The Rape of Venice (11 page)

It was a slightly misty morning which promised another lovely day. As it was a Sunday, none of Georgina's platoon of gardeners was scything the lawns or replanting the borders. Those who looked after the glasshouses would do their airing
and watering before putting on their ‘black' to attend church; but not for an hour or so yet.

Seven minutes' walk round the edge of the lake brought them to its far shore. At intervals in the wood along it, broad rides, which were kept clear for the pheasant shooting, came down to its edge. From one of them a turning led off to an open glade with a hillock at its far end. On it there was a small temple, or belvedere, consisting of six pillars of Verona marble on carved stone bases and supporting a dome of delicately scrolled ironwork. A dozen yards from the temple, on the edge of the flat centre of the glade, two men were standing. They were Dr. Chudleigh and Major Rawton.

Greetings were exchanged and the Doctor reported that in case one of the combatants was too seriously wounded to walk, he had left his coachman and carriage beyond the trees in the next ride, which was less than a hundred yards away.

Meanwhile, the Major, an elderly, paunchy, red-faced man who clung to the fashion of wearing a wig, was eyeing the two pikes with a puzzled frown. On being informed that they were the weapons to be used in the encounter, he almost burst with indignation declaring that he was being made a fool of, as it was unthinkable that gentlemen should resort to such unorthodox means of settling a difference of opinion.

Fortunately, at that moment the other party arrived and Sheridan, who had also brought a pair of pikes, was able to pacify him. As principals, Roger and Malderini, who was wearing a heavy cloak, stood some distance apart, and away from the others while they settled final details.

The pikes that Sheridan had brought were much lighter than those Roger had chosen, so a coin was tossed up to decide which pair should be used. Droopy lost the toss, so Roger was deprived of any advantage he might have gained from the heavier weapons. He and Malderini were then brought face to face by their seconds and asked if they could see their way to compose their differences. Roger replied that he did not regard the insult to which he had been subject as mortal; but, having been struck, he must exercise his right to strike back in accordance with the conventions of polite society.

On that the principals were marched away to prepare themselves. Roger stripped to his shirt, but Malderini, alleging the chill of the early morning air as his reason, refused to take off anything except his cloak. Roger, who now felt that, as he had to fight with a strange weapon, he would be foolish to give
away too many advantages, then wondered if he had been wise. The thick cloth of Malderini's coat, and even the multiple folds of his cravat, would, to some extent, protect him from a thrust. On the other hand, they would tend to restrict swift movement, and as Roger was relying mainly on his agility to secure a quick victory, he decided to face his antagonist in shirtsleeves and open necked.

Side by side, Colonel Thursby and Major Rawton measured twelve paces in the middle of the most even stretch of turf. Droopy and Sheridan handed their principals the pikes and led them up to the markers. Stepping back to a central position on either side of the combatants, they received from the Colonel and the Major the two heavier pikes, so that they might, if necessary, intervene and with them beat down the weapons of their principals.

‘Attention!' cried Sheridan. ‘Lord Edward will count three; and on the word three, you will engage.'

‘One!' Droopy's voice rang through the silence of the woodland glade. ‘Two!' The duellists raised the points of the long pikes. ‘Three!'

Next moment they were at it hammer and tongs. Roger had never before handled a pike and, as far as he could judge, neither had Malderini. Both, at first, used them much in the way they would have single-sticks, each endeavouring to knock aside the other's weapon. But, very soon, Roger realised that he dare not put his full strength into his blows; for, if he did, the wooden staff of his pike might snap and leave him at the mercy of his antagonist.

Malderini had, from the beginning, done little more than parry Roger's efforts to beat down his guard; so the tempo of the fight changed and, following each sharp clack of the wooden shafts, one of them essayed a swift thrust at the body of the other. Yet both were greatly handicapped by the fact that the pikes were ten feet long, so terribly unwieldy for anyone who had no experience of handling them. The tassel-decorated, sharp, metal spears on their ends tended to weigh them down, and after each thrust it needed a considerable effort to make a swift recovery.

