The First Blade Of Ostia Read online

  THE FIRST BLADE OF OSTIA

  DUNCAN M. HAMILTON

  Contents

  Copyright

  Epigraph

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Epilogue

  Also by Duncan M. Hamilton

  About the Author

  Copyright © Duncan M. Hamilton 2014

  All Rights Reserved

  The right of Duncan M. Hamilton to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted.

  All of the characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  ‘Our swords shall play the orators for us.’

  Act I, Scene II

  Tamburlaine the Great, Part I

  Christopher Marlowe

  PROLOGUE

  Bryn held his breath. Around him, over fifty thousand people did the same. This was the moment they had all been waiting for. In the weeks since the announcement was made, this was all the city had talked about. In the months before that, most conversations speculated as to whether it would ever happen. Nobody could quite believe that it would. Now Baldario and Rosetto were finally facing one another and Bryn was lucky enough to be there.

  Bryn felt his father squeeze his hand. Like Bryn, his gaze was fixed on the two men standing in the centre of the Amphitheatre. Both were tall and slender, in peak condition. Nothing in their appearance allowed a choice between them.

  Neither swordsman, both Bannerets of the Blue, had been defeated in a duel for nearly a year, and for weeks they had vied with one another for the title of First Blade of Ostia. Baldario would move into the lead, only to be caught and then passed by Rosetto—then the situation would reverse. Several weeks before, the tally of their victories had become equal, and everyone knew the only way for one to be declared the best was for them to face each other.

  The duel began, but with so much at stake neither man seemed willing to make the first strike. They circled one another for what seemed like an age, as the massive crowd watched in complete silence. The only sound came from the combatants’ boots on the sand.

  The tension grew so great Bryn thought it would snap him in two. He had to remind himself to breathe. Baldario pounced and fifty thousand voices sighed as one. Rosetto parried and danced back, his feet a blur, his reputation for perfect footwork well deserved. Baldario went after him, his style more aggressive. Their blades flashed in the noon-day sun, clashing back and forth. The crowd had fallen silent again; Bryn could hear each strike of blade, each stamp of boot.

  The swords moved so quickly Bryn could barely follow them. How could they keep up such a pace? He imagined himself there, facing one of them, so vividly that he found himself short of breath. What must it be like to stand there in front of so many? Adored by their fans, hated by those of their opponent. Bryn couldn’t decide which of them he preferred, having supported both at various duels over the year. He pushed the thoughts from his head; they were only distracting him from the greatest duel in decades.

  Baldario drove Rosetto back across the arena floor, almost to the barrier, each step accompanied by half a dozen strikes and parries. Rosetto riposted. Bryn jumped to his feet and cried out.

  ‘Oi! Si’down, ya little oik!’

  Bryn’s father pulled him back down onto the wooden bench and nodded an apology to the man behind. Bryn grinned sheepishly before returning his attention to the duel. There had not been a scoring touch, which Bryn had expected. Baldario had dodged Rosetto’s riposte, but Rosetto had the initiative now. He searched for a weakness in Baldario’s defence with probing attacks, building the tempo and intensity with each one. The furious exchange continued in a blur of steel and limbs. It was said Rosetto owned a Telastrian blade, but had declined to use it today as Baldario had nothing to match it. He said the victor would be decided by man, not metal. Such honour.

  Even at his age, Bryn realised that he was witnessing two masters in action. He might never again see swordsmanship of such quality. He wanted more than anything to be like them, to be a Banneret—perhaps one day even a Banneret of the Blue, the highest achievement of skill—to dedicate himself to perfecting the art of swordsmanship at the Academy up on the hill, and to finally take his place on the Amphitheatre floor as all the greats had done. He looked back at his father and wondered at the possibility, all thoughts of the duel momentarily gone.

  CHAPTER 1

  Steel shrieked against steel as the two blades slid along one another. Bryn stumbled back as Dornish shoved forward once the hilts clunked together. He tried to correct his balance but had little time as his opponent came forward again, fast and aggressive.

  Bryn parried once, twice and tried to riposte, but he was blocked and forced back with another assault before he had time to think. Their blades flashed in the beams of sunlight that came in through the windows lining one side of the salon. Bryn continued to retreat, defending with each step, knowing that there was not much farther he could go.

  He swept Dornish’s blade to the side and reversed the movement of his arm, then lunged forward with a quick thrust and a hard stamp of his foot on the wooden floor. The sound echoed around the salon and was joined by the rasp of metal on metal as Dornish swatted his blade away. He followed quickly with another thrust as the sweat that had been pooling at his eyebrows finally broke through and dripped into his eyes.

