Brother de Verdin,

The sun is setting and as its great warmth fades, the sky is lit with crimson red haze illuminating the wine in my goblet. The wine comes from Rebecca du Bauer's Paris vineyard which I'm sure calls forth pleasant images of Miss du Bauer, and her father's lavish estate. Remember the Summers we spent practicing in the courtyard and in the grand ballroom? Did we dance more or less than practice the crossing of our blades?

I find your work for our old friend Cobb a bit disturbing, as he has never been one of the most honest and trustworthy of comrades. I can recall times that his 'devil may care' attitude should have earned him point's edge. While I praise your intent, brother, I feel it necessary to warn you not to trust Cobb further than on simple matters.

I do, on the other hand, find that there is great integrity in the matter to which you attend. Teaching young men the way and the power of a keen blade is what men like us have been born and bred to do. Without doubt, the lessons taught to these young men will help to enlighten the passion in them that is called life. We can be sure that some few of them will come to follow in the steps of our Maestro...

Well, the end-page seems to loom quickly and I would finish the story of my encounter with the Japanese Maestro known as Toda:

One evening, during my ambassadorial visit to Japan, we were introduced to several Japanese weapons masters. Forgive me, but I remember few of their surnames, though some names come to me freely: Tesshu, Kano, and Toda. The most prominent of these was Toda-san, a Japanese sword maestro. Upon hearing from Louis, our translator, that I was a swordsman, he invited several of our party and myself to visit his school the next day. Through our translator, I suggested that I would enjoy this experience very much as I had been unable to do my solo practice for over a fortnight due to all courtly obligations and lack of a training partner.

They very next morn, after arriving and watching maestro Toda teach his students for about an hour, he had several of his senior students show their practice duels. There was a great similarity in some of their movements to that of what you and I learned in the Spanish and Italian schools of our Maestro. Yet, there were so many differences. Were I to use an analogy of fine wines... Well, there are wines my brother and there are so many different grapes, so many blends and differing consistencies. Where would I begin?

After the class had ended, many of the students looked at our party and myself as if we were perhaps demons come to steal their secrets. Toda-san noted my interest and explained that his students had never before seen foreigners, and many were indeed wondering about our heritage.

Toda-san, recalling our conversation the night before, asked if I should like to practice with him. It was not a challenge in any way, my brother. However, as you know, when partners are newly acquainted, from different countries, a bit of national pride presses us to childish behavior...

Toda-san and I bowed to each other in the manner of our individual court styles. As always, a moment of deep respect for our Maestro filled my heart, and I took that moment to acknowledge our teacher's lineage as I then let my sword tip aim at my partner. The wooden training rapier had been crafted for me by one of Her Majesty's artisans after our having helped the Crown with that incident upon her Golden Jubilee in 1867. The Queen was quite gracious for our help in her hour of fear and danger. Who knows, if we had not been there, perhaps the assassins would have succeeded in taking her heart. But I miss my queue, and my story grows longer...

The wooden sword Toda-san held looked a bit heavier then mine, with more exotic color to it. Toda-san's bow ended with his stepping into a forward posture as I took a similar stance from Agrippa's fourth guard.

For an instant, we stood looking at each other... I would even venture to say that my partner's gaze extended beyond me and that he was, if you'll permit the fancy, looking at some far mountain. We were there, both in the second, and then the second was done, broken by the quiet shuffle of a repositioned foot.

We both moved, slowly flowing from one posture to the next, ever aware of each other as we began our subtle movements. Distance closed while unguarded points made themselves known. For a flash, his left wrist was a wonderful target as I'm sure he thought of my right thigh. But as these things are, the flash was done and so was the target. There seemed to be a rhythm between us that I cannot compare with any other time or person with which I have had a bout.

How long passed, I am quite unsure. But you know how how these things are... they last a second, they last an eternity. Suddenly, Toda-san launched an engagement in sixte which I quickly parried. I moved toward his left permitting an opening at my shoulder, which he ignored for the bait it was meant to be. In turn, he feinted to septime, which nevertheless opened his wrist for a clear Balestra attack. Which closed neatly and efficiently, missing only by the merest fraction of a hare's breath. His attack au fer, beating my weapon to the side and thrusting at my heart, was as overwhelming as it was disconcerting. Would that it had traveled forward another centimeter, should I have not moved off line, the bout would been done. But it did not and instead, I moved aside and shuffled some distance between us.

It was a slight second before I jumped forward launching toward his right shoulder, as he pivoted thrusting at my face, to which I played through its finta in tempo beat. Toda-san pressed his attack with a forward lunge, circling his blade upward and down to my left shoulder and then pressing ever forward with a series of thrusts to the heart, face, leg and shoulder. I receded with a variety of counters, a beautiful riposte to the left eye and double that took his sword off line. Another day, another opponent and I could have finished with a stop cut to his belly. But he was too insistent and any such move would have simply earned a return of his blade. I was not interested in a "practice of mutual death."

I attacked... He attacked... It all blended...

Soon, our breaths grew heavy. I could see perspiration growing on Toda-san's brow as surely as I could feel it on my own. We grew apart like the ebbing of a tide. The silence was broken by the sound of a child crying; the sounds of a mother comforting it. Louis, our translator, said something in my partner's language and then in English. "It is noontime, monsieur. We have been asked to accompany Lady Miraya back to Court. It seems we are to have an audience with the Prince."

Toda-san stood across from me. Both of our swords aimed toward each others chest. Our eyes locked for a mere second, I bowed at the same moment as he... knowing that we would never know the outcome of our exchanges. And yet, it seems to me that there is little doubt at how all had indeed ended. I asked Louis to translate my thanks for the bout, as well as my appreciation for the maestro's kind consideration of letting a foreigner share his hall and crossing blades with such a fine master.

Toda-san smiled, the only time I had seen him do as much as show any emotion, spoke as he bowed again and then preceded to an alcove where his daily garments awaited him. As we left, Louis translated Toda-san's parting comment, "That was odd, my friend Antonio. Toda-san asked if you have any Sojobo ancestors?"

It wasn't until weeks later did I come to glimpse an understanding of what Toda-san had meant with that statement. I asked Lady Murakawa what a Sojobo is, and she replied that in this area of Japan it was the king of tengu (long-nosed goblins). It is believed that it taught sword arts to several of our warrior clans. It was both a gentle joke and kind praise.

Of our bout, it was obvious to me that we were quite evenly matched and yet, there was an oddness in knowing that styles of swordsmanship born in lands so distant in society and culture, should find such equal.

Well, that is all for this letter, my brother. Sorry to have rambled on so long, but perhaps it filled your cold night with a few warm thoughts.

As always, I am your faithful comrade-in-arms,

Antonio de Bari

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