The Hot Swamp

by R. M. Ballantyne

“A good day for the land if that long-legged fellow slays him,” remarked one of the crowd.

“That’s true,” said another.

Indeed, this seemed to be the opinion of most of the spectators; there was also a general expression of confidence that the stranger was sure to be victorious, but some objectors—of whom there are, and necessarily must be a considerable number in the world—held that Gunrig was a stout man to tackle, and it was not always length of limb that gained the day.

Such comments, however, were not numerous, for the concourse soon became too deeply absorbed to indulge in speech.

The fight that now ensued gave some weight to the objectors’ views.

At first the combatants rushed at each other with the ferocity of men who mean to settle a dispute by instant and mutual destruction, and there was a sort of gasp of excited surprise among the people as the two swords fell at the same moment with something like a thunderclap on the respective shields. Feeling that neither could overcome the other by the might of a resistless blow, each, after one or two rapid cuts, thrusts, and guards, ascertained that his adversary was so nearly his match as to render great care needful. They retired a few paces, and then advancing, settled down to their work, point to point and foot to foot.

Gunrig, although inferior in stature to the prince, was about equal to him in strength and weight, and, being a trained warrior in the prime of life, was possessed of a sturdy endurance which, to some extent, made up for the other’s superior agility. In other respects they seemed well matched, for each was highly trained and expert in the use of his weapons.

After a second onset, somewhat similar to the first, and with much the same result, the two went at each other with cut and thrust so rapidly that it was almost impossible to distinguish their swords as they flashed like gleaming flames in the sunshine.

Suddenly Gunrig drew back, and, springing at the prince with uplifted weapon, as if to cut him down, changed the attack into a quick thrust which, passing under the youth’s uplifted shield, went straight to his breast. But the quick eye of Bladud detected the intention in time. Leaping lightly backward, he caused the thrust to come short; at the same time he returned with a quick thrust at the chief’s right shoulder which took effect slightly. Giving him no time to recover, he made a sweeping cut at Gunrig’s neck, which, had it fallen, would have shorn his head from his shoulders, but the chief, instead of guarding it, suddenly stooped, and, as the sword passed whistling above him, returned with a thrust so fierce that it pierced right through the thick shield opposed to it.

Here was an opportunity of which Bladud was not slow to avail himself. Although the arm which held it was slightly wounded, he gave the shield a violent and sudden twist, which not only held the weapon fast but nearly wrenched it out of the chief’s hand. An ordinary sword would have been snapped, but Gunrig’s weapon was a big bronze one that had done service in many a fray, and its owner’s hand was strong. He held it fast, but before he could withdraw it and recover himself Bladud cut him fair over the head. Whether it was accident or design no one could tell, but the flat instead of the edge of his sword descended on the headpiece, and the blow which should otherwise have cleft his adversary to the chin only stretched him insensible on the field.