plucked fowl. Hodge retained a bit of meat. Nicholas was as thin as a pikestaff.
‘Saint John have mercy,’ muttered Smith. ‘Well, leave off your shirts. You’ll heat up soon enough. Take these staves.’
For half an hour on the tilting deck, Smith and Stanley had the boys raising and sweeping the staves over their heads like swords, lifting them one-handed, and finally batting at each other, slash and parry. By the end of that time, the boys’ arms were aching like fury and screaming for rest.
It didn’t help that some of the brawny mariners had come to watch. Ears gleaming with gold rings, mighty forearms inked with strange devices of mermaids and anchors and random symbols of good fortune, they stood nearby laughing and hurling abuse.
‘What ye doing, lads, swatting flies?’
‘They couldn’t fight off a pigmy with a straw!’
‘That’s a pretty couple of lilywhite lady’s maids you’ve got with you there, sir knights!’ called another. ‘But pray, where are their bubbies?’
‘You’ll hear worse insults than that in the heat of battle,’ grinned Stanley.
‘Half an hour by the sun,’ said Smith, scowling at the boys’ exhaustion. ‘When the Turks come to Malta, how long will they fight us? For a morning? For the daylight hours only? No. All day and all night, every day, every night.’
The boys drooped and panted, covered in sweat.
Smith gave them each a chunk of bread and a glug of small beer, and then told Nicholas to attack him with the stave. The boy flailed wide and at the perfect instant, the knight simply stepped backwards. The stave swept past him, Nicholas twisted after it, and Smith tripped him to the deck.
The knight glared down. ‘Which corporeal part of me were you trying to strike, lad?’
Nicholas hauled himself up on all fours, his knees and left hand painfully scuffed where he had hit the planks. The mariners’ uproarious laughter echoed in his ears, until drowned out by the master bellowing at them to get back to work or they’d feel his whip.
‘My upper arm?’ mocked Smith. ‘Which would be armoured anyway. First lesson. A blade will get to your enemy ten times more often with a straight thrust than a wide slash. One step backwards is enough to avoid such a slashing blow, but a long thrust with your weight behind it … Your man will have to take two, three steps backwards. That is far harder. If there’s a wall, breastwork, another man behind him, it’s impossible. You’ve got him.
‘So what if you’ve got no sword? What if it’s dropped or broken?’
The boys were silent.
‘You use anything you can lay your hands on. Your sword is broken? Throw the jagged hilt in your enemy’s face, and then come on after it. You inflict as much damage as possible, as quickly as possible. You go for his eyes, his throat, his stones. You want him out of the fight, and fast. For there will be many more of them coming on behind. You show no quarter, as your enemy will show no quarter.’
Nicholas felt as if his brain was already filling up, but Smith went on relentlessly.
‘There is only one kick you will need. The forward kick, planting your foot square in your man’s chest and shoving him back.’ He demonstrated swiftly on Hodge, who grunted out air and tottered backwards. Stanley grabbed him to stop him toppling back over the rail.
‘Any other kick, you will lose your balance, expose your side, end up facing the wrong way – and with a Turkish blade in your guts. Your feet are for standing on, not kicking. Mules kick. Once in a while you might stamp on a man’s foot. That hurts him. But by that time you’ll be so close to, you’ll know what he had for breakfast.
‘Never, ever, ever use your bare fist. A knight with a broken hand is useless. Guard your hand well. Never throw idle punches like a drunken varlet in the street. Here, boy. Punch me as hard as you can.’
Nicholas, knees still stinging from where Smith had tripped him, needed no second bidding.
‘Saint John have mercy,’ muttered Smith. ‘Well, leave off your shirts. You’ll heat up soon enough. Take these staves.’
For half an hour on the tilting deck, Smith and Stanley had the boys raising and sweeping the staves over their heads like swords, lifting them one-handed, and finally batting at each other, slash and parry. By the end of that time, the boys’ arms were aching like fury and screaming for rest.
It didn’t help that some of the brawny mariners had come to watch. Ears gleaming with gold rings, mighty forearms inked with strange devices of mermaids and anchors and random symbols of good fortune, they stood nearby laughing and hurling abuse.
‘What ye doing, lads, swatting flies?’
‘They couldn’t fight off a pigmy with a straw!’
‘That’s a pretty couple of lilywhite lady’s maids you’ve got with you there, sir knights!’ called another. ‘But pray, where are their bubbies?’
‘You’ll hear worse insults than that in the heat of battle,’ grinned Stanley.
‘Half an hour by the sun,’ said Smith, scowling at the boys’ exhaustion. ‘When the Turks come to Malta, how long will they fight us? For a morning? For the daylight hours only? No. All day and all night, every day, every night.’
The boys drooped and panted, covered in sweat.
Smith gave them each a chunk of bread and a glug of small beer, and then told Nicholas to attack him with the stave. The boy flailed wide and at the perfect instant, the knight simply stepped backwards. The stave swept past him, Nicholas twisted after it, and Smith tripped him to the deck.
The knight glared down. ‘Which corporeal part of me were you trying to strike, lad?’
Nicholas hauled himself up on all fours, his knees and left hand painfully scuffed where he had hit the planks. The mariners’ uproarious laughter echoed in his ears, until drowned out by the master bellowing at them to get back to work or they’d feel his whip.
‘My upper arm?’ mocked Smith. ‘Which would be armoured anyway. First lesson. A blade will get to your enemy ten times more often with a straight thrust than a wide slash. One step backwards is enough to avoid such a slashing blow, but a long thrust with your weight behind it … Your man will have to take two, three steps backwards. That is far harder. If there’s a wall, breastwork, another man behind him, it’s impossible. You’ve got him.
‘So what if you’ve got no sword? What if it’s dropped or broken?’
The boys were silent.
‘You use anything you can lay your hands on. Your sword is broken? Throw the jagged hilt in your enemy’s face, and then come on after it. You inflict as much damage as possible, as quickly as possible. You go for his eyes, his throat, his stones. You want him out of the fight, and fast. For there will be many more of them coming on behind. You show no quarter, as your enemy will show no quarter.’
Nicholas felt as if his brain was already filling up, but Smith went on relentlessly.
‘There is only one kick you will need. The forward kick, planting your foot square in your man’s chest and shoving him back.’ He demonstrated swiftly on Hodge, who grunted out air and tottered backwards. Stanley grabbed him to stop him toppling back over the rail.
‘Any other kick, you will lose your balance, expose your side, end up facing the wrong way – and with a Turkish blade in your guts. Your feet are for standing on, not kicking. Mules kick. Once in a while you might stamp on a man’s foot. That hurts him. But by that time you’ll be so close to, you’ll know what he had for breakfast.
‘Never, ever, ever use your bare fist. A knight with a broken hand is useless. Guard your hand well. Never throw idle punches like a drunken varlet in the street. Here, boy. Punch me as hard as you can.’
Nicholas, knees still stinging from where Smith had tripped him, needed no second bidding.
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