Writing for Fun
Dressed To Kill - Joan Bond
May 2014
Jean Rombaurd stayed his toil for a while. He was becoming an old man now, nearly forty. It hadn't been a hard life as he had made a quite good start to it making money by duelling. There was much request for his services as when a man had been insulted by as little sometimes as another making a slight against his family. But when such an insult was followed by a smack of the gauntlet across the face a duel was inevitable. In France we are more civilised and hire a fellow to do the fighting for us and with no fight to the death nonsense. A sign had to be made, to prove a point.
I learned the basic form of fencing, commencing with a wooden dowel and a woven basket for a hand guard and moved later to a foil. I seemed to have a talent for it and learned the moves. Prime, Seconde, Tiorce, Quatre and Lunge. Becoming a person popular at jousts and fairground shows, I met Celandine at one of these meetings and we were instantly drawn together. Her father had a large family of girls, some of marriageable age, and requested a large dowry. As we felt we couldn't be apart I had to settle to some basic work to support a wife and eventually a family of my own.
I look advantage of the generosity of a lord who had employed my services in a duel and he allowed me to settle on a small farm on his estate. It was small and shabby as left unoccupied for years but we were both of strong girth and worked together. It was near the river and aligned beside a small abbey of nuns. I supplied a little strength to them when they needed the help and in turn they were very kind in teaching us all about vegetable growth and keeping pigs. They also had some vines and we lengthened the area of growth by planting more and of a different grape. This in time became our main money earner. We had a good market in the town. There were many travellers on the river Soane and Celandine put up a stall on the bank selling the vegetables while I baled the wine from the casks.
The children now have gone away, the girls married off to other hard working farmers and starting children of their own. The two boys, one of which is following the trade of Smith is busy with all the horses needing to be shod now that roads are being built with hard surfaces, and repairs of carts, making new wheels and anything that needs metal repairs. He has taken after his father in the way of making fine swords. His name is spreading for their elegance and strength although he does not use them himself. Resting here, I am again reminded of one act in my past that I have tried to bury. Which has come to mind as the troubadour at the inn last night sang of the coronation of an English Queen.
Years ago, surprised and honoured by a request, or rather an order, from Thomas Cromwell, the Kings minister of England, to attend for an execution. I wasn't aware of whom it was and the reason for such an act.
But it was an order and I had to honour it. We had a very bad journey by boat and were late reaching London. I was given the sword only the night before but found it heavy enough to sever a head in one swift stroke. At seven thirty the next morning I donned my black leather vest and trousers and attached the thick leather mask to my face, so, thus dressed to kill, I went out and beheaded Queen Ann Boleyn.