Twenty Eight: Far From The Madding Crowd: Sword Exercises of Bathsheba

The hill at one end of Bathsheba's dwelling extended into an uncultivated tract of land, covered with tall thickets of brake fern, plump and transparent, in hues of clear and untainted green.  At eight o'clock this midsummer evening, while the sun in the west still swept the tips of the ferns with its long, luxuriant rays Bathsheba appeared in their midst, their soft feathery arms caressed her upto her shoulders.  She paused, turned, went back over the hill, and down again to her own door, from where she cast a farewell glance upon the spot she had just left, having resolved not to remain near the place afterall.

She saw a dim spot of artificial red moving round the shoulder of the rise.  It disappeared on the other side.

She had doubts about the temerity of her decision.  Whether to go and abide by her promise, or remain here as nothing had happened. But her penchant for a visual of the sword exercise moved her legs towards the direction she traversed a few minutes ago. 

She reached the verge of the pit in the middle of the ferns.  Troy stood in the bottom looking up towards her. 

"I heard you rustling through the ferns," he said coming up and giving her his hand to help her down the slope. 

The pit was a natural semi-circle concave with top about thirty metre diameter, and shallow enough for the sunlight to reach their heads.  Standing in the centre, the sky overhead was met by a circular horizon of ferns: this grew nearly to the bottom of the slope and then abruptly ceased. The middle within the belt of lush green was a thick flossy carpet of moss and grass intermingled, so yielding that Bathsheba found her feet half buried within it. 

Troy produced a sword, which gleamed to Bathsheba like a living thing.  "Now," said Troy, "first we have four right and four left cuts; four right and four left thrusts. Infantry cuts and guards are more interesting than ours, to my mind; but they are not swashing.  They have seven cuts and three thrusts.  So much as a preliminary.  Well, next, our cut one is as if you were sowing your corn ---so."  Bathsheba saw a sort of rainbow, upside down the air, and Troy's arm was still again.  "Cut two, as if you were hedging --- so.  Three, as if you were reaping -- so.  Four, as if you were threshing --- in that way. 

Then, the same on the left.  The thrusts are these: one, two, three, four right; one, two, three, four left." 

He repeated them. " Have them again?" he said.  "One, two" ---

 She hurriedly interrupted, "I would rather not; though I don't mind your twos and fours; but your ones and threes are terrible."

"Very well, I'll let you off the ones and threes.  Troy duly exhibited  them. He gave the movements as before.  "There, those are the stereotyped forms.  The infantry have two most diabolical upward cuts, which we are too humane to use.  Like these -- three, four."

"How murderous and blood thirsty!"

"They are rather deathly.  Now I'll be more interesting and let you see some loose play --- giving all the cuts and points, infantry and cavalry, quicker than lightning, and as promiscuously --- with just enough rule to regulate instinct and yet not fetter it.  You are my antagonist, with this difference from real warfare, that I shall miss you every time by one hair's breadth, or perhaps two. Mind, you don't flinch, whatever you do."

"I'll be sure not to!" she said invincibly.

He pointed to about a yard in front of him.  Bathsheba's adventurous spirit was beginning to find some grains of relish in this highly novel proceedings. She took up her position as directed, facing Troy.

"Now, just to learn, whether you have a pluck enough to let me do what I wish, I will give you a preliminary test."

He flourished the sword by way of introduction number two, and Bathsheba saw the point and blade of the sword were darting with a gleam.towards her left side, just above her hip; and then their reappearance on he right side, emerging as it were from between her ribs, having apparently passed through her body. Then she saw the sword vertically clean and shining in the hands of Troy.  All was quick as lightning.

"Oh," she cried out in panic, closing her shoulders with both arms.  "Have you run me through? --- no, you have not.  Whatever have you done!"

"I have not touched you," said Troy quietly. It was mere a sleight of hand.

The sword passed behind you.  Now you are not afraid.  Are you?" If you are, I can't perform. I give my word that I will not only not hurt you, but not once touch you." 

"I don't think I am afraid.  You are quite sure you will not hurt me?" 

"Quite sure." 

"Is the sword very sharp?" 

"Oh no -- only stand as still as a statue."  Now!"

In an instant that atmosphere was transformed to Bathsheba's eyes.  Beams of light caught from the low sun's rays, above and around her shut out earth and heaven --- all emitted in the marvellous evolutions of Troy's reflecting blade, which seemed everywhere and yet nowhere.  These circumambient gleams were accompanied by a keen sibilation that was almost a whistling --- also springing from all sides of her at once.  She was enclosed in a firment of light, and of sharp hisses, resembling a sky full of meteors close at hand. 

Sergeant had shown a complete dexterity in the use of broadsword, The cuts of Sergeant was so meticulous that with the point of broadsword he drew a contour of Bathsheba in the air.  To Bathsheba an aurora appeared around the sabre-rattling Troy, facing her.  His eyes had always been measuring her breadth and outline and his lips closed in sustained effort.  Next his movements lapsed slower and she could see them individually.  The hissing of the sword had ceased, and he stopped entirely. 

"That outer loose lock of hair wants tidying," he said, before she had moved or spoken.  "Wait, I will do it for you." 

An arc of silver shone on her right side: the sword had descended.  The lock dropped to the ground.  "Bravely borne!" said Troy.  "You did flinch a shade's thickness.  Wonderful in a woman!" 

"I didn't expect it.  Oh, you have spoilt my hair!" 

"Only once more." 

"No --- no! I am afraid of you --- indeed I am!" she cried. 

"I won't touch you at all --- not even your hair.  I am only going to kill that caterpillar settling on you.  Now still!" 

It appeared that a caterpillar had come from the fern and chosen the front of her boddice as his resting place.  She saw the point glisten towards her bosom, and seemingly enter it.  Bathsheba closed her eyes in full persuasion that she was killed at last.  However, feeling just as usual, she opened them again. 

"There  it is --- look" said the sergeant, holding his sword before her eyes. 

The caterpillar was spitted upon its point. 

"Why, it is magic!" said Bathsheba amazed. 

"Oh no --- dexterity.  I merely gave point to your bosom where the caterpillar was, and instead of running you through checked the extension a thousandth of an inch

short of your surface."

"But how could you chop off a curl of of my hair with a sword that has no edge? "

"No edge!  This sword will shave like a razor. Look here."

He touched the palm of his hand with the blade, and then, lifting it showed her a thin shaving of a scarf-skin dangling therefrom. 

"But you said before beginning that it was blunt and couldn't cut me!" 

"That was to get you to stand still, and so ensure your safety.  The risk of injuring you through your moving was too great not to compel me to tell you an untruth to obviate it."

She shuddered. "I have been within half an inch of my life and didn't know it."

"More precisely speaking, you have been within half an inch of being pared alive two hundred and ninety five times."

"Cruel, cruel, 'tis of you." 

"You have been perfectly safe, nevertheless.  My sword never errs." 

Troy returned the sword to scabbard.

Bathsheba sat down on a tuft of heather, possessed by tumultuous feelings resulting from the sword experience.

"I  must leave you now," said Troy softly.  "And I will keep this in remembrance of you." He stooped to the grass, picked up the winding lock, which he had severed from her tresses, twist it round his fingers, unfastened the button in the breast of his coat, and carefully put it inside.

She could not deny him.

He drew near her and said, "I must be leaving you." He drew nearer still.  A minute later she saw his scarlet form disappear amid the thick fern.  But before that she had felt the gentle dip of Troy's mouth downwards upon her mouth.

She felt she had sinned.

THE END OF THE CHAPTER