The poisoned chalice

Vauban worked and realised, with a pang of envy, that he at least had someone to love. 'What do you want?' she repeated. 'Louise!' Vauban ordered. 'Go into the house!'
    Benjamin drew his sword, flinching as the little girls screamed even as their mother tried to hush them.
    'Madame.' Benjamin bowed. 'My name is Benjamin Daunbey, my companion is my good friend, Roger Shallot. You will not go into the house.' He waved to the small garden bower. 'You may stay there. And your servants?'
    'They have already left,' Vauban snapped, his face pale, no mockery in his eyes or lips now. 'All of them?' Benjamin asked. 'Just the old cook and her husband remain.' 'Call them out!'
    Vauban obeyed and an aged, white-haired couple came doddering out; only when they reached us did they recognise the danger their master faced. They stood shaking with fear, their terror increasing at the sight of my master's grim face and naked sword.
    'Monsieur,' Vauban's wife drew nearer, a protective arm round each of her children, 'what do you want?'
    'Madame,' he replied, 'as I have said, I am Master Benjamin Daunbey, a gentleman of Ipswich in England. Your husband is my enemy. I am going to kill him!'
    The woman bit back her screams. 'Why?' she gasped. 'Why now?'
    'Louise!' Vauban snapped. 'Go to the garden house. Take the children and servants with you. If I am to be murdered, it's best if you do not see it!'
    'Oh, I am not going to murder you, Vauban. I am going to challenge you to a duel.'
    Hope flared in Vauban's face and those heavy-lidded eyes flickered.
    'Louise,' he repeated softly, 'please go. I assure you it will not take long.'
    The woman threw one tearful glance at Benjamin and, with the children huddled in her skirts and the servants doddering behind her, went into the garden house. I followed, making sure the door was closed behind them. There were windows high in the wooden wall; it was up to them if they looked or not. I returned feeling a little anxious: Vauban's sneer indicated he might be a good swordsman, perhaps even a skilful duellist. Benjamin might be sorely wounded, even killed, and Vauban would not let me walk away. The bastard watched me return.
    'My dear Roger, I am sure Master Daunbey is a gentleman. You will find my sword belt hanging on a peg in the kitchen. If you would be so kind?'
    I went and fetched both sword and dagger but, on a high shelf, I also glimpsed one of those huge horse pistols, a clumsy fire-arm stuffed in a holster. It was already primed so I took that for my own protection. Vauban saw it and grinned. 'Your servant seems to lack confidence,' he sneered.
    'Only in you, Vauban!' I snapped. 'The duel is to be a fair one.'
    He grasped the sword belt, pulling out sword and dagger, and stepped away.
    'Of course,' he said. 'It will be a l’outrance. To the death!'
    Benjamin doffed cloak and doublet and the two men, their white shirts gleaming in the sunlight, brought both sword and dagger up, edging away from each other, testing the ground for secure footholds and waiting for the signal to begin. They drew together, their swords high in the air. The tips clashed, both turned sideways, the hand holding the dagger going up. For a few seconds they looked like dancers waiting for the music to begin. 'Now!' Benjamin called.
    The command was hardly uttered when Vauban suddenly dropped to one knee and thrust with his sword towards Benjamin's stomach. A clever move but Benjamin parried it with his own weapon and, as Vauban rose to lunge with his dagger, blocked it with his own. Vauban grinned, they drew away again, and the deadly dance began in earnest. The quiet garden air was shattered by the sound of scraping steel, the soft thump of their boots on the grass, gasps and muttered oaths. Vauban was a born swordsman and his mocking smile proved he thought Benjamin the weaker quarry. He put my master on the defensive, his sword whirling an arc of sharp steel whilst now and again his dagger would seek an opening. Vauban's confidence increased. He began to push my master back. Benjamin was impassive. His long, black hair became damp with sweat but his face betrayed neither fear nor concern.
    He allowed Vauban to drive him back, then stopped. I can't really describe what happened next. Vauban repeated a parry. Benjamin blocked it from the inside whilst striking out with his dagger: there was a clash of steel and Vauban's knife shot from his hand, lost in the long grass which grew around the trees. The Frenchman backed