  He squinted the stinging liquid away with repeated blinks as Dornish seized the initiative that had so briefly been Bryn’s. He parried, left, right. It was the defence that Bryn was most comfortable with, one that he had used many times before. Despite still being on the receiving end, it allowed him to settle into something of a rhythm and it set his opponent up for an attack above the waist. He was being obvious about it though, he wanted Dornish to think that was where his next attack would be going.

  Bryn parried again and quickly feinted toward Dornish’s heart, the move he hoped would be expected. Dornish committed himself to defending against it and mid-thrust Bryn changed direction, angling his wrist and driving the button-tip point down into Dornish’s thigh.

  The strike made, he backed away and took his guard once more. Had the blades been sharp his opponent would now be wounded and unable to fight effectively. It was as good as a killing blow. Any competent swordsman would be able to exploit the wound and bring the duel to a favourable conclusion.

  Dornish saluted in acknowledgement of the skilled hit, took hi
s guard but then lowered his sword after only a moment.

  ‘That will be sufficient,’ Master Dornish said.

  * * *

  FINISHING his final exams at the Collegium was a major life event for Bryn. He had spent the past six years at the Academy, and the seventeen prior dreaming of reaching that moment. It was the same for his classmates and the celebrations were unsurprisingly wild. Wild enough that he found himself sitting in the Master of the Academy’s office the following morning, his chief drinking partner, Amero, sitting beside him looking as though he had reached the transition point between drunk and hung-over.

  ‘Might I remind you, gentlemen, that members of the Collegium are held to a higher standard than the rest of the Academy? You’re supposed to be setting an example for those coming up behind you,’ Master dal Damaso said.

  Bryn struggled to hold down the contents of his stomach, and Amero seemed unable to focus on anything in particular, looking dazed and confused.

  ‘Sixty-two shattered ale mugs. A broken table. Three broken chairs and a tavern keeper who feels “gravely insulted”,’ dal Damaso said. He raised an eyebrow at the last grievance.

  Despite his best efforts, Bryn could not recall any altercation involving a tavern keeper. His recollection being as it was—and the few fragments of the previous night that he could remember being what they were—he could see no point in denying it. However, Bryn thought he saw a hint of a smile on dal Damaso’s face. Maybe the punishment might not be as severe as he feared.

  ‘I hope for your own sakes that you weren’t responsible for emptying all of those mugs alone,’ dal Damaso continued. ‘I trust you will be making good the repair bill in short order?’

  ‘Yes, Master, we will,’ Bryn said. Amero still didn’t seem to know where they were and did not utter a sound. Admittedly, Bryn wasn’t entirely clear on how they ended up in the Master of the Academy’s office, and there were significant gaps in his memory of the events of the previous few hours. His brain wasn’t working well enough to try to put the pieces together, so he didn’t bother trying.

  ‘There is also a captain of the City Watch who will require a written apology. I assume I can trust you to see to that also.’

  ‘Of course, Master,’ Bryn said. ‘I’ll take care of it before the end of the day.’

  ‘Perhaps you might want to dry out a little more before you put pen to paper. Contrary to what the students here seem to believe, I’m not overly fond of having to deal with irate Officers of the Watch. You are both dismissed.’

  It had gone better than Bryn expected, and the thought of being able to crawl back into bed was as much of a relief as getting away with only a chastisement.

  * * *

  BRYN SAT UNEASILY on the chair by the office door. He had his fingers laced tightly on his lap and his knuckles were white with tension. For every year of the past six he had gone through the same experience, waiting to be called in for his examination results and annual debrief—but this was the final time. Although each felt as though it was the most important, a potentially catastrophic life event, this was the one he would carry forward for the rest of his life. He had already earned the right to be called Banneret on graduation of the Academy proper two years previously, but to graduate with colours from the Collegium would set him apart from his fellows, acknowledging him as among the best of the very best. He had long thought it nothing more than an impossible dream, but now? Could he have finally achieved it?

  After his last interview with the Master, he knew he had exhausted whatever goodwill he’d generated in previous years, but he had behaved himself since the evening after their final examination and fulfilled all the requirements made of him to put to rights the trail of destruction caused by their night of revelry.

  The door opened, which startled Bryn and pulled him out of his self-destructive thought process. So much hung on the news he would get in the next few moments. It felt as though there was a maelstrom in his stomach.

  ‘Major dal Damaso will see you now, Banneret,’ the adjutant said.

  Bryn jumped to his feet and straightened his uniform. The palms of his hands were sweaty and attracted little balls of lint that then refused to come off, adding to his agitation. He realised that the adjutant was still watching him so he allowed his hands to drop to his sides and walked into the office.

  Major Abrixio dal Damaso, Banneret of the Blue, had been Master of the Academy for over a decade. He was always referred to as a major rather than a banneret, which was something that Bryn had wondered about. Bryn had spent the greater part of his life struggling to become a banneret and now that he was one, he took great joy in using the title. He would take even greater joy in being able to add ‘of the Blue’ to it if the news he received in the next few moments was positive.

