He nicked her, perhaps on accident, but a thin slice of blood welled up on her white skin. Matteo rushed forward, shoving aside the remaining few in front of him. Grabbing Robespierre’s wrist, he twisted his arm, keeping the knife pointed away, and yanked him backward, jerking off-balance.

While Matteo engaged Robespierre, someone pulled Scarlet forward and out of his clutches, free from the knife.

Swinging the first fist at Robespierre’s face, Matteo said, “You dare to cut her.”

The man staggered from a solid hit to the jaw but rallied, laughing. He twisted his hand free of Matteo’s grip and taunted, “Surely you have more strength, or did my prisons sap it out of you?” His answering fist nearly toppled Matteo to the ground.

Centering his resolve, Matteo leapt forward, both knives now in his hands, lunging.

Robespierre spun and dodged and leapt, blocking all of his forward thrusts. The man could not be contained, and his responses were lightning fast.

A searing burn sliced Matteo’s upper left shoulder. Calling out, he backed up two steps, glancing at his arm. The cut seemed shallow, but blood stained his shirt and spread down his arm.

Robespierre did not wait for him to reassess; he leapt forward again, aiming for Matteo’s heart.

Kicking at him, forcing the man backward, Matteo prepared himself.

Robespierre fought like a lion, lunging and retreating, not showing any signs of fatigue. In between thrusts, he called, “Guards! To the courtyard!”

Footsteps sounded down a hallway, and another group of men poured into their small space. The additional guards paused, perhaps not certain whom to engage.

Confusion reigned. Guards fought each other and prisoners.

Robespierre, caught in his own struggle, could not direct them.

Simon and the league’s advantage lay in that they knew who was an enemy and who was an ally. Soon they overtook the new guards and began freeing prisoners from carts and preparing to exit.

But Matteo remained engaged in a fight for his life. They needed to head outside the courtyard gate soon to end this fight before more came to oppose them, but Robespierre did not seem to tire. Matteo spun around behind the man, finally tearing at his sleeve, making contact with skin. Circling again, he jabbed at Robespierre’s thigh next, and then his arm again. He kept up his fast pace, circling behind Robespierre again, the man turning in place to attempt to face him. But Matteo was too quick, reaching in and jabbing, circling. Around and around Robespierre, he increased his speed, ever faster, not dizzy from his movements, intent only on opportunities to weaken his enemy.

The man leapt away, away from Matteo’s mad dance, and struck at those in front of him, but the guards shoved him backward, almost into Matteo’s knife. He maneuvered within a hair’s breadth of death, avoiding a thrust of the blade.