“But you do not know, either her fate or his part in it,” Talbot contributed.
Ramsay shook his head in frustration. “I have little choice and you know it well. She trusted me. She relied upon me. And she, I believe, was afraid of him. I should have listened to her!”
“He is half again your size and I know that well,” the older man countered. “Hand-to-hand combat would not be my choice in such circumstance.”
“It will be done,” Ramsay said, having been without much optimism before his mentor spoke. “And he will accept.”
“He can do naught else,” Talbot agreed.
“All I can do is prepare as best I can.”
Otto shook his head. “Nay. You must think.”
“Think?” Talbot echoed in dismay. “He must grow a foot taller if he can manage it, and learn to lift more weight.”
Otto shook his head. “I think not.” He squatted down and began to draw with his fingertip in the dirt, a favored pose when he explained some detail. “What each knight must do in any circumstance is use his own assets. Ramsay has a rare ability to anticipate matters and thus to plan his reaction to such opposition.”
“And you taught him as much,” Talbot said, repeating a familiar claim.
“I augmented his natural talent.” Otto etched three lines with a fingertip then glanced up.
Ramsay understood the lesson. “There will be three matches, each one with a chosen weapon. Based upon the toss of a coin, one of us will choose twice and one, only once.”
Otto shook his head. “Nay, if you offer the challenge, he may insist upon first choice and no one will deny it to him.”
Talbot folded his arms across his chest. “So Rufus will choose twice. This scheme becomes more viable by the moment.”
Ramsay did not reply to that.
Otto turned one line into a stick figure. “And what do you know of your opponent?”
“He cheats,” Talbot said before Ramsay could offer the same detail.
Otto shook his head and drew the second stick into a shorter figure, then looked up. “There is a detail of even greater import.”
“He is large,” Ramsay ceded.
“How large?”
“Larger than most men,” Ramsay said. “Stronger than most men.”
Talbot snorted. “He is a giant and cruel, as well.”
Otto was untroubled. “And what lesson will such a man have taken from his own stature?”
“Might makes right,” Ramsay guessed and was rewarded by Otto’s smile and slight nod. The older man indicated the shorter figure and Ramsay frowned. “While I have learned that agility and anticipation are my allies.”
“And so, when you choose a weapon, it will be one that allows you to be nimble, thus turning the match to your advantage. A dagger or even a sword.”
Ramsay nodded agreement, for they were his favored choices.
Otto tapped the tall stick man. “While he will choose a mace or a flail.”
Talbot inhaled and averted his face.
“I hate them both,” Ramsay said beneath his breath. He had learned to use all weapons, of course, but he avoided these two when possible. The flail in particular was too cruel, too fierce, and the damage it inflicted was too final. A spiked and often weighted ball chained to a haft, there was no grace about its brutality.
Which meant Otto was right that Rufus would favor it.
