so in the armoury with sword and buckler, and with every lesson my
proficiency with the iron grew in a manner that Falcone termed prodigious,
swearing that I was born to the sword, that the knack of it was in the very
blood of me.

It may be that affection for me caused him to overrate the progress that I
made and the aptitude I showed; it may even be that what he said was no
more than the good-natured flattery of one who loved me and would have me
take pleasure in myself. And yet when I look back at the lad I was, I
incline to think that he spoke no more than sober truth.

I have alluded to the curious, almost inexplicable delight it afforded me
to feel in my hands the balance of a pike for the first time. Fain would I
tell you something of all that I felt when first my fingers closed about a
sword-hilt, the forefinger passed over the quillons in the new manner, as
Falcone showed me. But it defies all power of words. The sweet seduction
of its balance, the white gleaming beauty of the blade, were things that
thrilled me with something akin to the thrill of the first kiss of passion.
It was not quite the same, I know; yet I can think of nothing else in life
that is worthy of being compared with it.

I was at the time a lad in my thirteenth year, but I was well-grown and
strong beyond my age, despite the fact that my mother had restrained me
from all those exercises of horsemanship, of arms, and of wrestling by
which boys of my years attain development. I stood almost as tall then as
Falcone himself--who was accounted of a good height--and if my reach fell
something short of his, I made up for this by the youthful quickness of my
movements; so that soon--unless out of good nature he refrained from
exerting his full vigour--I found myself Falcone's match.