Curse of Acre : the homecoming

Chapter fourteen

The town was a hive of activity as the men repaired the ancient pallisade, erected barricades and constructed a fire step along the inside of the walls. Buildings had been razed to the ground and the materials used to strengthen the defences. The constant ring of metal on metal sounded from within the smithy as Gareth worked tirelessly making nails, tools and weapons. The sailors were being drilled mercilessley by Roger under the orders of Ronald.
"They aint worth a damn against a disciplined force," he had grumbled "but I want them at least to be able to swing a sword without gutting themselves."
And so he had set to the task, teaching them the most basic of swordplay. Surprisingly several were even showing some competence but most struggled to grasp even the most rudimentary of manoeuvres and the huge Spaniard refused to use any weapon other than the monstrous club he brandished with such ease.
"Again" he called and the ragged group went through the exercise one more. "Block, riposte, parry, thrust." This time a sword slipped from a mans grasp and skidded across the ground. Roger shook his head exasperated . "Pick it up", he shouted and a grizzled sailor stepped forward, a huge smile on his face. The others roared with laughter, calling insults at the man who picked up the sword, turned and bowed to the crowd.
Unaccustomed anger coursed through Roger and his hand reached for the pommel of his sword as he stepped forward to deal with the impertinence. A heavy hand settled on his shoulder and squeezed softly. Ronald stood at his side, an apple in one hand and a mischievous glint in his eye. "Mind if I have a go?" He asked, taking a bite from the apple.
"Be my guest," replied Roger with a knowing grin.

"Stand still you horrible little man" roared Ronald. His battlefield voice echoing across the town. The sailor spun, shocked and saw Ronald pacing towards him, a huge grin on his face, a half eaten apple in his hand.
"Obviously Rogers instruction are too sophisticated for you water fairies. How about a more direct approach?" Continued Ronald conversely. The master sergeant marched up to the man, who took several paces backwards, and stopped at arms length. For several long moments Ronald scrutinised the sailor before him. He was a lot younger and stood a head taller than Ronald. His forehead and eyes were covered in scars and his nose was misshapen and had obviously been broken several times before. His hands were huge, the knuckles scarred and swollen. He was a fist fighter, brawling in alleyways and inns for a coin but Ronald was a killer, he'd been educated in the ways of warfare on many a battlefield leaving scores of enemies in his wake. Ronald took another bite of his apple.
"A gold florrin says you can't kill me". The sailor smiled wolfishly and looked towards the head purser who was stood off to the side watching.
"Don't fucking look at him you piece of shit. He's not going to save you" hissed Ronald.
"I ain't got no trouble with you." Sneered the sailor.
Ronald stepped forward quickly, now both men were nose to nose and Ronald could smell the sailors fetid breath.
"A gold florrin says you can't kill me." Ronald repeated loud enough for the rest of the conscripted sailors to hear and now several called out.
"Kill the bastard, Lyman." "Spill the old bastards gizzards."
The sailor, Lyman, rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"I ain't stupid. I kill you and your men will have my head on a spike."
Ronald laughed loudly. "Kill me and my men will make sure you never have to pay for a drink again. Ain't that right?" He shouted and the town fell silent as the soldiers turned to see what the uproar was. "Let it be know, if this waste of skin kills me he is to be unarmed." He finished.
"Keep you coin old man. I'll not fight you."
Ronald stepped in closer still and whispered into the mans ear, his voice thick with menace.
"You mistake me. You have no choice. You either fight me or I'll bury you in this fucking town." Then he stepped back and addressed the rest of the sailors.
"Now I'm going to teach you a few things and you are going to fucking learn them. Or when I've finished with this sack of shit I'll work my way through the rest of you."
Ronald took another bite of his apple and turned his back on the group, winking at Roger.
The insult was too much for Lyman. First he had been picked out by this fucking old man, then humiliated in front of his peers. Men who feared him, respected him. Then threatened by the bastard. And now he had turned his back on Lyman. Rage coursed through his veins and he gripped the sword tightly. With a roar he charged, sword raised over his head. He would split this man in two.