The Strolling Saint | Page 9

devising; Falcone showed me the difference
between the mandritto and the roverso, the false edge and the true, the
stramazone and the tondo; and he left me spellbound by that
marvellous guard appropriately called by Marozzo the iron girdle--a
low guard on the level of the waist, which on the very parry gives an
opening for the point, so that in one movement you may ward and
strike.
At last, when I questioned him, he admitted that during their
wanderings, my father, with that recklessness that alternated curiously
with his caution, had ventured into the city of Bologna notwithstanding
that it was a Papal fief, for the sole purpose of studying with Marozzo
that Falcone himself had daily accompanied him, witnessed the lessons,
and afterwards practised with my father, so that he had come to learn
most of the secrets that Marozzo taught.
One day, at last, very timidly, like one who, whilst overconscious of his
utter unworthiness, ventures to crave a boon which he knows himself
without the right to expect, I asked Falcone would he show me
something of Marozzo's art with real weapons.
I had feared a rebuff. I had thought that even old Falcone might laugh
at one predestined to the study of theology, desiring to enter into the
mysteries of sword-craft. But my fears were far indeed from having a
foundation. There was no laughter in the equerry's grey eyes, whilst the
smile upon his lips was a smile of gladness, of eagerness, almost of
thankfulness to see me so set.
And so it came to pass that daily thereafter did we practise for an hour
or so in the armoury with sword and buckler, and with every lesson my
proficiency with the iron grew in a manner that Falcone termed
prodigious, swearing that I was born to the sword, that the knack of it
was in the very blood of me.
It may be that affection for me caused him to overrate the progress that
I made and the aptitude I showed; it may even be that what he said was

no more than the good-natured flattery of one who loved me and would
have me take pleasure in myself. And yet when I look back at the lad I
was, I incline to think that he spoke no more than sober truth.
I have alluded to the curious, almost inexplicable delight it afforded me
to feel in my hands the balance of a pike for the first time. Fain would I
tell you something of all that I felt when first my fingers closed about a
sword-hilt, the forefinger passed over the quillons in the new manner,
as Falcone showed me. But it defies all power of words. The sweet
seduction of its balance, the white gleaming beauty of the blade, were
things that thrilled me with something akin to the thrill of the first kiss
of passion. It was not quite the same, I know; yet I can think of nothing
else in life that is worthy of being compared with it.
I was at the time a lad in my thirteenth year, but I was well-grown and
strong beyond my age, despite the fact that my mother had restrained
me from all those exercises of horsemanship, of arms, and of wrestling
by which boys of my years attain development. I stood almost as tall
then as Falcone himself--who was accounted of a good height--and if
my reach fell something short of his, I made up for this by the youthful
quickness of my movements; so that soon--unless out of good nature he
refrained from exerting his full vigour--I found myself Falcone's match.
Fra Gervasio, who was then my tutor, and with whom my mornings
were spent in perfecting my Latin and giving me the rudiments of
Greek, soon had his suspicions of where the hour of the siesta was
spent by me with old Falcone. But the good, saintly man held his peace,
a matter which at that time intrigued me. Others there were, however,
who thought well to bear the tale of our doings to my mother, and thus
it happened that she came upon us that day in the armoury, each of us
in shirt and breeches at sword-and-target play.
We fell apart upon her entrance, each with a guilty feeling, like
children caught in a forbidden orchard, for all that Falcone held himself
proudly erect, his grizzled head thrown back, his eyes cold and hard.
A long while it seemed ere she spoke, and once or twice I shot her a
furtive comprehensive glance, and saw her as I shall ever see her to my

dying day.
Her eyes were upon me. I do not believe that she gave Falcone a single
thought at first. It was at me only