  ‘Please sit down, Banneret,’ the Major said.

  Bryn did as he was bid, and felt light headed as his anxiety reached near breaking point. He took a deep breath and tried to distract himself by examining the carvings on the wood panelling lining the walls.

  ‘Congratulations are in order, Banneret of the Blue Bryn Pendollo.’ Dal Damaso stood and offered a large hand across the table.

  Bryn revelled in the sense of relief, achievement and satisfaction. He stood and shook dal Damaso’s hand. ‘Thank you, sir,’ he said. He had finally achieved what he had worked for all of his life. It was almost too much to take in. ‘I was beginning to convince myself that I hadn’t passed.’ He said it absently, his jumble of thoughts refusing to fall into order.

  ‘Nonsense, but understandable all the same. It doesn’t seem all that long ago that I was having this same conversation from your side of the desk—even if it was. Now please sit. The first thing you have to remember is that I am only “sir” on the battlefield. In this office we are now brothers and my name is Abrixio. I know from personal experience that will feel odd at first, but the sooner you get comfortable with it the better. You’re now a member of a group of elite swordsmen. Only the very best accomplish what you have achieved and both you and your family can be very proud.’

  ‘Thank you again, Abrixio,’ Bryn said. Using his former master’s first name was indeed an odd feeling.

  ‘Excellent. Top of your class all the way through the Academy, and now top graduate of the Collegium. Quite an achievement indeed.’

  Bryn tried to contain the elation coursing through his body.

  ‘Now,’ dal Damaso said, ‘have you given any thought to what you’re going to do next?’

  ‘A little. In truth I’ve spent so long thinking about just getting to this point, I haven’t given any serious consideration to what would come after,’ Bryn said. It was a lie; he knew exactly what he wanted to do. It was just that voicing it aloud felt foolish. For so long it had been nothing more than a childish dream. To admit it to a man like Major dal Damaso made him feel like a child with outlandish fantasies. No matter how many things there had been to occupy his mind over the years, this notion had remained ever present in his head since the first time he had seen men fight with swords. It was the reason that brought him to the Academy; he wanted to duel in the arenas.

  Abrixio leaned back in his chair. ‘That’s not unusual. There are really only three viable options for one such as yourself. Without independent means you’ll be making your living with your sword, which means soldiering, bodyguarding, or the arena.’

  Bryn’s heart leaped when dal Damaso mentioned the arena.

  ‘My suggestion to you would be the army. You’ve displayed excellent leadership quality and, your somewhat irreverent traits aside, I think without the influence of some of your more privileged classmates, you will carve out a good career for yourself in a regiment. As a Banneret of the Blue you’ll be able to get a decent commission without having to buy one. I don’t mean to sound partisan, but my own former regiment would be delighted to have you. At this time of year I always contact them to see how they’re situated and there’s an opening for lieutenant should you cho
ose to go in that direction…’

  ‘I’m not going to dismiss it out of hand,’ Bryn said, ‘but to be honest, I’ve always quite fancied the idea of going to the arena.’

  ‘It’s a fine choice and you certainly have the individual combat skills to thrive there. I’d urge you to consider it carefully though. There’s far more to the arena than just being an excellent swordsman. There’s a large pool of swordsmen struggling to make a living in the arena; far more than are successful. Talent is only a small part of it, and I’ve seen a number of very skilled bannerets fail to make a life for themselves there.’

  Bryn knew it would not be easy, but he had wanted it for so long, and he was certain that ability and hard work would be enough to see him good. It might take time, but he could persevere.

  ‘Then there are the problems caused by success to think about. At first the life will seem mundane enough, not much different to sparring here every day, but with a little luck you’ll find yourself duelling in front of crowds of thousands, even tens of thousands. The Amphitheatre can accommodate over fifty thousand spectators. Quite a terrifying concept, I’ve always thought, being watched by that many people. Dealing with the celebrity is something that also needs to be given careful consideration. It takes a certain type of person. I know that it might be difficult for a young man to see the drawbacks to that, but believe me, they exist and they are many. I’m not entirely convinced you have the type of personality that will thrive under that scrutiny.’

  Bryn disagreed, but he said nothing. He would deal with anything that might come when necessary.

  ‘I’m the first to admit that I may be wrong and I don’t want you to feel that I’m trying to steer you in the direction of military service. All I would ask is that you take the time to consider your options; don’t rush into anything. It’s also worth considering staying here to continue your studies as a Fellow of the Academy, or travelling to one of the other academies to study there for a while. It’s not as glamorous or well-paid a pursuit, but it is worthwhile and can be immensely satisfying on a personal level.’