Duel, part 2

The poor fellow and his Second trotted over. My Second was already sat on his favourite tree stump, scribbling away in his note book.

The fellow had insulted me when we were both drunk, and now faced the consequences of his actions. He looked a little tired, but on good form apart from that. As the insulted party, he had chosen weapons and had a very professional looking sabre.

I like to make my own weapons, and my sabre is less standard. It resembles a cutlas, in that it is unusually broad, and abit short.

The fellow's Second looked rather cross. I did not recognise him, but he knew my reputation.  

'Butcher!' he grunted at me,' One step out of line and I swear I shall blow your brains out.'

He had a brace of pistols and a sword at his belt, and looked capable.

No matter. I never cheat.

'Are you ready, and familiar with the proceedings?' I asked the fellow.

'Yes,' he tried to smile, and drew his sword.

We stood on guard, bowed, then began.

He slashed at my leg, and I parried.

He went for my chest, and I dodged.

I slashed at his left leg, and he blocked.

He was too slow to defend his right leg.

I cut it, and he stumbled.

I cut his throat open.

His Second rushed to his side.

Too late. I walked away.

Duel

The way I see it, everyone is addicted to something; alcohol, tobacco, opium, money... Personally, I am addicted to killing people. In my youth I was addicted to something far stronger.

That was why I found myself, once again, pacing back and fourth in the early morning mist, in some glade of a wood on the outskirts of the city. Waiting to fight. I never can sleep much the night before a Duel , and I hate being late, so I am often waiting for my opponent. I tried to remember advice from my former fencing master. Only two things came to mind;

'There are  only two things worth fighting for,' he once said, 'Love of Country and Love of Women. And you will only ever be rewarded for one of those...'

'It's all in the wrist,' he also said. 'Just like my love life.'

Not very helpful. He was a strange, but brilliant man. I think that service in Wellington's army had bothered him more than he showed, and extensive travel in the East had changed him more than he let on.

Nevermind.

The thump of horses hooves on icy earth and rotten wood announced the arrival of my opponent. Soon, one of us would die.