Is driving and on the way
To an interview.
A meeting with her,
looked for, anticipated,
will be realized.
And tomorrow, Cat,
We'll meet at a restaurant,
A party of three.
How lucky I am,
to be able to meet up,
with any at all.
Sweat glistened on his body as he danced his well rehearsed routine with the Falcata, jabbing and slicing, parry and thrust, whirling about, taking on imaginary enemies in a never ending, never slowing ballet of deadly maneuvers. He wore woolen trouser legs belted over a loincloth and nothing else - no shirt and nothing clad his feet.
Squire knew this routine by heart. Every day that they weren't on the move, the morning hours would be spent in this practice - indoors when it was practical, but these days, in this strange and foreign place, outdoors, in the sun and the heat and the dust.
"Need you water, M'Lord?"
"Yes, Squire, but when I stop, please? Wait until I stop."
"Aye, M'Lord, but perhaps you should pause in your labors? I grow concerned for your well being."
"My well being is what motivates me, Squire. Do you see the scars on my body? Do you see their number?"
"Each of them is a reminder, Good Squire, of a time when I was too slow, or too weak, or unable to anticipate and someone was able to get close. Too close. The greater the strength of this arm, the greater the endurance in these legs, the more I can exercise and keep my wind, the fewer of my enemies that will get close enough to cut me, the less the chance my enemy will out think me."
"But the Sun, M'Lord, grows hot, and higher in the sky. The cool of the morning is past and the heat will make you faint."
"Fine. I will pause, but only long enough to take water. Besides, it's time, I think, to exercise the other arm. Fetch me my long sword, Squire, the while I slake my thirst."
The Knight handed his Falcata to the squire and accepted the jug of water proffered. The squire walked over to the pile of gear under the tree where he had been sitting and placed the Falcata in its sheath, and pulled the long sword from the belt which held it. Not for the first time, he wondered at the marvelous balance of the sword.
"How is it, M'Lord, that the much shorter Roman sword is the same weight as this, a much longer sword?"
"The Falcata, Squire, is made of bronze, which is mainly copper and tin. But copper is a very heavy metal, and, in bronze, is not lightened much by the presence of tin. It is made thick in its parts because it is not strong enough to make as thin as the long sword. Now, the long sword you hold in your hand is made of steel, and not just any steel, Squire, but Damascus steel, the lightest and strongest steel sword in the world. It is the best, Squire, and I will have no less than that. My life, after all, depends on it."
And Squire thought to himself, "As does mine, M'Lord. As does mine."