The pair stood on the dueling ground, sabers in hand, sunlight streaking dazzling silver into captive eyes. These two men hated each other. And why wouldn’t they? They were fighting for the hand of Lady Grace Pendor. A 14-year-old girl.
Jack of House Haste, blonde and beautiful, glared at his opponent, Alan of House Noble.
Dark-haired with a grim look, Alan threw his sheath at his attendant, who fumbled it in surprise. “Confess it, Jack!” Alan shouted. “Absolve yourself today before the end!”
Adversaries and audience were framed by a pair of ancient oaks, conquerors of the lonely field. The other pair, the men, wore their finest doublets. Alan in white, Jack in red.
Jack looked at the untanned stripe on his ring finger. “I loved Helena. I would never have harmed her.”
“Lies!” Alan turned, playing his anger to the crowd. “You see?! He’ll never admit to the murder of my beloved sister!”
Alan waved his saber about like a boy pretending to be a battlefield general. Jack wanted to end this, win the duel, and take Lady Pendor to wife and live peacefully on her dowry away from here and away from his former best friend.
“We were never friends, you and I! I never trusted you, Jack Haste.” Alan knew he lied, but he had to make this handsome man into the villain. Jack had tricked everybody. He tricked Helena into loving him, into marrying him, and taken a large portion of the Noble family wealth in the marriage. All spent on clothes, horses, and fancy nights about town. Now Alan had the chance to avenge his sister, take Lady Pendor’s hand and use her sizable dowry to restore the wealth of House Noble.
“Tell your story and tell it true.” Alan pointed his sword at Jack’s chest. “My last mercy to you.”
Jack looked at his steel. The light played up the length of the blade.
—
The light glittered up the length of Helena’s gilded lace as she lay on the floor. But there was no light in her open eyes. Dying on a cloudless morning, the sun shining on her through the window. Did she say “whew!” when she fell, like usual, or was she gone before she hit the floor?
It had been a peaceful marriage of four years, Jack remembered. Helena had been twenty when they’d married, and Jack twenty-five. She would never live to see twenty-five . He had loved her. She was funny, she knew how to dress him, and she didn’t mind his wandering eye.
—
But Alan minded. Oh, yes, he did.
Jack was tired, it had been months of rumors and accusations before Alan proposed the duel. Calm words were useless now. I won’t play this game, he thought.
“Quit shouting and come at me, Alan.”
Alan tightened his grip on the sword. He won’t admit it! He’ll never confess.
Alan ran forward, swinging his saber overhead. Swords clanged.
—
Bells rang, signaling the late hour.
“Quit grumbling and come with me, Alan,” Jack said. It was late and the blonde man was waiting outside dressed in his finest attire. Alan stood in the doorway of his home, dressed in the opposite fashion, sleepwear.
“No,” Alan said. “I was nearly abed, where you should be, yes? Taking care of your pregnant wife.”
“She’s asleep. She’ll be there when I—when we return. I’ve a new horse I want you to see.”
“Another?!”
Jack smiled. Alan sighed.
Alan was stuck between impressed and disgusted with his brother-in-law. Jack could deal cards, drink, smoke, and leer at every woman who passed the table. The skinny ones in particular. In their four years together, yes, Helena had put on some weight, but she was happy. Jack made her life joyful, she said, and from what Alan could see, Jack’s hungry eyes never prompted any action.
“Mmm,” Jack said, pointing his chin to someone behind Alan. He turned to see Lady Grace Pendor standing with her girls. All staring at Jack.
“Does not Helena have the same necklace?” Alan asked.
Jack smiled behind his cup. “She used to.”
The next morning, Helena was dead.
—
Jack parried aside a downward stroke. Alan slashed back, and Jack jogged away and squared up once more.
Alan marched ahead. “You poisoned her!”
Jab, jab, jab. Jack’s sword punched toward Alan’s chest. Alan jumped back, swiping away the last strike with his palm.
Alan strode away and raised his voice for all to hear. “Pray, what other cause could there be for the sudden demise of a young and healthy woman save for some foul play?”
