Lisette

Chapter 20 ~ Gather ye Rosebuds While ye May

That Thursday, as arranged, Grantaire came to find me on the Rue du Gindre, and we headed across the city out towards the wastelands beyond the outskirts. Bahorel caught up with us as we crossed the Seine, before we'd even got to the Tour Saint-Jacques, and Gavroche joined us as we passed through the Place de la Bastille, the plaster elephant looming over us from where it stood in its hollow in the ground. I was somewhat dreading having this audience, small as it was. Over the time he had spent teaching me, I had become more relaxed in Grantaire's company. It didn't matter if I went wrong, or made any mistakes or clumsy movements. He was patient, and seemed confident in my abilities - often more confident in them than I was. But Bahorel's apparent lack of belief in me just meant that I had all the more to prove.

As we walked, Grantaire explained to Bahorel what he had taught me so far, while Gavroche badgered me with questions about what I had learned, and how he wanted to learn too. As usual, his conversation was interspersed with observations on people and things that he noticed on the way, snatches of song, and his occasionally running off to catch a falling feather, or to pick up a dropped pin. As we reached the city's outskirts, he was delighted to find a dropped coin.

On reaching our usual place, Grantaire took me through what he had taught me last week, going over hand and arm positions, footwork, and movement. Then, to my shock (and, to some extent, horror), he tossed his singlestick to Bahorel.

"See what you make of her!"

The fight was short, sharp, and to absolutely no one's surprise, I lost. Bahorel gave me a hand up, and then said:

"Let's try again. I'll go easier on you this time, and see what you've learned, and where we can improve things."

This second time around, I lasted longer, with Grantaire giving advice from the side-lines. It was clear that Bahorel was going easier on me, slowing his movements, and giving me time to think.

"You're not terrible, for only a week or so's worth of lessons," was his eventual verdict. "Don't be afraid to move your feet. And try and keep each movement so you're not moving more than you have to - you're wasting time by letting the stick go further than it needs to, and not flowing smoothly into the next movement you're about to make. Now then," he bent, and passed me one of the sheathed swords he'd brought with him. "How about we try with one of these?"

The sword was heavier than the chestnut singlestick, but not so heavy as I was expecting. The handle was wrapped in leather, which had a spiral of gold wire coiled around it. 

"It's blunt," Bahorel explained, "but still go careful. You can still do considerable damage with it."

"Let's face it, I'm never going to be able to touch you!"

"That remains to be seen," said Grantaire, who had handed Gavroche one of the singlesticks in place of the branch the boy had picked up to copy us with. "At any rate, you'll have the advantage of surprise in a real fight - no one will expect a woman to be able to use a sword in any capacity. And untrained amateurs can sometimes get lucky."

"What about half-trained ones?" I asked.

"The same applies."

Bahorel turned out not to be such an ill teacher as I had expected. For all his impatience, derision, and argumentativeness, he seemed to have taken a positive delight in the subversion of established order that was giving a woman swordsmanship lessons. The rest of the afternoon was taken up mainly with sword drill - teaching movements with the sword that could then be used in different orders when fighting. Grantaire, meanwhile, amused himself by teaching Gavroche with the singlesticks, though the fact that the boy was so much shorter than he was did not make things particularly easy. Shortly before we decided that we had better go back into the city and find dinner, Bahorel took the singlesticks from Grantaire again and tossed one to me.