Portrait of a Knight

Chapter 1: Welcome to My World

I have a problem. I'm in love with my best friend's girlfriend.
Now, I know this isn't the most proper time for me to be saying that which I have said, it being there is a sword at my throat. Thou wilt wish me to start at the beginning. At a time perhaps when mine English was far from proper. Perhaps thou wilt desire a time before the language itself was known to me.
I shall honor thee then with mine tale. Mine tale begins before the King's knights and their swords fancied me. It begins in mine homeland. Athína.
***
My childhood wasn't one coveted by the masses. I was poor. Actually, I'm making it sound better than it was. I was a slave, a term I had no knowledge of until later in my life. I had no one to call family and no true roof to call home.
The nighttime streets of Athens were my home.
My earliest memory is that of the brutal and mannish Patrika Marlbos. She was a stout woman of middle age, perhaps six and forty years.
To this day, I question the possibility of how interminable her span of life seemed to be, which she dedicated to the torment and abuse of children like me. Life was an unbearable mesh of wondering when the next meal would be to whether or not we would make it through the night.
You would be wise to know that during this age of crisis, while most of the world was finding its way into travel, commerce, and conquest, my petty city-state suffered the latter.
Day and night, my people were bombarded on the east and west sides by our worldly abusers: the Venetians and the Turks. My people were subjugated to the slaving whims of those finely dressed devils, the Venetians. The Turks, be they vicious and money hungry, were better tyrants if ever there were such a thing.
Mornings on the grain plantation in 14- were less than amusing. We woke in hunger. We worked in hunger. And often, we slept in hunger.
I really should clarify my standing. The plantation itself housed an orphanage. I resided outside the orphan house. There were three of my kind and we resided in the wind-beaten shack of mud and dried twigs in the pasture.
Bread was what one would call a rare commodity. Cheese rarer still. One was blessed by Demeter if he happened upon a cup of clean water or grain.
By my frame, there was not much I could do. I was short. The girls my age seemed giants, and the boys, demons of their own. Association with the whelp was not condoned. In fact, Patrika likened me to paliá moúmies, old mummies.
I didn't much care for her remarks. My bruises, on the other hand, said otherwise. Asking for more bread or even a drop of goat milk was frequently met with the reprimand, "Jaktorius, you damned child! Food is for the free. You are without a name. You are a slave. You have no rights!"
A slave was I? I didn't know what a slave was. I looked as the rest of my brethren looked. My skin was olive, albeit flushed with lack of nourishment, my hair black and long, though messy and unkempt, and my eyes the same dark brown. I was they and they were I, yet I existed on the outside looking in.
I woke with my other two comrades, nameless as they were shoeless. I named them according to their tendencies.
There was Lefty, the girl with short hair. She preferred the use of her left hand and was named such. Then, there was Patch. A wound during infancy left him blind in his eye, and he had resorted to wearing a cover. You can see my genius now.
Patch and Lefty were younger than me, and it often fell upon me to take up most of their duties. These included pitching hay and sorting grain. I use to steal some grain for the three of us since our morsels were so unjust, but I was caught and lashed.
I did not appreciate the whip. It was my cruel enemy. It had no voice, only sound, yet its sound drew blood and painted my back in the fashion of misshapen roads.
I stopped thieving for myself and learned that if I only stole enough for the two young ones, they would get along.
I had to find my meals elsewhere, usually on the rough streets of Athens.
I mark the event that forever changed my life. To decide for the better would be a quick judgment better reserved for the more educated than I. Socrates and Plato would do, as Alessandria, the eldest of the orphan troop, would say.
She was kindhearted and sweet. She possessed beauty far greater than those ragged orphans. And she was smart.
But that isn't why I fancied her.
Alessandria was interested in me. She told me stories and learned me all kinds of things. It was forbidden for me to read, but she could remember everything. I forget much in letters, for they had no meaning to me. Thus, my childhood was painted by her voice and movements. It was most satisfying to my tastes.
It was on a cool evening, April of 14- when Alessandria and I sat atop the fallen marble columns surrounding our beloved Parthenon. I had escaped my morning beating from the wicked Patrika to be with my good friend. The Sabbath granted me freedom from work, but not from wrath.
The sky above us was blue and deep, and out past our shores were the formations of thunderheads. They were miles off and cast their dark shadows of rainfall over the placid sea.
Alessandria said that a big storm was on its way. Zeus must be angry with us, I thought.
