The Scribe(169)

When he reached the top, he had no time to recover. On the other side stood Wilfred, Flavio Diacono, Drogo, and Alcuin.

Far below them Izam could see two soldiers guarding Theresa, who was not hooded but still gagged. Despite the distance, he could see the terror in her eyes. Standing next to Izam was a tall man carrying an axe. His heart skipped a beat. At that moment Drogo stepped forward and asked Izam to swear.

“In the name of the Lord, cross yourself and prepare for combat. Alcuin puts forward a champion,” he shouted, pointing to the man with the axe. “Because he is the offended party, this is his right. Now swear loyalty to God. May He guide your weapons.”

Izam swore. Then Drogo turned to the champion, and told him to make ready. “Honor for the winner, and hell for he who falls!”

Izam realized that they had intended for the duel to take place on the trunk that spanned the void. He quickly studied the trunk, observing that the top had been crudely planed. It looked as though some time ago it had served as a bridge between tower and wall. Even so, keeping balance would be difficult in the pouring rain. He also noticed that halfway along the trunk, secured to its flat surface, were several small wineskins. He couldn’t think what their purpose might be, nor what they could be possibly be filled with that made them bulge the way they did.

He lifted his gaze and saw his opponent preparing to climb over the tower’s parapet to reach the trunk. The man used his axe as an aid. His torso was protected with a leather jerkin, and he wore studded boots. Without a doubt, Izam could tell that it was Hoos Larsson. The tattoos gave him away.

But Izam was swifter than Hoos and reached the trunk first. He made his way along it toward the wall, withdrawing his dagger and preparing for combat.

The others quickly made their way to the bottom of the tower. From the parade ground, Drogo ordered Hoos to lose the axe. With one blow, Hoos Larsson drove it into the trunk and then drew his scramasax. He advanced toward Izam without even looking where he trod. Izam moved forward, too, noting with concern the stabbing pain in his leg.

They approached each other like two cornered beasts. Izam’s face was wet with rain. Hoos was unperturbed, as if going hunting. The trunk creaked as they both drew close to its center. Hoos made the first feint, but Izam parried the thrust without stepping back, responding with a jab that Hoos easily blocked.

Hoos smiled. He was an expert with the knife, and his studded boots kept him steady on the trunk. He lunged again, making his opponent retreat. Izam readied himself, but Hoos suddenly stepped back, too, as if he wanted to enjoy what was about to happen. At that moment, Drogo ordered his archers to shoot, and a number of arrows flew through the air, piercing the little wineskins between the combatants.

“What do you reckon?” snickered Hoos. “Will it hurt when you hit the rocks down below?”

This time Hoos treaded more carefully, for the perforated wineskins oozed oil onto the trunk, turning it into a deadly trap. Taking advantage of Izam’s surprise, Hoos launched another attack, and though Izam managed to avoid it, he slipped and dropped his weapon into the abyss. Fortunately, he recovered his balance before Hoos could reach him with his knife. Izam quickly removed his belt and used it as a whip to stop Hoos from getting any closer.

Behind Izam, the trunk suddenly gave a loud creak and he turned in horror to see the scaffolding that secured the trunk to the wall giving way, a shower of timber falling into the moat. He had no time to react. As the scaffolding creaked and snapped, the trunk slid down at the wall end. Both combatants could see that the whole structure was about to collapse and they quickly moved toward the tower. Despite the sloping trunk, Hoos, who was closer, reached the tower with relative ease. But Izam slipped as he attempted to cross the greased area. However, he managed to grasp a protruding branch as his body hung over the void.

Izam heard Theresa scream and he tried desperately to lift himself up. Groping with one free hand, he found an arrow that had passed through a wineskin and embedded itself into the wood. Both the arrow and the branch enabled him to hang on. Hoos watched the entire scene and roared with laughter to see Izam struggling like a bird in a trap.

“Do you need help?” he mocked.

Izam hung helplessly from the trunk, unable to clamber to the top.

Hoos dislodged the axe and started swinging it. “You know what, Izam? I liked shafting her. Theresa loved it,” he added, squeezing his groin.

Hoos was about to throw the axe at Izam when unexpectedly the trunk slipped a little, this time at the end jammed against the tower. The shudder made Hoos fall backward, before pitching forward, so that he ended up close to where Izam was hanging. Fortunately, the trunk straightened, allowing Izam to grab hold of another branch and swing one leg over the top.

Hoos smiled. In the rain, his expression was like that of a wild beast that knows its prey is powerless. He inched forward, watching Izam struggle over the abyss below. When he knew he was close enough, he dealt a two-handed blow that Izam evaded, moving away the leg he had swung over the trunk. Once again he was dangling over the void.

While Hoos worked to dislodge the axe, Izam was able to sway his legs and get enough momentum to swing back on top of the trunk.

For a moment, they both looked at each other. Hoos was crouched down, brandishing his weapon and enjoying the hunt. And Izam was unarmed and on the defensive. Suddenly, the axe whistled through the air, missing Izam’s face by a hand’s breadth. Izam knew this would be his only opportunity. Grabbing the axe by the handle where it had lodged in the trunk, he pulled it violently out, and without thinking twice, launched an attack.