Playing Chess with God BY VERNE R. ALBRIGHT

CHAPTER THREE: THE DUEL

Henning almost quit school after his freshman year. But with foresight unusual for boys his age, he decided four miserable years were preferable to a lifetime of poverty—Hans Krüger notwithstanding. Krüger, a Prussian general's son, was the underclassmen's most persistent tormentor and had taken special interest in Henning. 

Tired of being bullied, Henning enrolled in the Academy's boxing class. 

"Your physical skills are adequate, Herr Dietzel," his instructor told him early on. "Your attitude, however, is all wrong. Why do we learn to box?" 

"To be able to defend ourselves," Henning replied. 

"Would you like to make another feeble guess?" 

"No, Herr Instructor." 

"We learn boxing to help us project confidence so we don't have to fight." 

The Friday before final exams, Henning rushed through his work in the fields and hurried to the school library where he studied furiously. By the time the library's doors closed behind him, he was exhausted. Trudging down an otherwise empty hall he rounded a corner and saw two boys in front of his open locker. One, Hans Krüger, held Henning's year-end essays in his meaty hand, reading aloud while his constant companion, Helmut Meyer, chuckled contemptuously. 

"Those are mine," Henning cried out. Half his annual grade depended on those pages. They had taken months to research and were due before final exams on Monday.

Briefly Henning and Krüger stood eye to eye, then Henning looked away. They were the same height, but Krüger was older and much more substantial. "I'm going to read these to my other friends," Krüger said, cramming Henning's essays into his coat pocket. 

"Give them to me or I'll tell the headmaster you stole them." 

"Whiny babies run to headmasters. Men stand up for themselves," Krüger snarled. "And calling me a thief slanders my good name, obliging me to do this." He slapped Henning's cheek with a glove as though challenging him to a duel. 

"This is the Maximilian Academy—not the University of Heidelberg," Henning said, convinced Krüger was joking. 

Heidelberg's students often settled disagreements with sabers. The antagonists wore leather armor and steel goggles, and tried to draw first blood from their opponents' faces. To many, the resulting scars were sought after badges of honor. But dueling with swords was forbidden in preuniversity schools. 

"Heidelberg's duels usually end quickly," Krüger said. "Here, however, we use wooden canes instead of swords and the head is out of bounds. Our contest will continue until you yield unless you're afraid to face me." 

"Where and when?" Henning asked. 

"In the gym in a half hour. Don't be late." 

"Herr Krüger has been the Academy champion four straight years," Meyer needled as Henning turned away. "You'd better bring an assistant in case you need stitches." 

Twenty minutes later Henning entered a white gymnasium with a high ceiling supported by massive timbers. Krüger was warming up, a protective leather suit clinging to his barrel chest and tapered torso. His hardwood cane hissed as he swung it. Rumor was, the tip had been drilled and a weight inserted to deliver a heavier blow. 

"Where are my essays?" Henning asked with bravado he didn't feel. Krüger pointed to wads of paper on the floor. While Henning gathered them, Helmut Meyer slammed down a wicker basket of dueling canes and commanded him to, "Choose your weapon and pay me." 

"I don't have any money," Henning said. "Pay by this weekend." Meyer handed over the shortest cane.

"I won't have money by then either."