Teams of warriors in Medieval armor gather in France to try to injure each other with axes and maces.
We grappled, spinning and hacking at each other, until we both ended up slamming against the fence. In a flash, the Belarusian was gone and I felt the weight of another opponent on my back.
Against the fence and immobile, I leaned into the barrier and threw one arm around a post to keep from being borne to the ground. The dead weight of at least 200 lb. on my back threatened to bring me down, but I was secure for the moment.
This situation is what we call “deep water”—when escape is impossible and defense is diminished to a reliance on armor and stubborn determination. Some fighters find themselves under the tender care of two, three or more pitiless enemies, each using weapons to tee off with impunity.
For me, this unfriendly treatment began almost immediately as a stocky Belarusian leaned over and started throwing mighty sword blows into my thighs. I didn’t see any friends nearby and just hoped that my disadvantage was going to remain merely two against one.
When those blows started falling and my thick leg armor took the damage without failing, I was suddenly filled with relief and, surprisingly, joy. A man I’d never met before was pounding on me with a sword with all his strength, and I started laughing. Loudly. I couldn’t help myself.
I laughed right in his face.