Hector took a few practise swings of his sword, the Gaelic claymore with the upturned quillons and great, five-foot-long blade. "I need the exercise," he said. "I used to be a great warrior."
"Used to be," Melcorka repeated. "Perhaps you should allow Tuath or me to fight for you? We both have more recent experience of battle."
"Chiefs fight chiefs," Hector said. "I have made my decision."
Tuath took a deep breath, looked at Melcorka and raised his eyebrows. "As you wish, Hector and if he kills you, I shall take my revenge on him."
"No." Hector shook his head. "This will be an honourable fight. The victor will walk away unmolested. Swear that!"
"Hector…" Tuath said.
"Swear!"
"I do so swear," Tuath mumbled, through gritted teeth.
"And you, Melcorka," Hector said. "You are only in thi
