"Lawrence Watt-Evans - The Final Challenge" - читать интересную книгу автора (Watt-Evans Lawrence)

took up a formal fighting stance as if he were performing for his fencing master. And the old king stood a
head shorter, his face lined, the tendons standing out as he gripped the hilt, hands shaking, his gray hair
partially obscuring his face. He fell from old habit into his preferred stance, which was a sort of wary
crouch, crooked and graceless. He looked like a troll facing a god." The soldier shook his head at the
memory, then swigged ale.
The young men at the table shifted restlessly, and one glanced behind, as if he feared someone might
be waiting to arrest him for not objecting to such an unflattering description of the late monarch.
The soldier paid no attention; when he had wet his throat sufficiently he continued, "The youth attacked
first, swinging the sword like an axe-- he couldn't be troubled with fencing's fine points, not against a tired
old man, not when they were both drunk. He swung with such strength that it would have gone clear
through the king-- had it struck him. The king stepped aside, though, and deflected the blow, sending it
harmlessly aside with his sword.
" 'It's not too late to apologize,' the king said.
"The boy bellowed a wordless challenge, and attacked again, this time showing some pretty skill-- in
fact, now that he knew a single blow would not serve, he put on a display of the finest fencing-school
flutters and flourishes that ever I saw, the blade weaving about like a snake, fast as a cat's paw striking.
The king gave ground, turning each attack with his own sword, or else contriving not to be in quite the
spot where the blow fell, but it appeared that only by great effort and astonishing luck did he turn the
attacks.
"At last, the lad had the king backed up against a pillar.
" 'Your last chance,' the king said.
"The youth laughed, and roaring with confidence, he lunged forward in a simple thrust-- and fell to the
floor with a look of dumb amazement on his face, having been run through the heart once the king had his
measure."
The soldier shook his head and smiled.
"Old Geoffrey knew it's not youth and strength that make a warrior, nor a king," he said. "He gave that
boy his chance several times over. He never lost his temper, never did anything rash, never let his enemy
know his strengths."
"You mean his weaknesses."
"No, no-- I mean his strengths. So the boy ran right into them. The shaking hands, the seeming
weakness-- what better way to mislead a foe? And King Geoffrey was brave, but he was no fool; he'd
not have fought had he not been certain he would win. Why risk his life when a word would have had the
boy arrested and hanged? Oh, a martyrdom might be trouble, but better to face a later insurrection than
to die in a stupid brawl. Dead kings do no one any good, most especially not themselves. Geoffrey knew
that well." The soldier sighed. "He would never have fought if he didn't know his own strengths, and he
knew them well, after all those years. Age and experience outweigh strength and bravado any day."
"So you old men would have us believe," the guardsman said.
"Oh, no," the old soldier said. "Better for us if you don't! Had that young idiot known it, he'd never
have challenged the king so openly."
"Ha, a point!" one of the guard's companions shouted, and the four young men laughed.
The soldier did not join them.
"Finish your tale, old man," another said when the laughter had passed.
"Oh, that's all of it, really," the soldier said. "After the king had won, after the boy had died there on
the floor, King Geoffrey called for the party to continue, apologized for the unpleasantness, and sent for
servants to clean up the mess. And twenty minutes later, at midnight, young Philip came to take his seat at
the high table.
"And that," said the old soldier, finishing his ale, "was twenty years ago next month."