‘It was not a fight,’ said Conn, with a shy grin. ‘I stabbed it twice and it ripped me apart.’
‘According to the tale being sung there you fought it for a long time, and it was almost dead when the other men arrived. Oh yes, and you were not protecting a crippled boy, but a beautiful young maiden out gathering flowers.’
Conn laughed aloud. ‘A princess, no doubt?’
‘Indeed so. And you, it seems, have noble blood. Born from a line of Rigante heroes.’
‘People are stupid to believe these things. What is happening beyond the water?’
Banouin’s smile faded. ‘My people are at war with one another again. Great battles are being fought. Thousands have already been slain. But Jasaray will emerge triumphant. Of that I have no doubt.’
‘He is a great fighter, then,’ said Conn.
‘I don’t believe he knows how to use a sword,’ answered Banouin. ‘But he knows how to use an army.’ They sat in silence for a while. Banouin added fuel to the fire and refilled their goblets. ‘There is something I want to show you,’ said the Foreigner, moving into the back room. When he returned he was carrying a short sword of burnished iron. ‘I brought this back,’ he said, offering the carved wooden hilt to the young man. Conn took the weapon and hefted it.
‘It has good balance, but the blade is very short. It is not much longer than a good hunting knife.’
‘This sword is changing the world,’ said Banouin.
‘Are you jesting?’ asked Conn. The blade was no longer than his forearm, the wooden grip protected by short quillons of bronze. Rising, he swung the sword. It felt clumsy, lacking the grace of the more familiar longsword.
‘It is not a hacking weapon,’ said Banouin. ‘It is designed to thrust.’
‘If I came against a man carrying this, and I was wielding Ruathain’s longsword, I know who would win,’ Conn told him.
‘Probably true – if, as you say, it is one on one. But you are missing the point. When a Keltoi army clashes with a Stone army the Keltoi are always outnumbered three to one.’
‘How so? You told me that in most of Jasaray’s battles he was facing huge numbers of tribesmen.’
Moving to the shelf by the wall Banouin lifted down a small chest. From it he took several handfuls of small silver coins, which he scattered on the thick red rug at his feet. ‘If thirty Rigante warriors were to charge an enemy, on foot, how far apart would each warrior need to be?’
Conn thought about it. In battle, with each man swinging a longsword with a three-foot blade, they would be at least five feet apart. Any closer and there was the risk of being injured by a friend’s sword. He said this to Banouin. Kneeling on the rug the Foreigner separated thirty coins, spreading them out. Then he looked up at Conn. The attacking Rigante would look like this?’ he asked. Conn looked down at the shining silver pieces, and pictured them as charging Rigante.
‘Yes,’ he said, at last. ‘Not too far apart, but not too close.’
Banouin took a further ten coins, setting them close together in two, tight lines of five. ‘These are men standing shoulder to shoulder. Each of them has a rectangular shield on the left arm. The shields can be brought together forming a wall, then pushed outwards to allow the short swords to thrust.’ Gently he eased the wide-spread coins forward until they almost touched the two lines of five. ‘Picture this as two groups of warriors, and you will see that every Rigante to reach the line will face three shields and three swords. A short, thrusting sword enables the soldiers to stand close together, fighting as a unit. It also means that no matter how great the enemy force they will be at a huge disadvantage, for as each warrior reaches the battle line he will face three opponents. Either that or the attacking force will become so closely packed they will be unable to use their swords.’
‘I am sure any Rigante would be a match for three Stone soldiers,’ said Conn, loyally.