“On guard!”
A change came; the Earl was beginning at last to press the attack. Hard driven, Lethbridge parried his blade again and again, steadily losing strength. Knowing himself to be nearly done, he attempted a botte coupée, feinting in high carte and thrusting in a low tierce. His blade met nothing but the opposition of Rule’s, and the fight went on.
He heard the Earl speak, breathlessly, but very clearly. “Why did my wife enter your house?”
He had no struggle left to waste in attack; he could only parry mechanically, his arm aching from shoulder to wrist.
“Why did my wife enter your house?”
He parried too late; the Earl’s point flashed under his guard, checked, and withdrew. He realized that he had been spared, would be spared again, and yet again, until Rule had his answer. He grinned savagely. His words came on his heaving breaths: “Kidnapped—her.”
The swords rang together, disengaged. “And then?”
He set his teeth; his guard wavered; he recovered it miraculously; the hilt felt slippery in his wet grasp.
“And then?”
“I do not—boast—of my—conquests!” he panted, and put forth the last remnant of his strength to beat the attack he knew would end the bout.