Owing to Roger's ignorance about pike fighting, it was some minutes before he realised that the Venetian was fighting an almost entirely defensive encounter. He had hardly shifted his ground at all, but was stamping back and forth over the same square yard, while his attacker circled round and round him,
striving to find an opening. For every three times Roger thrust, Malderini thrust only once, conserving his strength and waiting his opportunity.

Yet Roger, as he sprang in and out and from side to side, felt confident that Malderini could not stand the pace, and must shortly weaken so that for a moment he would lower his guard. Then, one swift lunge should settle the business.

The witnesses of the encounter maintained an absolute silence. The stillness of the glade was broken only by the clack of the wooden pike shafts as they came together, and the heavy breathing of the duellists.

By the time they had been at this furious slash and thrust for six or seven minutes, Roger was sweating from his exertions. During them he had been constantly switching his glance from Malderini's pike point to his face. This, again, was on account of the strangeness to him of the weapon he was using. Had it been a sword, he would have kept his gaze riveted on his enemy's eyes, it being a first principle of fencing that only by so doing can one divine one's opponent's intentions. Now, he decided that he would be wiser to adopt deceptive tactics. He would pretend to tire, slacken off his attack and tempt the Venetian into making an all-out lunge at him. By watching his eyes he should be able to foresee the movement, side step the thrust and come in himself with a well-aimed stab, which would render the heavy, awkward figure confronting him
hors de combat
.

He had adopted this new policy for not more than a long half-minute before he suddenly became aware that he had thrown himself open to a deadly peril. Having stared for that time into the curious eyes of the Venetian, he could not now wrench his gaze away from them. In vain he strove to do so. Like a magnet applied to iron filings they held his own eyes fixed. Too late, he recalled the Princess Sirisha's warning: Have care not to look in his eyes.' He was doing so now and could not stop himself.

In an agony of apprehension he continued to flail this way and that with his pike. He knew now that Malderini had got the best of him. The Venetian's choice of pikes had had more to it than a reluctance to fight with swords or pistols. He had known that such a long weapon would give him the best chance of fending his enemy off until he could hold his gaze and exert hypnotic influence on him.

Sweating now with a fear greater than he had known for
many years past, Roger faced the fact that within a few minutes he might be dead. Those saucer-like eyes into which he was staring were now impelling him to lower the point of his weapon. Desperately he summoned every ounce of will-power he had to resist the impulse. There was cold, calculating evil in those eyes and an undisguised hatred. He felt certain that the moment he gave up his now rapidly weakening efforts to guard himself, the point of Malderini's pike would be thrust into his heart.

Gasping, and with the sweat pouring from him, so that his shirt was now sticking to his back and chest, he plunged wildly from side to side across the already brutally trampled earth. It flashed into his mind that it was madness to stay there and be slaughtered. A serious wound he would have faced rather than be branded as a coward; but this was a question of life or death. And to die in fair combat was one thing; to be rendered helpless by invisible bonds, then murdered, was quite another. Whatever the shame he would have to live down, he decided to throw away his pike and dash off into the woods.

Yet, no sooner had he taken the decision, than he realised that it was beyond his power to carry it out. Those enormous soulless eyes held him captive.

Suddenly a sharp, agonised cry pierced his half-dazed conciousness. Within seconds those huge eyes that had blotted out everything else contracted. With startling rapidity they shrank back to normal and Roger found himself able to focus the whole of his terrible antagonist's person. Malderini was standing rigid, his head thrown back, his mouth still wide open from the cry he had uttered.

With blind instinct, impelled by the imperative urge of self preservation, Roger rushed in upon him. The point of his pike caught the Venetian on the left side of the chin and tore a long gash from it right up to his ear. Malderini screamed again, lurched side-ways and thrust at Roger's face. He ducked and the pike passed harmlessly over his left shoulder. At the same instant his own pike ripped through Malderini's coat just below the armpit. Wounded again, the Venetian swung round, and with the blood now gushing from his slashed cheek, fell face forward to the ground.