Members of the watching crowd snickered, one muttering in a snide tone, “Healthy?”
Both Jack and Alan turned to the voice. “Shut up!” they shouted as one. Alan looked askance at Jack. A kernel of doubt shone in Alan’s face for barely a moment.
Jack saw the young Lady Grace Pendor in the crowd. He remembered sitting with the girl and Helena having tea as the pair twittered and gossiped. At the time, getting on with the House Pendor seemed advantageous. With funds waning and Helena having a sizable tract of land for sale, who better to buy it than Lord Pendor?
Alan slashed upward, Jack leaned back and sliced a line through Alan’s doublet. Alan stumbled away. He felt his clothes and his hand came back red.
The crowd went silent save for a crow above Jack cackling its portents of death. Alan flicked his wrist spattering scarlet on grass. Jack pressed his advantage swinging at Alan’s unguarded side. Alan ducked, bringing his steel up just in time. The sabers scraped. Alan rolled forward. Jack gave chase. Alan stood too fast and, staggering, swung his sword low. Jack lifted his leg to avoid the wayward stroke but he was moving too greedily and the saber bit deep into his calf.
Alan fell on his back and scrabbled to his feet as Jack limped away, blood pulsing into his boot. Alan looked to Lord Pendor, who nodded. Good. Good. I can do this.
—
Alan stood in Lord Pendor’s withdrawing room. “It has been less than two months since my sister… He will surely kill young Lady Grace, just as he did Helena.”
“Indeed?” Lord Pendor fanned the ink on a finished note. “There is no proof. Only idle gossip, and all stemming from your lips.”
Alan waved his hand. “I know not the origin of the rumors. But aye, I do not doubt their veracity… his debts, surely—”
“Inconsequential.”
Alan took in the opulence of the manor house. It dawned on him House Pendor could take on the crown’s debts. “What’s he giving you for your daughter’s hand?”
“We do what is required of us, Lord Noble. I must find a husband for my daughter, and I need a man to manage the docks in Clift, as my son is proving inept. Lord Haste needs his debts absolved and a new wife. As the deal is better for him than me, he is giving me the Hollows.”
“The Hollows were part of Helena’s dowry! My father grew up on that land. He wanted—”
“I’ve agreed to terms.” Lord Pendor stared at him. “There’s naught else I can do, Lord Noble…”
The implication was clear: What would you do? He couldn’t let Jack saunter off unscathed, new wife, new life, selling the last vestige of he and Helena’s father in the process. Jack must see justice. Alan saw his reflection in the saber on the wall. We do what is required of us.
“I’ll duel him,” Alan said.
“What?”
“For your lady daughter.”
Lord Pendor suppressed a tight smile. “Why would I allow that?”
“Name your price.”
—
They had settled on the Noble manor house, the home his father had built, where Alan and Helena grew up. Alan would not need it as he would move north to Clift with his future wife, Lady Pendor. All he had to do now was win this duel. Jack’s bloody boot squished, and Alan felt a moment of sorrow for his old friend.
Jack had felt regret over cutting Alan. Had.
Alan wiped a bloody hand on his trousers. “Jack, confess. I must hear you admit it.”
“Shut up.” There was ice in his voice.
He jabbed. Alan lifted his blade blocking the strike, but Jack twisted and pulled away, cutting the dark-haired man’s sword arm from forearm to wrist.
Alan retreated, spinning to see Jack limping carefully forward. He turned his arm, inspecting the cut. It was deep, yet he felt no pain. The once pristine white cloth of his doublet was completely red. The fabric blocked his view, but the sheeting blood told a grim tale.
At the start of this duel, it was Alan’s face that was red while his shirt was white. Now, they’d switched. In a different time he’d laugh at that, Jack thought. Alan was hunched over, holding his arm, watching Jack inch his way ever closer.
Jack wanted to say something, but he didn’t even know what he was feeling. Sorrow, anger, or was it nothing at all?
Alan stood straighter and held the saber before him. He heard his life dripping into the grass. This is it. He set his feet, his boots scratching the dry grass.
