“Because I am he,” returned the supposed page with a bow. “Albeit I come not from the gods. ’Twas Eros who sent me, therefore, I beseech you to permit me to hand you to the boat.”
With a laugh and a deep blush Mistress Throckmorton extended her hand, and Francis led her to the barge, leaving the missive 156 of Sir Walter in the maiden’s soft palm.
Later in the day, receiving a summons from Raleigh she hastened to him and reported the success of her mission. “Gramercy, boy! thou wert most gallant in the delivery,” laughed Sir Walter. “And now for thy first lesson with the sword.” And soon the two were deep in the mysteries of fencing.
“Every man should be master of this weapon,” declared the sailor when Francis, exhausted by the swift play of the blades, sank down for a few moments’ rest. “Even though one be small of stature and weak of strength, dexterity with the sword may make him master of a much larger adversary. I could tell thee tales, lad, as would make thy hair to rise of the way I have seen the sword used. Have to, boy! I have but little more time to give thee. Thou art an apt scholar! So! that was a good parry. A little removing of the foot, a sudden turning of the hands, a slight declining of the body, and thine opponent is at thy mercy. So, lad, so!”
THE TWO WERE DEEP IN THE MYSTERIES OF FENCING
The fencing lesson was repeated the next day. Francis no longer dreaded the meeting with Edward Devereaux, and when the night fell, she stole away to the dueling place confident that she would be the victor in the affair.