future, work great mischief towards my friends. That is all
I have to remark, M. de Wardes,” concluded Buckingham, as he
saluted him.
“And I, my lord, have only this to reply to you: I have not
disliked you hitherto, but, since you give me such a
character, I hate you, and will do all I possibly can to
kill you; “and De Wardes saluted Buckingham.
Their swords crossed at the same moment, like two flashes of
lightning on a dark night. The swords seemed to seek each
other, guessed their position, and met. Both were practiced
swordsmen, and the earlier passes were without any result.
The night was fast closing in, and it was so dark that they
attacked and defended themselves almost instinctively.
Suddenly De Wardes felt his sword arrested, — he had just
touched Buckingham’s shoulder. The duke’s sword sunk as his
arm was lowered.
“You are wounded, my lord,” said De Wardes, drawing back a
step or two.
“Yes, monsieur, but only slightly.”
“Yet you quitted your guard.”
“Only from the first effect of the cold steel, but I have
recovered. Let us go on, if you please.” And disengaging his
sword with a sinister clashing of the blade, the duke
wounded the marquis in the breast.
“A hit?” he said.
“No,” cried De Wardes, not moving from his place.
“I beg your pardon, but observing that your shirt was
stained —- ” said Buckingham.
“Well,” said De Wardes furiously, “it is now your turn.”
Page 635
Dumas, Alexandre – Ten Years Later
And with a terrible lunge, he pierced Buckingham’s arm, the
sword passing between the two bones. Buckingham, feeling his
right arm paralyzed, stretched out his left, seized his
sword, which was about falling from his nerveless grasp, and
before De Wardes could resume his guard, he thrust him
through the breast. De Wardes tottered, his knees gave way
beneath him, and leaving his sword still fixed in the duke’s
arm, he fell into the water, which was soon crimsoned with a
more genuine reflection than that which it had borrowed from
the clouds. De Wardes was not dead; he felt the terrible
danger that menaced him, for the sea rose fast. The duke,
too, perceived the danger. With an effort and an exclamation
of pain he tore out the blade which remained in his arm, and
turning towards De Wardes said, “Are you dead, marquis?”
“No,” replied De Wardes, in a voice choked by the blood
which rushed from his lungs to his throat, “but very near
it.”
“Well, what is to be done; can you walk?” said Buckingham,
supporting him on his knee.
“Impossible,” he replied. Then falling down again, said,
“Call to your people, or I shall be drowned.”
“Halloa! boat there! quick, quick!”
The boat flew over the waves, but the sea rose faster than
the boat could approach. Buckingham saw that De Wardes was
on the point of being again covered by a wave; he passed his
left arm, safe and unwounded, round his body and raised him
up. The wave ascended to his waist but did not move him. The
duke immediately began to carry his late antagonist towards
the shore. He had hardly gone ten paces, when a second wave,
rushing onwards higher, more furious and menacing than the
former, struck him at the height of his chest, threw him
over and buried him beneath the water. At the reflux,
however, the duke and De Wardes were discovered lying on the
strand. De Wardes had fainted. At this moment four of the
duke’s sailors, who comprehended the danger, threw
themselves into the sea, and in a moment were close beside
him. Their terror was extreme when they observed how their
master became covered with blood, in proportion as the water
with which it was impregnated, flowed towards his knees and
feet; they wished to carry him.
“No, no,” exclaimed the duke, “take the marquis on shore
first.”
“Death to the Frenchman!” cried the English sullenly.
“Wretched knaves!” exclaimed the duke, drawing himself up
with a haughty gesture, which sprinkled them with blood,
“obey directly! M. de Wardes on shore! M. de Wardes’s safety
to be looked to first, or I will have you all hanged!”