COMMON AS MUCK

Ransom Ichabod Peabody was trying desperately to continue his erotic dream. Half asleep he muttered, "Not yet, damn it!" Rosie the tavern maid was naked, soft breasts the size of watermelons bouncing in his face as they thrashed about on a huge bed.

As he lay on his rickety cot, a tiny shaft of sunlight glinting through the small and only window illuminating his tiny dreary room, his erotic dream fading into the dark spider-webbed corners, he hoped his hangover would soon clear up because he was indeed in need of a clear head. A wine bottle, opaque as a stone, was lying on its side near the edge of a small wooden table standing next to his bed. His hands were trembling as he tilted it almost upright and managed to suck back a last swig. Noticing a soft lump in his mouth, he spit the red wine into the palm of his hand, which yielded a big black fly doing the backstroke. Flicking it onto the dirt floor with one of his fingers, he then lapped up the wine like a dog and muttered, "Apart from the dream, I don’t like the way this day is starting."

Ransom was as common as muck. However, despite being poverty stricken, he was blessed with an abundant of natural talent. A well-renown artist busy with commissions from the church and the nobility gave him meagre lodgings, plus a few coins to work as his assistant.

Strolling through the studio, Ransom stopped in front of an easel and looked at an unfinished portrait of a beautiful young woman married to an aging duke. She was wearing a low-cut, red satin gown, adorned with white lace. Although the whiteness of her skin glowed like alabaster and made her appear cold, she was anything but as he recalled ravishing her during several posing sessions—their sexual frivolity flattening his cot.

When he looked at himself in a broken mirror, despite his bloodshot vivid blue eyes and fiercely disheveled long black hair, his overall boyish good looks combined with his artistic charms caught many a maiden's eye and shed many a gown. As he combed his hair and tied it with a blue tattered ribbon, he recollected the events of the previous night that would most likely cost him his life at precisely four o’clock.

He had spent most of the evening in the Horse and Dog Tavern with friends and a well-to-do aristocrat by the name of Sir Errol Standish who had simply pulled up a chair uninvited and ordered a round of ale. Since free ale was free ale, nobody contested his presence. He seemed pleasant enough at first, his round red face getting redder and redder with each ale he imbibed. However, when Rosy leaned over while placing mugs of ale on the table, her ample bosoms almost touching the gentleman's face, he grabbed one of them.

Rosie was taken aback, not because patrons occasionally tried taking advantage of her womanly charms but because for someone who obviously had a position and wealth, his actions were highly unusual. The more affluent men generally treated her with respect and then, just before the tavern closed, would ask how much she would charge for a private visit. As odd as it seemed, highly unusual in fact for a young woman in her position, Rosie was still a virgin.

The aristocrat was still groping Rosie’s breast when Ransom leaned across the table and slapped him across the face and roared, "That's no way to treat a lady sir!"

"She's no lady! She's just a common barmaid. And you, you're just a no-account commoner too and since you took it upon yourself to strike someone of my status, I therefore challenge you to a duel!"

Rosie could scarce believe her ears. Two men were fighting over her and when she smiled at the thought, she directed it towards Ransom.

Returning her smile and in a cavalier manner, as if he was challenged to a duel everyday for rescuing some maiden's honor Ransom haughtily said, "It matters not a trifle to me. Choose the place, the time and the weapon and I'll be there." My God! What have I said, he thought? I've never handled a sword or a musket in my life.

The pompous aristocrat knowing he had the upper hand sneered and said, "Fine! Four o’clock tomorrow—be at the top of Duelist Hill. I'll supply the dueling pistols and do make sure to bring your second."

"My second?" Ransom inquired.

"Yes, your second. It’s the rules. If either of us decides to shoot the other in the back or run away, the second can shoot the coward."

Since Ransom had slept in, it was already past noon, he decided to visit the Horse and Dog Tavern for a drink or two. He needed something to relieve his shaky hands and bolster his courage.

As soon as he walked through the tavern's door and was seated on a bench with his back up against the wall, Rosie came over and said, “Drinks are on me my hero. It's the least I can do, especially since..."

"You needn't say, since it's my last day on earth."

"That's not what I was going to say. I was going to say, since you rescued me from that pompous ass last night, what would you like to drink?"

"Something stronger than an ale if you don't mind."

"Then a double shot of whiskey it is. Anything for you Ransom."

"Anything?" he inquired.

Realizing what he was asking, she looked into his sad eyes and smiling coquettishly purred, "Anything you desire. Anything at all my handsome Ransom."

After downing several whiskies, he sauntered over to Rosie and said, "I don't like to ask but can you do me a favour? It doesn't really matter if you know how to use a pistol or not, but I need someone for a second—it's the rule."

Curtsying deeply, holding the tips of her apron in both hands she answered, "I'd be honored to be your second, kind sir."