Panting, Roger stared down at him. He could hardly believe his eyes. The feathered shaft of a long arrow was sticking up from Malderini's backside.

The point of the arrow had buried itself in the right-hand side of Malderini's broad bottom. Major Rawton was also staring down at it. His pendulous cheeks going a deeper shade of purple and his blue eyes popping, he exclaimed:

‘First pikes, now arrows! Damme, I'm mad; or mixed up with a set of madmen!'

The Doctor ran up with his black bag. The seconds, with the exception of Sheridan, crowded round. He was looking in the direction of the temple, and gave a loud shout:

‘There she goes! There! The devilish jade! She should be put in the stocks for this!'

Roger followed his glance and was just in time to catch a glimpse of pale gold hair as, to the left of the knoll on which the temple stood, and some way beyond it, a running figure disappeared into the woods.

‘By God, I'll see to it that she's not!' he cried. ‘This carrion here had hypnotised me. I had no more fight left in me than a rabbit set before a snake. He would have butchered me by now had she not shot him in his fat arse the moment that she did.'

Although he had seen the running figure indistinctly and for only a second, he had no doubt that it was Clarissa who had saved him. In the garden of the Governor's residence in Martinique there had been three targets at which guests sometimes amused themselves by shooting. One of her beaux had persuaded her to take up the sport and, at medium range, she had become a surprisingly good bow-woman. At Stillwaters, too, there were targets at the far end of the bowling green; so she would have had no difficulty in getting hold of a bow
and arrows. He wondered now if the Princess, with intent to strengthen this chance of getting rid of the husband she hated, had incited Clarissa to the act. But it was most unlikely that the two women would have exchanged confidences, or even had an opportunity of meeting during the night. It seemed more probable that Clarissa, having had personal experience of Malderini's hypnotic powers, had foreseen that he might use them during the duel, and so taken this desperate means of intervention.

Another yelp of pain from the Venetian drew Roger's attention back to him. The muscles of the buttock contract and exert a tight grip on any weapon which pierces them; so to get the arrow out, the Doctor had had to grasp it with both hands, put a foot in the small of Malderini's back, and give a sharp tug. Major Rawton then helped him turn the wounded man over so that he could examine the injury to his face. The gash was long but not deep and after swabbing it with an astringent to check the bleeding, he said:

‘There's nought dangerous about that; but there may be about the wound in his side. Look, blood is seeping through his coat. Help me to get him out of it. Perhaps, though, it would be better to cut it off him.'

‘No!' cried Malderini. ‘No!' Clutching the lapels of his coat, he held them fast against his chest, and went on in his indifferent English. ‘I forbid! You will not cut him! I not have it. I forbid! I forbid!'

‘Heaven defend me!' exclaimed the Major. ‘This is the maddest meeting that ever I attended. A man who will not let a doctor staunch his blood should be in Bedlam.'

Sheridan added a swift expostulation in French. ‘You must let doctor get at your wound and plug it. What's a coat matter when your life may be in danger?'

Using the same language, Malderini gasped out, ‘It is not serious! If it were I'd know it. My servant, Pietro, has salves and will do all that is needful.'

Meanwhile, unnoticed by them, Pietro had appeared on the edge of the group. Servants sometimes accompanied their masters to such encounters to act as horse-holders, but were left at some distance from the place of meeting and never permitted to witness the actual engagement. So Sheridan, catching sight of him at that moment, asked him what the devil he was doing there.

The tall, blackhaired valet's bony face showed his agitation,
and he replied: ‘My master ordered me to follow, and to watch from the edge of the wood. He said that, should he be wounded, I was to let no one touch him and bind up his wound myself.'

‘Then Major Rawton is right,' murmured Colonel Thursby. ‘He ought to be in Bedlam. Were the wound serious he might, by rejecting the services of a qualified medical man, die of it before he could be moved.'

‘I know what I am about,' Malderini snarled, ‘and I am worried only for my face.' Breaking into English, he added, ‘Will it make scar, doctor? Tell me. Make no hidings. Will I have scar for life?'