Without thinking, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the sandwich he had stashed there—smoked meat and sharp cheese on a long roll.
Danny heard the girl shift on the roof behind him.
“Want some?” She obviously did, but she was afraid to approach him.
“Here.” He broke off half the sandwich and held it out to her. She looked at him intently but didn’t move. He considered tossing the sandwich up to her, but realized it would probably come apart in the air. He settled for reaching back and stretching out his hand.
“Come on, I won’t hurt you.”
Slowly, cautiously, the girl crept down the roof toward him. Finally she was close enough to stretch out and snatch the sandwich from him. Then she scrabbled quickly back up the roof. The entire performance reminded Danny feeding a particularly shy squirrel.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“June,” the girl said around a mouthful of sandwich. “I am June.”
“This is just like being at fighter practice.”
Karl, Judith and several of the other team members were sitting on a low wall by the drill field watching the guardsmen practice. Under the arches of the colonnade Jerry was sitting on a bench watching girls.
Just then a flight of dragon cavalry swept over the castle.
“Okay,” Karl amended, “it’s almost like being at fighter practice.”
Out on the field Donal was practicing spear work against multiple opponents.
“Tricky move with the spear,” Karl said to no one in particular as Donal dodged and spun between two opposing swordsmen.
“Why does he keep the butt low like that?” Judith asked.
“He is trying to keep the point directed at his opponent’s eyes,” a guardsman who was lounging nearby said. “That makes it hard to judge the length of the spear.”
Karl nodded. “And it sets him up to make a quick jab to the face, which will make almost anyone flinch.”
The guardsman, a sandy-haired older man, looked closely at Karl. “You sound as if you know something of the art, My Lord.”
“I’m a fighter. Well, an SCA fighter,” he amended quickly. “We used to fight with rattan weapons. For sport.”
“Would not your magic gain you more than weapons skill in war?”
“We don’t use swords and spears in war any more,” Karl told him. “No, we do it strictly for fun.”
The guardsman’s seamed face crinkled into a frown. “A most peculiar sport, if you do not mind my saying so, Lord.”
“That’s what a lot of people in my world thought,” Karl sighed. “By the way, I’m Karl Dershowitz.” He extended his hand and the other man clasped it.
“I am called Shamus MacMurragh. I command the guardsmen of the castle.”
“Pleased to meet you.”
“Tell me,” Shamus said, “how does our weapons play compare to your world?”
“Very well. We do some things a lot differently and I think we’ve spent more time on the theory than you have, but on the whole you compare very well with our methods.”
“I am very glad to hear it, My Lord,” Shamus said mildly. “Could you perhaps show us how you do these things.”
Karl wasn’t quite sure, but he suspected he had just been trapped. “Be glad to,” he said with a casualness he did not feel.
It took a few minutes to outfit Karl in the padded cloth hauberk, greaves, vambraces and helm the guardsmen used for practice. The shield they brought him was a target somewhat over two feet in diameter. Karl whose SCA fighting style depended in large part on using the points of a heater shield, felt he was at a disadvantage, but he didn’t say anything.
The sword they gave him was wood, not rattan, and a good deal heavier than what Karl was used to. Still, the balance was very good and it moved comfortably as he took practice swings.
“Remember to pull your blows, Lord,” Shamus said as they faced off. “I do not want to be injured.”
Karl nodded and licked his lips. Shamus moved with a catlike grace that suggested the guardsman wasn’t the one who should be worried.
Karl came in in his standard fighting stance, shield in front, sword hilt over his head with the blade forward and down, resting on his shield.