The path leading to Bartlett Hill was steep and Ransom was chugging like a steam engine by the time they reached its summit. While he was bent over and gasping for breath, he heard someone ask, "Is that you, Ransom Peabody?"

"Aye, tis me," he panted.

"I'm Lord Geoffrey Stuart, the arbitrator for you and Sir Standish. I’m here to make certain the duel is carried out by the accordance of the rules. I don't see your second.”

Ransom pointed at Rosie and said, "She's my second."

"I'm not sure that the rules allow a woman to act as a second," Lord Stuart stated.

"Well...if that's the case, then I guess the duel is off."

"Not so fast...if your opponent accepts your second, then I see no reason to halt the duel."

Sir Standish, confident that Ransom was as good as dead replied, "It's fine with me. Let's proceed," and sneering at Rosie continued, "I have an evening engagement with a lady of worth, and I don't want to waste any time than absolutely necessary."

As soon as the two duelists had selected their weapons, were standing back-to-back, their muskets loaded and cocked for action, the arbitrator said, "After I count off ten paces, you may then turn, aim and fire at your opponent.”

"One...two...three..."

The count was on and Ransom wasn't feeling very cocky as he glanced at the flintlock pistol, which was pointing skyward. As he thought about all he had to do was aim and pull the trigger—Sir Standish was so fat, how could he possibly miss, he felt a little more confident.

"Eight...nine...ten."

Ransom spun around faster than Sir Standish but couldn’t pull the trigger. When he heard a loud explosion and then felt the round lead ball from his opponent's pistol buzzing by his right ear like an angry hornet, taking a portion of the lobe with it, he couldn't believe he was still standing.

The arbitrator, a puzzled expression on his dour countenance asked, "Aren't you going to fire your pistol?"

"Do I have to fire the musket right now? Is it mandatory that I kill him?"

"No. But I've never heard of anyone refusing to fire their weapon."

"Well in that case," nonchalantly gazing at Lord Standish's terrified face he asked, "What's your life worth sir?"

"What do you mean? Take your shot! You couldn't hit a barn door if you were ten paces away."

Hmm…he has a point Ransom thought but I'm still the one with the loaded musket so he said, "You may think I'm just a commoner sir, but I'd wager that you don't know that I served in the Queen's Regiment and was a marksman of deadly aim. I once had the opportunity to shoot Napoleon himself."

Lord Standish chortled and said, "Well then, we all know you missed, if you're even telling the truth."

"Well...I didn't exactly miss. The horse he was riding reared just as I fired, and the ball hit it directly between the eyes. So, what's it going to be? Are we going to palaver about the amount of money you’re willing to part with, or do I pull the trigger?" As he watched Sir Standish pondering the question, he was hoping he didn't have to fire the pistol because in all reality he would most likely miss.

Sir Standish hummed and hawed for a moment and then said, "I don't believe anything you just said but what's your price Ransom?"

Breathing a sigh of relief, he answered, "I know you're a wealthy man but I’m not the greedy sort, so how does 5,000 pounds sound?"

Sir Standish shook his head, which was turning as purple as a ripe beet and sputtered, "Certainly not! The sum is preposterous. 500 pounds seems more than fair to me."

Aiming the barrel of the musket at Sir Standish's head he continued, "Since you don't seem to put much value on your life, perhaps it's best if I put you out of your misery."

"Now...now...hold on young man, let's not be too hasty. You're right, but 5,000 pounds is still too high of an amount. I'll give you 2,000 pounds in cash."

"I believe we have an accord sir, and you are my witness, are you not Lord Stuart?"

"Indeed, I am sir."

"Just one more thing before I lower my weapon. I'd like to keep these two dueling pistols. Not so much for me but for your sake sir. The last thing you need to be doing is challenging an excellent marksmen like me to duels."

"Agreed. Is there anything else and if not, I'll meet you at the tavern in about an hour with the money."

"Ah, aye. There is one more thing required to seal the deal. You must apologize to Rosie."

"I'll do no such thing. She's nothing but a common tavern maid."

"Then, Sir Standish, you leave me no choice."

Realizing Ransom was determined, Sir Standish raised his hands in protest and said, "I'm sorry."

Wiggling the pistol at the privileged aristocrat Ransom said, "Not good enough sir. You must look directly at Rosie and apologize to her in a gentlemanly fashion."

As much as it galled him, Sir Standish reluctantly apologized.

Ransom and Rosie lingered on Bartlett Hill until Sir Standish, his second and the arbitrator had disappeared. Taking her in his arms he quietly asked, "Did you mean what you said about giving me anything I desired Rosie dear?"

Realizing that the duel hadn't ended the way she expected, even if it was purely luck, she nodded and put her lips to his. The kiss was sweet and urgent as he gently laid her down on the grassy hill and lifted her dress, only a pear tree, rose bushes and some sparrows witnessing the loss of Rosie's virginity.