Frank stood, momentarily frozen on the lawn as the madman came flying at him, the sword spinning in continuous wide arcs over his head. Just as the blade was bought slashing down upon him, Frank threw himself desperately backwards, inadvertently colliding hard with Helen, successfully knocking her cleanly out of harm’s way and landing on his back, he saw and heard the sound of the sword as it whoosh safety above him.

His attacker laughed loudly. "Got you beat, at last and you didn’t even see me coming!" he shouted triumphantly.

Frank couldn’t believe this was happening. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied Helen scrabbling to her feet and heard her shouting for her husband’s assistance. He also scrambled clumsily upright keeping his attacker in his sights, his brain feverously working overtime trying to figure who held enough of a grudge to follow him all the way to England. The swordsman was now advancing menacingly once again, and Frank went into a karate stance and began to retreat backwards towards the house, not wishing to turn his back even a second. He was taken-aback when the swordsman stopped short - in place of the look of murderous intent, his brow was furrowed and held a look of confusion, his sword arm dropping slowly to his side.

"I’m coming, Frank," shouted Joe from an upstairs window, which Frank assumed to be their bedroom. His attacker glanced up towards Joe surprised.

Seconds later, Frank heard a commotion behind him and was thrust aside by Joe as Alex came streaking past, brandishing a sword of his own.

"Eat metal – you Vermin!" Alex shouted, raising his weapon and bringing it into a vicious downward arc towards his opponent’s head. The attacker raised his sword and blocked the blow easily and replied by bringing his own shot sweeping in from the side towards Alex’s shoulder. Alex successfully stopped this dead, and also the next blow, which was aimed at his other shoulder.

Helen came and stood next to Joe and all three watched the spectacle of the two men moving about the garden, jabbing, swinging and blocking in quick succession, the sound of metal on metal filling the air.

The stranger sprang nimbly backwards, out of range as Alex’s sword swished across the front of his stomach. He then immediately lunged, point first, in towards Alex’s belly, Alex blocked and twisted his wrist, trapping the other man’s sword between the cross guard and blade, he flicked his arm away from his body and his attacker’s weapon flew from his hand and landing point first in the lawn. It stayed upright, quivering slightly, catching the sunlight.

The man knelt down in the grass and put his head down in submission, Alex walked forward and placed the blade of his sword against the back of his neck.

"Quarter, Sire," begged the man.

"Okay, get up," replied Alex, quietly.

The stranger stood and looked across at Frank a little sheepishly, "Sorry pal, I thought you were Alex."

"Do you often go around in broad daylight, attacking people with a sword?" shouted Joe, angrily.

"Well, yes, I do actually!" he grinned.

Joe spluttered, trying to think of something to say, but his surprise was such that he was completely lost for words. Instead, he strode forward and pushed the man roughly.

"JOE!" shouted Frank, advancing on his brother. "Stop it, give the guy a chance to explain."

"Frank, he attacked you with a sword!"

"He thought I was Alex."

"Some excuse – either way he was attacking someone!"

"Come on, calm down," Alex said, laying a hand on Joe’s arm, "there really is a simple explanation…kind of."

Joe continued to glare at the man standing before him, sizing him up. The man was not particularly tall, standing around 5’6, but he was wiry and lean. He guessed that his lack of height masked a strong exterior. He looked back with piercing blue eyes, daring Joe to take another step towards him. Helen moved in between them, blocking his view, effectively diffusing the situation. He knew the opportunity to fight had passed now that she had placed herself directly in the firing line.

"Joe," she said, her voice soothing, "Frank’s right, give Mark a chance to explain."

He paused for a couple of seconds. "Okay," he finally submitted. He looked over Helen’s shoulder and addressed Mark directly. "Shoot – and it had better be good!"

Mark raised an eyebrow, unmoved. "My name’s Mark Randall. I live here as a lodger with Helen and Alex. We are all members of a Norman period re-enactment group. As part of our training, Alex and I decided that occasionally I would lay in wait and attack him. It makes for a more realistic situation," he smiled slightly at Frank and Joe’s expressions and continued, "after hearing of their plans to see Mr and Mrs Morris off at the airport, I pretended to be out all day with my brother, when really I planned to lie in wait. When I saw you and Helen come out into the garden, I naturally assumed you were him - seems you look so alike – and attacked forthwith," He paused. "So, that’s the explanation – are you still going to kill me?"

