The White Knight

Chapter 2

I wrote, "His wandering eyes were golden as they approached the wandering thighs of the young maiden. His flowing blonde locks ebbed like the sea away from his face with the wind. He toyed mercilessly with it, curling it with his fingers as the others stared. His expression remained bare, except when he saw the fair maiden glance his way. It put him in great dismay, for he was unsure if he was ready to play."

I looked up just as I had written the last word, and remembered where I was. I had left early that morning from Cologne, Italy on the way to Constantinople to meet up with other knights of the first crusade. I luckily had been realized as a poor fighter, (despite being a poor fighter, I could translate) and thrown in the back of the wagons with all the supplies as the quartermaster of their specific group of men.

I was a lover, not a fighter. The worst I had done was fight with my pen, with damning poetry and sonnets about squabbles amongst good friends. I had never fought a day in my life, but because my father and I both had legal troubles, fighting for the cause was our only option. My father was completely clueless to his son's true fighting prowess. before he passed away.

Raised inside a castle just outside of London, my life was something of a spoiled one. Everything I ever did was watched and supported, and in everyone's eyes I could do no wrong. My father was a Duke, and his land was vast, so he constantly went out to collect taxes for living within our borders. I never approved of the drastic measures used, but since I was merely the son of the Duke, I had no say in the happenings of the kingdom.

At a young age, my simple life changed when I was taught to read and write. As the clumsiest and least useful man of the house, I kept the records of all its occupants, and the wealth that flowed in and out of the household. Occasionally, my father would go on a run for taxes, and come home with large amounts of raw gold, and other treasures which my eyes had never been laid upon. I knew my father as a good man, so I trusted these were just taxes from a new and foreign occupant. Eventually though, I was proven wrong, and the trust in my late father broken...