Man of Honour by Iain Gale

Author:Iain Gale
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780007283477
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2008-07-12T22:00:00+00:00

You cannot know how my heart yearns for your return and how all Britain shall rejoice when once again our land is restored to its rightful monarch…’

Looking further down the small sheet Jennings was able to discern the signature:

‘Your most faithful servant,

John Churchill.’

Jennings clasped the package to his chest before placing it deep within a pocket of his waistcoat. Then, still grinning, he stooped again to collect his own sword from where it lay beside Steel’s limp hand. Now, one thrust and the world would be rid forever of this annoying upstart. Taking his time, Jennings stood over Steel’s body, lining up his blade with the left side of his back, just at the point where the heart would be. He raised the weapon to strike. Now, and it would be finished.

‘Sir! Major Jennings, Sir. What are you doing?’

Williams ran from the alleyway and stopped in his tracks. Jennings advanced upon him, his sword at the ready. The boy raised his own weapon but not before Jennings had time to lunge and slash his thigh with the tip of the blade. Williams yelped in pain but kept his guard.

The two men began to circle one another. Jennings whispered:

‘Steel’s dead, boy. He betrayed his country. Now put down your sword and we’ll say no more of it.’

Williams noticed Stringer now and realized that Jennings might not be telling the whole truth.

‘I don’t believe you, Sir. You killed him.’

‘I killed a traitor.’

‘Mister Steel was an honourable man, Sir. He would never betray us.’

Jennings sighed.

‘Ah well. I gave you your chance. Have you ever fought anyone before boy? One to one? Have you?’

Williams said nothing. But, to Jennings’ surprise, he lunged and caught the Major momentarily off guard. The tip of his sword glanced against Jennings’ left arm and drew blood.

‘So. You’ve got spirit. I’ll give you that. But spirit ain’t enough for me, boy.’

Jennings lunged again and, as if he was using the boy to demonstrate his skill, as a fencing master might use a dummy, touched the Ensign less than an inch away from his previous wound.

The pain seared red-hot through Williams’ leg and he was conscious of the fresh, warm blood dripping on to his reddened stocking. God, thought Williams, but Jennings is good at this game. So much for his costly fencing lessons at Eton. What use now the classical moves on which he had spent so much time? This fighting was fast and brutal. No finesse here. Just kill or be killed. And at present, Williams guessed, he would not be the one who would be walking away with his life. He glanced at Steel’s motionless form.

Jennings broke the silence.

‘He’s dead, boy. Quite dead. Come on, you’re not scared, surely? That won’t make you a soldier. Soldiers are brave, Mister Williams. But you’re not brave are you? You’re scared. Daddy wanted you to join us. You were good for nothing else. But you’ll never make a soldier. You haven’t the guts for it. Get out now, before it’s too late.

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