before domina and dominus requested a command performance. They brought the entire household with them. I was quite terrified, but my throwing arm knew nothing of nervous jitters or fear of failure. When it was required of me, I became an engine of accuracy. Even the presence of Livia, her white healer’s tunic singular but superfluous in setting her apart from all others, did not cause my aim to falter. Our eyes met once, she smiled briefly, and that wisp of encouragement gave me more strength than Atlas. At the climax of the demonstration, Betto pegged an apple to the training post and from forty feet away I cleaved it in two. With the blade end of my dagger sunk into the wood, as well.
Crassus and Tertulla came up to congratulate me, then my lord pulled me aside. “What a surprise, Alexander. I am fairly well astounded. And it sets me thinking. You, more than any man, even my lictors, are by my side night and day. Upon your return home, prepare a posting which I shall sign and you shall lock away appointing you as one of my personal guards. But tell no one. Keep one of your daggers concealed upon you at all times. I know, I know—the law. Better keep it well-concealed or we’ll both be in trouble.
“Now, you may continue your early morning exercises, that is a noble pursuit, but I require that your aim be refocused on more pragmatic targets. There is much planning and preparation to attend to, and I want you by my side in council.”
As she passed, lady Tertulla let her jeweled hand rest lightly on my own, the fine blue sea silk of her shawl, held about her wrist with a golden lion’s head clasp, draped over my arm like fog settling on rough ground. With the lightest of touches, she drew me down to whisper in my ear, the black curls of her perfumed hair brushing against my cheek and