[center][b][u]Another Afternoon At The Buckle[/u][/b][/center]

“’nother beer, Ted?” asked Jymson, reaching for Tedmin’s empty oaken tankard. 

“Aye, Sonny, ‘at be grand,” said Tedmin, wiping froth from his mangy bracken beard.

“’ows Mary? Be a fine lass tha’ one,” Jymson inquired warmly, as he refilled the tankard and replaced it on the heavy-set bar. 

“Ya know my Mary, Sonny, she’s as beautiful as the sun, but be scornin’ me all the same,” replied Tedmin, grinning his broken teeth.

Jymson raised his good eye. “Aye? What’cha dun this time ‘en?”

“Ain’t what I done, Sonny, It’s I didn’t do!” 

“Womenfok for ya, Ted, always’s the same story,” concluded Jymson with a smirk. 

It was midday, on Februari the 12th, and it was business as usual at The Boot Buckle. It was nearly a full house, a common thing for this time of day. Jymson surveyed his patrons curiously, trying to gage their business from studying attire and demeanor.

In the north end of the Buckle was a table of ten, all soldiers judging by their identical haircuts and lack of facial hair. By the fireplace, over to the east, were a small family – a ma, pa and two young boys., probably enjoying the pa’s day off from tending his trade. To the west, against the windows, were a rough assortment of no-one-in-particulars. A lowly merchant, a man out of work, a couple of over-the-hill women looking for lusty hands. 

“Ayuh, business as usual,” grunted Jymson.

“I be thinkin’ them soldier lads got a thing for your Jess, so I do, Sonny,” added Tedmin, looking over his shoulder at the table of ten. 

Jymson followed his gaze. Jess, the Buckle’s sole surviving beer wench, was busy trying to place a plate of fresh bread upon the table. As she bent over, one of the soldiers saw something he liked, and discreetly knocked a bread roll onto the floor. After offering his sincerest apologies, he invited her to pick it back up for him. She smiled innocently, like most young girls do, and did so.

The soldier grabbed her behind, and she whelped. Jymson reached under the bar.

“Now, now, Sonny, ‘ese are soldiers – ya kna’what happens when you quarrel with ‘ese bastods,” Tedmin intervened, placing a firm palm on Jymson’s wrist. 

“She’s sixteen, Ted, and ‘m good friends with ‘er father,” muttered Jymson’s reponse. 

Tedmin sighed. Jymson came from behind the bar with a large and hefty frying pan secured around his waist. Jess was trying to laugh off the soldier’s advances, but he had her midsection in an iron-tight clamp and obviously felt she was indebted to him. This enraged Jymson, who rather than see a petite and beautiful red headed young girl, saw a precious daughter, whom must be protected from a tavern’s filth at all costs.

“Keep ya hands to yourself, soldier boy, she’s not on the menu,” shouted Jymson, storming over with his white grimy apron seemingly bellowing in homage to his rage. 

The solder was an ugly bastard; his face cut through and through by some barbarian blade. It was hard to judge his age as a result, but Jymson sensed the man knew his way around a fight. This was unfortunate, because it seemed to the aging tavern keep that the soldier’s company were all young boys fresh from the muster fields. 

“Get back behind the bar, old man, I’ll send for you if I need you,” smirked the soldier; uglier now than ever he had been. 

“Aye, I’ll get back behind the bar after you let go of the little lady there,” hissed Jymson. His lips trembled with anger. 

The soldier took in Jymson’s size, and his apparent rage. After a few seconds of internal deliberation, he smiled a genuine warmth, patted Jess’s behind and shoved her towards Jymson. 

“’at’ll do, thanks lad,” said Jymson, willing to let the situation slide now that Jess was free from harm. He turned to walk away.

“Besides, I bet you’d wanna fuck her more than me anyway, you look like the kind of old bastard that’d go around ruining ale wenches,” snickered the soldier. His companions added their amusement. 

Jymson closed his eyes and sighed. Tedmin quickly downed his ale. 

With a flash, Jymson had spun on the spot, with his fryingpan held tightly in both hands. He surged towards the soldier, who was trying to draw his sword, and brought the metal down upon the man’s head. There was a sickening crack, and the soldier went limp, falling to the floor. The other soldiers arose from their table, but only two of them carried weapons.

“Give me a fucking reason!” Screamed Jymson. “You want this kind of trouble, you can have it!” 

The whole tavern had fallen deathly quiet. All eyes were on the soldiers, rather than Jymson. Tedmin came to the old oaf’s side, with his bar stool clenched firmly in both hands. It was apparent that the locals were rallying around their tavern keep; his Majesty be damned. A few of the patrons shuffled, edging closer towards the soldiers. 

“Take ya friend, and leave. I see you boys in ‘ere again, and I won’t be stoppin’ with just one of ya, see?” said Jymson, his gravelly voice getting stonier with each syllable. 

The soldiers seemed to way up their options, and then quietly nodded to each other. They picked up their fallen comrade, and made for the door. 

“They’ll be back, Sonny,” whispered Tedmin.

“Aye, and it’ll be tha’ same result, Ted,” replied Jymson wistfully.