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Listeners' Fantasies |
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A matter of honour
by Anglo-Norman
 Taken from the Fantasy Archers topic of . We hope it won't come to this in the 21st century ...
It was a cold, damp December morning in the Year of Our Lord Seventeen Hundred and Ninety as five figures convened atop Lakey Hill. Brian Aldridge and Oliver Sterling, two Gentleman Farmers, shook hands with Sir Nigel Pargetter, the local Squire.
"My thanks to you, sir, for overseeing this business" Oliver murmured.
"Not at all. It is best that, if these affairs are to be settled in such a way, they are settled properly." Brian grunted, and shrugged.
"Well, let's be getting on. This 'business', as you call it, Mr Sterling, has been dragging on too long as it is".
Sir Nigel nodded briskly, and beckoned forward the two other men present. They were William and Edward, the brothers Grundy, but their blood connection was almost all they had in common. Their bitter mutual enmity had gone on for so long that no person could venture an opinion as to its origin, and it seemed likely that it continued now only because it always had. Today, though, might settle it for ever.
"Will, Ed" Sir Nigel greeted them. "Can I not persuade either of you to settle this in another manner? Might an apology not suffice?"
"I would gladly accept my brother's apology, sir" Ed replied with a smug grin calculated to rile his brother.
"My apology?!" said brother raged. "You are the one who has tried to steal or destroy everything good in my life!"
Sir Nigel cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I shall take that to be a negative answer, then." He nodded at Brian and Oliver. "Gentlemen, if you would be so kind as to make the necessary preparations?"
The two Gentlemen now moved over to a small portable table which had been set out on the ground, atop which was a wooden case. Brian opened the case to reveal a pair of duelling pistols. They were his own, and he had not spared his purse. Made by Mr Manton - the finest creator of such weapons in England - they had cost him fully fifteen pounds.
When William and Edward had seen fit to settle their differences by a duel, Brian had agreed to be his employee Will's Second, in which capacity he had provided the pistols. Now he and Oliver, employer of and Second to Ed, loaded the weapons carefully, each watching the other to ensure there was no foul play.
Each of the pistols was as close as possible identical to its brother, to ensure that neither duellist had an unfair advantage. This was the key to the pistol duel; unlike the French, who preferred to use swords, the English way relied not so much on skill as luck, and the point was ultimately not to kill, but to demonstrate one's bravery - and by extension one's honour - by being man enough to stand and receive fire.
Of course, if a fatality did result, it would be murder, but given that the local magistrate was Sir Nigel, in this case prosecution seemed unlikely to follow. The pistols loaded, they were offered to the opponents.
"Now" said the Squire. "Stand back to back, please." They did so. "You will walk forwards ten paces, on my count. One, two, three…" That would 20 paces between them - the extreme end of a pistol's accuracy, again levelling the playing field.
Once the duellists were in position, they turned to face each other. In Will's eyes were nothing but hatred. Ed seemed a little less certain - but if it was unhappiness that their dispute had come to such a mortal point, or the knowledge that his brother was by far the more experienced in handling firearms, only he could say.
"I must remind you" intoned Sir Nigel severely. "Aiming at your opponent is strictly forbidden. If either Second believes the opponent of his associate to be aiming, he has the right - one might say the obligation - to shoot that opponent."
Brian nodded in approval, and pointedly flourished a brass-barrelled boxlock pistol, one of a pair which was included with the duelling guns for just such an occasion. Oliver fingered its brother with less enthusiasm.
"On my signal, you will point your pistol - remembering not to aim! - and give fire. William? Edward? Are you ready?"
The two brothers nodded.
"Then, on my mark." Sir Nigel raised a handkerchief. For a moment he held it aloft, the weak rays of the morning sun shining through the white silk, then it fluttered from his fingers. An instant later, two shots exploded across the quiet hilltop, sending birds screaming into the sky.
After a moment Oliver, waving away powder smoke, walked over and nudged the prone body with his foot.
"Blast!" he grumbled. "Now I shall have to advertise for a new herdsman!"
Brian snorted. "You are not alone in your woes, sir! A pretty time to have to seek out a replacement gamekeeper!"
Sir Nigel shrugged. "Well, it cannot be helped. I supposed honour is satisfied, in its way. Would you care for a drink?"
"Decent of you, Sir Nigel!" Oliver nodded. "The early morning air fair chills the bones, eh, Mr Aldridge!"
"Then it's decided!" Sir Nigel smiled. "Let us retire to Lower Loxley. Oh, do not concern yourselves with the deceased - my men will see to them. But to matters of more import - I have an unusual vintage upon which I should like your opinions…"
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