It seems strange to try to put down all that is my life on a simple sheet of parchment but this is my task this day. To say that my life and history are ordinary would be to belittle myself, to call it extraordinary would be a braggart's role, alas the truth lies somewhere in the middle.
My Father was an Englishman of minor nobility in the sense of lands and titles. To listen to my Mother, the nobility of his heart and soul would cast him in the role of Emperor. I must take her word for this as he died well before I turned the age of five and what I remember of him is little and much fragmented. His name was Thomas Grey and yes he was a member of the illustrious Grey family that once claimed the title of Duke of Suffolk through a Cousin only of this illustrious man. Thomas was the the fourth son of Sir Edward Grey Viscount Lisle. Yes, this would make my great aunt the wife of John Dudley and through her the title of Viscount Lisle has passed to the Dudley family that is so prominent in current days. My father traveled to France in the year of our Lord 1561 where he met my Mother, a lady of no titles but by my oath none were born of nobility that carried it more in their heart than my Mother. Maria Gascone was her name and she was the daughter of the finest tailor in all of Anjou.
The family, while not rich, was well-to-do for a merchant family and of a fine reputation. It is said that my Father walked into the shop of my Grandfather to commission a Doublet. When my Mother first laid eyes upon him she walked into a wall for eyes never left him. If ever there was love at first sight this was it. A courtship followed, for my Father was as bewitched by my Mother as she by him. They were married six months later and when he returned to England in 1562 with a Catholic wife and a son named Gilbert ("GIL-BEAR", though as an Englishman I will always be Gilbert). To my Grandfather (a devout Protestant (in the days following the rule of Queen Mary the Catholic) this was no small affair, and he took this development in the worst humor. He disowned my Father, telling him that in his eyes my mother was no Grey and that I was a bastard son of a Tailor and no Grey. It was in hearing this story that I decided never to call myself Grey and to take the surname Taylor which I bear to this day. My Father loved his family but he loved my Mother and me more, so he moved to London and made his way as a teacher of Literature and Poetry. We were not rich but we lived well enough -- at least it seemed so as a child. Ours was a house filled with laughter, song and love. Truly this is more important to a child than material things.
The laughter of the house dimmed some in the spring of 1567 when my Father passed from this world. It is fitting that as he lived a noble life he died a noble death. One night in March as my parents returned from an evening with friends they were beset by brigands. My Father fought them and made an accounting of himself in protecting my Mother from harm's way. Unfortunately, they were five to his one and one of the highwayman made his way behind my Father hitting him in the back of his skull with the pommel of his sword. They ran off but the damage was done and in a month's time my Father died from the wound he sustained in that fight. My Mother was heartbroken and would never love another to the day she to passed from this world. She became my Father as well as my Mother and also my friend. She took it upon herself to teach me the things she saw in my Father. So I became a student of literature and of Poetry of Drama and of Swordsmanship.
I grew to be a man in the London of Elizabeth. It was in the theaters that I found a home watching the likes of Marlowe and Shakespeare, seeing the great actors of the day and one in particular. It was my honor to befriend Will Kemp. Will was and is the finest comic actor in England today. We are of a soul some say. The man is a master of the sword and has taught me much with Rapier and Rapier Wit. He took me under his wing and has been my Second Father in many ways.
After my Mother passed away in 1572 of smallpox I left England for a while to travel abroad. I traveled Europe, studying the Poetry and the Swordsmanship, the Theater and the Art of the world. I made my home in Venice where I fell in love with a courtesan. A woman of beauty, wit and poetry. O the verse this muse brought from my heart. We loved well and she was my soulmate I have no doubt but the plague took her from me and I moved on. In Spain having no heart left for poetry I delved into the Mysterious Spanish Circle. Studying rapier with a master in Toledo. I have much yet to learn but find it is a love of mine as much as any art.
It was a year ago when I decided to return to England. The Rumors I have heard that I was disguised as a grave digger and in the employ of Christopher Marlowe and the Dutch as a spy are much exaggerated, I assure you.
It was upon my return that I met another that has been a great influence upon my life - Sir Alaric Thorne. I met this man at a Festival that we both attended in the west of the land. We both were called upon to fight in tournament, he on one side of the field and I on the other. While we never fought each other we did see a kindrance in style, both having an affinity for Rapier and Buckler play. Later we talked and found that our Wit, much like our fighting style, also was kindred and a friendship was born. When Sir Alaric asked me to come to York I felt it only honorable to Squire to him. I the past few years I have earned the right to be called Knight in both combat and ministry. Thus has my life comes full circle and again I am minor nobility. After my Knighting I was approched by Sir Wright Bentwood and asked to join his Mercenary band. After proving myself by completing a task of a most clandestine nature and running a gauntlet against all the gathered Bentwood Raiders, I was accepted as one of them.
This I have learned from my Father and Mother: Nobility is in the heart and soul and not just in the titles. I have an inner nobility I would like to believe and the titles that I earn in York are just the embodiment of that nobility.
