"Tuesday I told you our hour would come. It is here."
"At your service," quoth my lord.
"Then it needs not to slap your face?"
"You insult me safely, Lucas. You have but one life. That is forfeit, be you courteous."
"You think so?"
"I know it."
Lucas held out the bare sword, hilt toward us.
"Monsieur had a box for weapon yesterday, but as I prefer to fight in the established way, I ventured to provide him with a sword."
"Thoughtful of you, Lucas. Is this the make of sword you elect to be killed with?"
He was bending the blade to try its temper. Lucas unsheathed his own.