Swashbuckler

He drove the scarlet X-Type through the city, scowling at the
decadence all around him, sighing as he came to yet another queue at
yet another set of traffic lights, ignoring the hoots of his equally
irate fellow drivers, cursing the tourists and the teenagers who
dawdled over the crossing.

He cast a glance over his shoulder at the back seat and smiled at the
sight of the huge, six foot long bundle that lay there, well worth the
high price he had paid for it. He knew that Claudia would nag and yell
at him for the next month, but he knew by now, how to switch off.
He pictured himself atop an immense black stallion, tramping through
muddy battlefields, the blood-drenched broadsword dangling from his
gauntleted fist, smiting shrieking savages, cleaving skulls and armour,
lopping off limbs by the score. Bodies would be lying all about him,
piled high in carnage and death, crows and rooks picking lumps of raw
flesh from grey faces.

The lights changed to green and he began to move. The cars in front
remained stationary, the horn blowing around him growing louder and
more insistent. He let his mind wander once more.

He would have to dig out his DVDs and videos again when he got home and
Claudia wouldn't like that either (he made a mental note to get her
some tickets for an opera or something), but he had got himself in the
mood. He would share the night with Robin Hood, Zorro and Captain
Blood, with Conan The Barbarian, Rob Roy King Arthur and William
Wallace.

Basically, Claudia could go and whistle !

The traffic still gridlocked, the hooting was now accompanied by a
chaotic cacophony of shouting and screaming from up ahead. He saw other
drivers lean out of their windows or climb out of their cars to have a
nosy at the disturbance or whatever and he opened his door and stepped
out into the chilly air.

He craned his neck and spotted a trio of black-clad figures exiting
from the glass doors of the jewellers', making their way in a
back-to-back triangle slowly towards the silver Granada Scorpio that
was slewed across the road up ahead.

A tidal wave of nostalgia swept over him, and he felt his chest swell
proudly beneath the double-breasted Boss jacket. Barely taking his eyes
off the getaway that was taking place down the road, he absently opened
the door and reached into the back.

The weight of the bundle ignited momentary agony in his wrist tendons
as slowly, he pulled it forth. But it was only momentary agony; once he
had wrapped his fingers about that rune-engraved hilt, all the weight,
all the pain, faded. The fire of all the old heroes raged through his
muscles. He tugged at the leather thong that bound it and whipped away
the dry cloth.

The thousand-year-old blade gleamed beneath the streetlights. The
archaeologists and the museum had done an excellent restoration job
upon it: smoothing out the kinks, filing out the scratches and the
notches, scrubbing away all the ingrained blood. It was a weapon of
conquerors, of champions, of kings.

And now, it was his.

He strode proudly down the centre of the road, the sword held out
before him. Eyes turned to watch him as he clambered purposefully up
onto the bonnet of the Scorpio, the wind whipping all around him like
an elemental cloak. "Surrender now," he roared in a deep, powerful
voice that oozed authority, "and I'll let you live !"

The robbers turned to face him, gazing up at him with something rapidly
approaching awe. He stared down his nose at them haughtily, his dark
eyes narrowed. "Well ?" he boomed.

"Get real !" one of the thieves sneered and the sawn-off shotgun boomed
even louder.

He arched backwards as though struck by a baseball bat and hit the
ground heavily. The sword clattered off the car bonnet and clanged to
the tarmac. He looked down and saw the gaping hole in his chest.

It couldn't end like this. Heroes didn't die like this. They had seats
booked in Avalon or Valhalla. Valkyries came and ferried them away on
winged steeds, or they vanished into the mists in boats of fire.

They didn't get carted away in ambulances.

They didn't get zipped up into black, plastic bags.

Claudia would probably find it all hilarious....