And, taking the beautiful weapon from me, he bent the tempered blade till the point touched the guard, letting it fly back to its natural position.
"'Tis just suited to your height and strength, Master Markham, for a greater mistake cannot be made than to give a man a heavier sword than he can profitably wield; and, moreover, I pray you, remember it has a point. I'll show you what I mean."
So saying, he placed a small cube of oak upon a heavy stool, and, retaining the light weapon, he gave me a heavy broadsword.
"Now, young master, mind the beam overhead, and make a shrewd stroke at that junk of wood."
Grasping the broadsword, I raised my arm till the point touched the beam, then, putting all my strength into the blow, I struck at the wooden block. The next instant the blade had sunk deep into the stool on which the block had been standing; but, to my surprise, the block itself was nowhere to be seen.
"Well," asked the armourer, laughing, "where is the junk of oak?"
"Truly, I know not, unless I have shorn it in two! My arm aches with the force of the blow."
"Did I not tell you that this weapon had a point?" he exclaimed, producing the light sword, on which the cube was firmly fixed. "'Tis what might have happened in actual fight. Whilst you were bringing the heavy blade down I pinked the wood with the light one, and you were not one whit the wiser. Now, take the weapon, and remember the words they engrave on trusty blades, 'Never sheath me, save in honour.' Here, too, is a sword for your friend, not quite so fine as yours, but a goodly blade withal. And here are a brace of small pistols apiece, with a score of charges in a waterproof case. How are you going to cross over?" he added.
In a few words I told him.
"Capitally planned," he exclaimed. "Cripps, the waterman, was one of those rogues who would have despoiled anybody of his stock. You know the channel?"