Marbeck and the Double Dealer Read Online Free PDF Page A

beard and a swagger. Instead, he found a slim, clean-shaven man with oiled hair tied back and, alarmingly, a hand that shook, almost as if he were palsied.
    â€˜You are new here,
signor
. How may I serve you?’
    The fencing master regarded him somewhat warily, Marbeck thought. They were in a bare room with benches around the walls, hung with enough swords to arm a small regiment. Ottone wore a loose shirt and breeches, and a mail glove on his right hand.
    â€˜I came on recommendation,’ Marbeck said. ‘From a friend – Roger Daunt. I think you know him?’
    To his surprise the other gave a start. He looked quickly towards the far end of the hall, where several young men were practising their swordsmanship.
    â€˜I cannot talk with you now,’ he said, speaking low. ‘You should come later, after dark . . .’
    â€˜I don’t have the time for that,’ Marbeck told him. His eyes strayed to the walls, and, placing a hand on his own sword hilt, he said: ‘Why don’t we talk while we fence? I could do with a little practice.’
    Ottone frowned. ‘Well . . . if you wish.’
    He gestured to the centre of the room, where a circle was marked out on the floor. As Marbeck unbuttoned his doublet, the other went to a rack and selected a light rapier. He took it down, hefted it, threw it up and caught it in his mailed hand. Then he walked back to the circle. Having laid aside his outer clothes, scabbard and dagger, Marbeck approached him and showed his own rapier. Their eyes met briefly, before the Italian lowered his gaze. He was clearly nervous; Marbeck wondered why.
    â€˜Your blade is unbated,
signor
.’ Ottone indicated the point of his sword. ‘And I am not padded . . . you must take care. Or our conversation may be short, eh?’
    He gave a quick smile, which Marbeck returned. ‘I’m noted for my care, Master Ottone,’ he said. ‘As I am for—’ Then he broke off. With lightning speed, the other man had lunged, so that his rapier struck Marbeck’s chest. If its point had not been fitted with a small cork, the blow could have been fatal. Marbeck breathed in, eying his opponent.
    â€˜Your
stoccata
is impressive, master,’ he said. ‘As fast as I’ve seen anywhere.’ Then he too made a thrust, though not as quickly. As he expected, it was parried expertly.
    â€˜I cannot say the same for yours,
signor
,’ Ottone said. ‘Perhaps you will show me your
punta,
and your
pararla
. I would like to know the measure of the man I face.’
    There was a moment as each regarded the other. But Marbeck nodded and executed a few simple moves. The fencing master watched with a keen eye. Suddenly, his sword hand shook. Marbeck feigned not to notice.
    â€˜
Basta
–
enough
.
’ Ottone lowered his rapier. ‘You fence well. Who was your teacher?’
    Marbeck gave a shrug, but made no answer. Aware that he was being observed, even judged, the other returned his gaze.
    â€˜What is it you want of me?’ he said then, with a glance across the room. The young men were talking among themselves, paying no attention to what went on elsewhere.
    â€˜I heard you were in France, a while back,’ Marbeck said. ‘Whereabouts, precisely?’
    â€˜In Paris,’ Ottone replied. Suddenly, he went into a crouch, levelling his blade. ‘Come, we must fence. Say what you came to say. Is there a message?’
    Marbeck bent his knees and raised his own weapon. The two men circled each other, trying a few thrusts, though at every turn the Italian seemed to read Marbeck’s move before he had even made it. But it was well, he thought: sharp as his wits were, just now he needed them to be even sharper.
    â€˜The man Gomez,’ he said suddenly. ‘He’s been taken, put to torture. He’s spilled everything.’
    Ottone gave a jump – or so Marbeck thought. But the fellow’s reactions were so