—
The quill scratched parchment, Jack signed the papers and spread the sawdust over the ink. “The Hallows are yours, Lord Pendor.”
“A wise decision, Lord Haste. Should misfortune during the duel—”
“It’s not the duel that worries me. It’s the repercussions after Alan is dead; he is well loved. I fully intend to leave the moment that business is done and wait upon you and Lady Grace in Clift.” Jack stood and walked to the door.
“Lady Grace will make a fine wife for you, Lord Haste. And again, I’m sorry how all this fell upon you after the death of Helena.”
Jack stopped, his hand gripping the doorframe, his knuckles white. “You had every chance to dismiss the rumors that spilled from Lady Grace’s lips.”
“And you have my sincerest apologies.” Lord Pendor blew away the sawdust on the parchment and proffered a wan smile. “Had I known, I would have put a stop to it months ago.”
Jack gritted his teeth. “And now, you have the Hallows and a suitable husband for your daughter.”
Lord Pendor did not flinch. “And you will have a new wife and an estate in Clift.”
—
Jack swung his saber down. Alan caught it, the blade slicing between his fingers into his wrist. Jack stared in shock and tried to pull his blade free but it was caught in meat and bone.
Alan jabbed at Jack’s neck, the blonde man leaned away too slow, the cold steel slid across, cutting the side of his neck deeply. Jack yanked his blade free and stumbled back, reaching for the wound, blood spurting from between his fingers.
Jack spun and limped off. This isn’t worth it, this mess. He wanted to see how much he was bleeding, but he dared not remove his hand. Neck wounds could be bad. He looked up and saw Lady Pendor again. She wore the necklace. A courtly move most likely from her father. If Jack won, it could be said it was worn in honor of the late Lady Haste. If Alan won, it could be said it was in accusation of Jack’s guilt. That damned necklace that started this. I wish Helena had never given that to her. Jack staggered, seeing darkness at the corners of his vision. What would Helena say when she felt light-headed?
“Whew,” he gurgled, then fell.
“Whew?” Alan recalled Helena always said the same before she fainted. She would see stars upon rising too quickly, complaining of a rapid heart beat. Whew? She would moan that one day she would faint and there would be no one to help her. He felt cold. You did not kill her. Did you, Jack?
Alan’s hand, split in two, guttered blood into the grass where Jack lay on his side. The man choked, a clok-clok coming from his throat, his hand feebly waving for his sword. His eyes filled with terror as he looked at the girl.
Lady Grace Pendor eyed the dying man with a small frown. Alan raised his sword, declaring victory, but the girl huffed and crossed her arms.
“Him, Papa?” Lady Pendor said with a petulant frown.
“You do not have to have a maimed one, my love,” Lord Pendor said. “I shall find you a husband, and one who’s whole.” He took her by the arm, and they strolled away.
Lord Pendor leaned to one of his attendants. “Draw up the documents for the purchase of the Noble estate…”
The winner looked at the flesh of his mutilated hand then to the backs of Lady Pendor and her father. How could they betray me like this? How could she…
“Lady Grace!” He stumbled after her, but she did not turn. And then he remembered. She’s fourteen, only doing what is required of her.
Alan dropped his sword. He gave a final look to his friend. Jack’s eyes stared into the sun. Are you with her, brother? Oh, Helena, I thought to be your justice, but I became a rich man’s toy. I am a joke. He could feel the pain now. He did not know what hurt worse; the icy grip of guilt or the hot flush of shame.
All went black as the crimson grass came up to meet him.
About the Author
Tommy Oler is a writer from Tennessee. He’s done everything from writing news, jokes, scripts and short stories. Tommy’s original script Animals Can Talk won the Golden Nib (1st place) in the Let’s Make It screenplay competition. He’s a content creator online whose videos have received millions of views on TikTok, Instagram, and Youtube. Tommy co-created the LOL network show You Look Like, produced by Craig Brewer (Hustle & Flow, Black Snake Moan, Empire).
