amazingly graceful for his size. Nearly a head shorter, Nathan was lithe and athletic, virtually gliding over the sand. The two’s advantages were counter-balanced, the larger man’s reach neutralized by the smaller’s agility, strength countered by guile. Like their chess matches, they knew each other’s game, countering effortlessly, sometimes laughingly, sometimes with a grunt of surprise and a flood of cursing.
The sun flaring on the blade edges, their steel voices rang clear, with an underlying hiss of threat. Calm and intent, each bore a faint smile. Both captains knew what the audience desired and gave it with a flair. It might have been all in fun, but neither held back. Cate was afraid to look, but unable to look away, gasping at moves which would have been fatal had it been anyone else. If there had been the slightest error in judgment, the force of their swings could easily have sliced the other from gullet to craw. She had seen such exhibitions before, but in this setting, surrounded by sea rogues cheering for blood, it took on a new lethality.
Breathing heavier, shirts darkening with sweat, they fought. Their expressions sobered as they grew more absorbed and focused. Caught up in the fervor of the battle, the pirates brandished their own weapons as they clamored for victory, in a myriad of languages. Bets were made, the odds fluxing with the fight’s ever-changing momentum.
With a loud grunt, Thomas riposted with a vicious slash, forcing Nathan to scramble backwards. A flick, and the back of Nathan’s right hand bloomed red. Thomas lunged with a curling downward swipe, knocking Nathan’s weapon away. An upper cut with his fist sent Nathan onto his rump. A victorious uproar erupted from the Griselle’s crew and bets were settled.
Thomas pulled Nathan to his feet, and they heartily clapped each other on the back, accepting adulations as they departed. In the shade, where Cate waited, they hung onto each other, bent and gasping for air. Faces streaming with sweat, mutual compliments collided in mid-air. Cate tried to inspect Nathan’s bleeding hand, but was genially waved away.
“’Tis nothing. No more than a scratch,” Nathan said. He mopped his face on his sleeve and licked away the blood. “I thought it was my turn. Remember Cartagena?” he directed to Thomas.
His head hanging between his arms, Thomas’ broad back heaved as he gasped for air. “Eh? Oh, forgot, I suppose.”
The false tone in that caused Cate to turn just as Thomas straightened. With a steady blue look, he stabbed a finger at her. “By the gods and make no mistake.”
And then Thomas stalked off.
“Wonder what put the twist in his jib?” Nathan said, more to himself. Then he said louder, “Pay him no mind, luv. The ol’ grandmother, he always thought he knew more than he ought.”
After several minutes of persistence, Nathan at last relented to allow Cate to tend his hand, and perched on a puncheon. The cut ran nearly the width of its back, its edges as cleanly sliced as if with a razor. The blood welled in a steady flow, but slowed with pressure. A bit of salve and a hastily tied bandage were all that was possible before Nathan’s patience was exhausted.
After, they sat in the shade and watched the ensuing matches.
Several bouts later, the swordplay gave way to knife fights. The circle was erased with a kick of boots and replaced with a smaller one, opponents paired up and the competition began. A goodly amount of bumboo had been consumed by then and skill gave way to brute force. Split lips, gushing noses, gashed brows, torn knuckles, and swollen eyes becoming badges of honor, Cate’s blood box coming in fast demand.
She had just finished bandaging an arm when she heard her name being called. The Morgansers had put her up as a contender. In soaring spirits, they wheedled and catcalled to encourage her, while at the same time placing their bets. By the Grisellers’ measure, a woman might bear a sword, but could never handle a knife, and they relished the easy wager. The implication that she was incapable stirred her blood. It was an affront that couldn’t go unanswered. Nathan intercepted her at the circle’s edge. Seizing her by the arm, he steered her through the crowd and away, in spite of her attempts to pull away and go back to the ring.
“I could take that little one,” Cate said, bouncing at the end of Nathan’s grasp.
“Did you see the looks on their faces?” he asked,