There was a pause as Joe and Frank took in this amazing tale. They looked at one another and burst out laughing. Joe finally answered, "I suppose I’ll let you get away with it, this once." He stuck his hand out and he and Mark shook.

"Phew, thought we were going to get into a full fist fight," said Mark, shaking Frank’s offered hand next.

"Yeah, it was a pretty close call," laughed Joe, his eyes following Mark as he went to retrieve his sword, which was still stuck in the lawn.

Mark addressed Alex, "You never mentioned you had a little brother – what’s the big idea keeping that quiet?"

Alex snorted, "with an accent like that? Does he sound like he could be my brother?" he scoffed, looking down at his friend derisively. "You’d make a rubbish detective!" Mark looked foolishly up at him. Alex whacked him on the shoulder and laughed good-naturedly.

Joe locked eyes with Frank, smiling slightly, enjoying their private secret. "Don’t fret Mark, we’d definitely make bad detectives too." Frank groaned and rolled his eyes at his younger brother’s word pun.

Frank took the sword from Mark and began examining it closely. "That was quite a show you guys put on," remarked Frank in admiration. "Tell us more about this battle re-enactment."

Helen replied, "they dress up as Normans and don swords and other assorted weaponry and go out on a battlefield and knock the heck out of each other – all in the name of history and authenticity. We would have let you in on the secret sooner, but it is not the sort of thing you crow about, the majority of people we tell think it’s a bit of a sad hobby."

"Sad?" asked Joe, shaking his head, confused as to the meaning of the term.

"You know…erm…‘lame’,"

"It’s not lame, its kinda cool!" Frank enthused. "Do you dress in armor?"

"Yes we do – would you like to see some?" asked Alex enthusiastically, pleased to have the opportunity to show off his kit.

"You bet!"

"I’ll go and put some shoes on first," said Joe, suddenly realizing he feet were only wearing socks. He tried to recall when he’d actually taken his boots off, but couldn’t remember. He headed for the stairs with Mark trailing behind.

Alex led his new friend across the kitchen and opened a door at the other end. Leading downwards was a set of concrete steps.

"Hey, it’s a cellar," said Frank.

"This is where we keep our equipment," replied Alex. He pulled the light cord and a bulb switched on, illuminating the large underground chamber with light. Hanging from large hooks on the walls were an array of medieval weaponry: swords, daggers, scrams, spears, morning star flails and maces. Also, there were helmets, shields and wooden trunks containing clothing, eating utensils, bags etc. – Alex, Mark’s and Helen’s pastime was a hobby gone mad! Delighted by what he saw, Frank’s eyes lit upon one of the three T-bars from which a shirt of chain mail hung. "Wow," he breathed, running down the last few steps enthusiastically. He advanced on the armor and ran his fingers down the links.

"Careful you don’t get any of the grease onto your clothes," warned Helen from the doorway, "I’ll make that coffee everyone forgot about in all the excitement," she added.

Frank bent forward and inspected closely the intricate weaving of the chain mail; he held the hem and tested the weight with his hands. "Cripes, this is quite a weight, how much does it weigh altogether?"

"About three and a half stones," answered Alex.

"Three and a half stones!" exclaimed Frank. "How on earth do you walk around in these things?"

"Oh, you’d be surprised - you do get tired out quickly though, and really hot. When you’re completed kitted out you end up carrying about five stones in added weight onto the field."

Frank raised his eyebrow and shook his head in wonder. "Where do you buy the armor?"

"I make it."

"You make it?" exclaimed Frank again making Alex laugh.

"Don’t sound so surprised, it’s not the sort of stuff you can buy off the peg you know. You either buy a suit of armor very expensively from another re-enactor for…say…upwards of £1000, or you make it yourself for around 50 quid."

"I’m impressed!" breathed Frank. Alex shrugged his shoulders, nonplused. Frank turned at the sound of his brother and Mark descending the steps. "Come and take a look at this Joe, Alex made it himself."

‘This is starting to border on hero worship!" thought Joe grinning.

"Would you like to try it on?" asked Alex.

"Would I!" cried Frank.