The weapon in my hand is not mine, but she’s just like my Ruka — a Triplette epee. I cannot help but want to duel with Kris; it’s been a while since I’ve gotten a good match in.
We square off on his back patio and have acquired something of an audience. It always baffles me when that happens if anything because I’m not used to fencing with people watching.
It throws me off a little.
Our first few passes are what they usually are. Just light little kisses here and there.
After we dance a little, one of the spectators comments that I have better footwork than Kris. I think the fellow forgets the part where Kris has had at least two beers and a bellyfull of ravioli.
I land a solid hit on his torso.
Kris finally remembers the part where he fights rapier style. He decides to use the circle. Damn. I was hoping he’d forget the part where I default to sport fencing. Stupid linear training!
I’m frustrated with myself. Why is it I forget the circles every time I have a foil or a similarly designed weapon in my hand?
For whatever reason, I’m still thrown off balance by the circle. Kris takes advantage of my discombobulation and I retreat quickly, and for whatever reason, Kris backs down. I find it amusing that once a single-handed weapon is in my hand again, I fight honorably. All bets are off when it’s a two-handed weapon.
I reflect on these facts briefly.
I decide to use a different tactic in hopes of being more prepared should Kris try to press again. I extend the blade to its full length, remembering a technique taught to me by Doug Bishop in the early days of my fencing career. (I feel that I must also note it’s a technique that was used in Rurouni Kenshin.) The moment Kris’s tip passes the guard, beat or parry and go for the riposte.
I land a second good hit.
I don’t know what possesses me, but I decide to try the circle. It’s not overly effective and puts us back in our original positions for the most part. I’m just not confident using it when I know I’m fencing. Again, I curse my default.
Unfortunately for me, I become reckless, as I always do when fighting. I see an opening and don’t really think things through.
Well would you look at that; I’ve got a sword tip in my rib.
Rats.
On the bright side, I don’t think it’s that deep.
I start to feel a burning in my arm.
What the hell is THAT about? I shouldn’t be feeling tired! So very lame!
For whatever reason, I take a sabre fencer’s en garde, just to see how well it would work. It really doesn’t make a difference either way.
Kris calls it. I’m not overly upset by it in that I’m starting to feel a little tired. I hope for a rematch soon.
After Kris goes inside, I have the opportunity to talk with his friend, the fellow who claimed I had good footwork. Like Kris, he is stage combat-trained. He praises Kris’s small sword; it isn’t all the way balanced, but it’s still an incredibly sweet blade. We chat a bit about various bouts we’ve had, or in his case choreographed.
He said that what Kris and I did was a really good way to choreograph a duel. We also talked a little about the difference in a sport fencer and a rapier duelist.
Not for the first time, I wish I had more experience with the rapier duelist’s circle. I understand the principle of it, I just can’t commit to it. I could when I had a two-handed weapon in my hands, but much to my frustration, I can’t transfer that knowledge into single-hand.
As Miyomoto Musashi says, “This requires careful study, practice, and reflection.”
Remember your circle? Defend your circle!