The Troubador

By Emery C. Walters

With the name of Jesse Thomas Cromwell, he definitely belongs in the world of Renaissance Faires. Playing old instruments of yore and singing ballads and bawdy tunes puts him on stage. This is Jesse’s favorite pastime, and things are going well until bagpiper James opens up a competition on a neighboring stage. Jesse becomes louder and bawdier until security comes and kicks him out.

Later James finds Jesse and apologizes for the ruckus. Together with a young lad whose faire gear was stolen and James’s niece, or maybe now nephew, they hatch a plan to get back into the Ren Faire. There are signs James isn’t altogether straight, but can Jesse answer that question in a satisfying way? Especially when they just might get thrown out of the faire again?

• Language: English
• Publisher: JMS Books LLC
• Release date: Oct 16, 2019
• ISBN: 9781646561148

Emery C. Walters

Emery C. Walters was born Carol Forde, a name he soon knew didn’t fit the boy he was inside. Transition was unknown back then, so he married and then bore and raised four children. When his youngest child, his gay son, left home, Emery told Carol that she had to step aside, and he fully transitioned from female to male in 2001.

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The Troubadour

By Emery C. Walters

Published by JMS Books LLC

Visit jms-books.com for more information.

Copyright 2019 Emery C. Walters

ISBN 9781646561148

Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

All rights reserved.

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This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published in the United States of America.

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The Troubadour

By Emery C. Walters

Going to the summer Renaissance Faire, or Ren Faire, was the highlight of my vacation. I looked forward to this particular one all year long. Sure, there were others, smaller or closer by, but this was the biggest and best. I’d had my gear packed for weeks. My costumes were in plastic bags, waiting to hang in the car. My instruments had been cleaned and tuned and practiced on so much, I’d had to clean and tune them again. This year, I was going to wear eyeliner, too, as it made me look sultry. It probably wouldn’t be right for the time frame, but I didn’t care, and I’d been having some of my drag queen friends help me make it look both stunning and natural at the same time.

Almost the last thing I had to do was remove my cat, King Henry, from one of my instrument cases. He loved it in there! He was not happy about my removing him. My neighbor was coming in to take care of him, though. This neighbor loved my cat and fed him way too much, so King Henry did not mind that I was leaving; he just wanted the instrument case.

You’d think that with a cat named after a king, I’d be something special, but, alas, I was only a lowly troubadour and sometime court jester. It was because my last name is Cromwell and my mother named me Jesse Thomas that my cat became King Henry the Eighth. At faires, I went by Jesse Summer. Close enough, being court jester aka servant to my King Henry VIII. I do know my history: the original Thomas Cromwell came to a bad end at the hands of Henry the Eighth, but that’s what happens when you are owned by a cat. It could have been worse.

I became a middle school music teacher. My mother was proud; my father was embarrassed. But even a bard must have a day job, so there we are, or here I was. There is a local group that plays ancient instruments, and I joined that, playing the lute and mandolin and some other things you’ve probably never heard of. I loved all the old musical instruments and was lucky enough to be able to sing without breaking windows. Actually, I’d been told I had an excellent voice, but there’s this humble brag term floating around, now, so I just sing. People can think what they want. I impress my students the first week with old, semi-cleaned up pirate ditties, and they give me their best the entire rest of the year.