The Sculpture And The Sculpted

Chapter 8

Normally Will would have seen the order from his father as unsavory, but being commanded to go to the barracks and to check on the soldiers there to see how they were fairing after their first night was anything but unsatisfactory. Especially knowing that Hannibal had gone straight from the library there to check on his men.

Will slowed his horse as he reached the garrison, both James and Brian following suit. They dismounted swiftly, but Will stayed put, leaning against the horn of his saddle, watching the scene that was playing out before him.

The soldiers in all manners of dress or undress were circled around two men. They were shouting, yelling, betting, and drinking, spirits merry and bright, having obviously taken well to the feast and rest the night before. There was a hearty clank of metal on metal that rose above the jeering and the cheering.

One of the men Will recognized easily. Hannibal. The man he was fighting with charged him and tackled Hannibal, taking them both to the ground, swords clattering and lost somewhere in the grass.

The movements were swift, and the unknown soldier was forced onto his back and a punch was thrown. Yelling continued as there was one more punch thrown by Hannibal before several men in the crowd raced over and pulled Hannibal from the battered soldier who had his hands up to protect his face, lip split and blood streaming down his chin.

"Winner!" a brunet yelled to the crowd, holding up one of Hannibal's hands into the air.

Hannibal's chest rose and fell with his hard breaths and when his hand was released, he pulled his dirty shirt from his body, wiping at the sweat dripping down his face. It revealed the scars of countless battles, a testament to his prowess on the battlefield.

He tossed the shirt into the crowd and held his hand down to the man still on the ground. It was slowly taken, and Hannibal hoisted the man back to his feet, clapping the man's shoulder with knuckles bleeding.

The man was pulled aside, and Will lost him, but he was once more following Hannibal's movements. Hannibal found his sword and retrieved it, letting it drag in the grass as if he were too tired to fully lift it.

"Your Highness," someone finally acknowledged, voice loud about the conversations and anger of lost winnings and the crowd fell silent, all attention turning to him. There was an unsynchronized bout of bows that Will didn't feel he deserved. "It's a pleasure to have you join us." Will finally was able to place the voice and found the same brunet from earlier speaking to him.

"Likewise," Will agreed, scanning the crowd to see sunburnt faces and other men covered in grass stains and dirt from having fought earlier. "I was asked to check on the men and see if they needed anything."

"Other than more wine and ale, I think we are doing well, Your Highness," the brunet answered.

"I shall inform my father of your suffering."

There was a round of laughs below a, "Much obliged."

"What is your name?"

"Matthew."

"Matthew," Will repeated. "I'm sorry to have interrupted what looks like a promising show."

"It's no trouble." Matthew stepped a bit closer, though stayed within the open center of the circle. "Would you like a turn?"

Will's smile grew and his attention flicked over to Hannibal whose face stayed emotionless just like it had when they were young. Will couldn't read him, didn't know if he approved of the offer or not. Not that it mattered. It was Will's to take if he so wished it and he would be lying if he said he wasn't curious. Curious of Hannibal's renowned skills, curious of his true strength, curious about if the bark behind Hannibal's orders and commands the night before were worse than his bite.