I had to scrounge food along the way, and satisfied my cravings on the small morsel of a mouse I had killed in the city's gutters. It tasted rather tart when I had bitten into it. I had eaten better rats than this mouse. The rats had better meat, thicker, but so was the fur. I licked my teeth at the thought.
"Jaktorius," Alessandria addressed me, in Greek. "You seem in good spirits today. Who is the harbinger of your happiness?"
"The mighty Zeus!" I answered readily. "Will you tell me more of what our Lord has done?"
"Why of course, Jaktorius, but first, you must tell me about your eye."
Alessandria leaned over me. She was my only friend, my sister, and my mother.
Her gentle hands ran over my bulging eye. It was the right one this time.
When I had had enough of her mothering, I pushed her away.
"I am fine, Alessandria," I asserted. "I am man."
"You most certainly are not fine. And you are a boy. Men do not get into fights." She took my shoulder and pulled me close.
Alessandria was a girl of three and ten years. She was different from the rest of us. Her hair was fair, as was her skin, and her eyes matched the sapphire of the Mediterranean. She was a goddess, and I her little hero.
"I am fine," I asserted once more. "You should see the other guy."
A soft smile flitted across her lips. She stifled a chuckle and asked in a rather serious tone, "What were you up to this time?"
"I brought you this!" I reached into the folds of my toga. It was tattered and ragged like those other street kids, but mine was a washen blue. I was different.
From the folds I produced two fist-sized muffins. Alessandria's eyes widened.
"Where did you get these? Surely you couldn't have-"
"Stolen them?" I hinted.
"You did not. You must return them right away. I told you, the life of a thief is shameful and reckless. No one will respect you if you continue to steal." Alessandria rose from her seat. The long fabric of her gown followed the course of the wind. She placed her hands upon the article to steady it. "We must return the bread."
I stood up heroically to meet her. She stood nearly two and a half heads taller than I.
"But, Alessandria," I looked away bashfully before returning my gaze. "I bought these."
A look of complete shock flashed across her face. She then smiled, and I smiled. She was pleased and therefore I was pleased.
I bade her sit down again and we returned to our marble column.
"You bought these?"
I hummed my reply.
"With what money?" she then asked.
Now it was mine turn to look away. I reached into my folds yet again and produced my fist. Slowly, and with my thumb, I began dispensing gold drachmas into the weed-ridden grounds around us.
"Chrysós!" she exclaimed. "You've stolen gold. Kyrá Marlbos will be very ashamed. She will thrash you for sure." Alessandria grabbed my wrist and wrenched my hand over. I dropped all of my gold.
"Aaagh! Alessandria, you are hurting me."
"Jaktorius, how will you ever be granted freedom if you continue to steal? That is why your eye swells? You were caught."
I snatched my hand back and nursed it under my chin.
"I was not caught. I was careful."
"Then why the eye?"
"I lifted a knife as well. It was my bait. While the knife was heavy, the man was distracted. He grappled my shoulders and I snatched his coin purse. He didn't suspect anything. He let me go." I looked away from her rich eyes. I didn't deserve them. "I gave him his knife back."
"Was that before or after he hit you?"
"Before," I sniffled.
Alessandria placed her hands on my shoulders. She bade me face her. She seemed to be seeing me as if for the first time now. She began brushing my toga of filth. Her hands gently wiped away the mud that had caked my cheeks.
"You are a mess." Her voice was tranquil and even. "Hand me a muffin. I am hungry."
"But you said-"
"I said you should return what you stole. You bought these. We will feast."
I smiled broadly. We were to share in our first real meal together.
I bit into the bread feverishly. I felt powerful and could only sustain my power through more mouthfuls. My muffin was moist and fluffy. It was ambrosia in concrete and I devoured it with passion. My last bites splattered the remnants of the delicacy across my cheeks.
Alessandria delicately ate her muffin. As she savored the last indulging nibble, she wiped her hands on her dress.
"That was quite the treat, Jaktorius. I believe I owe you a tale of heroics."
I smiled at that. I wanted to be Perseus this time. Last time I was Theseus and I slayed the Minotaur, the horrid creature that was half-man and half-bull. It used to scare me, but once I found out from Alessandria that Theseus married the princess thereafter, I was satisfied and made fearless of such a wicked beast.
"Alessandria?" I asked.
"What is it, Jaktorius?" she grinned. She brushed her fair hair over her shoulder and corralled the loose ones behind her ear. I always liked when she did that.
"Am I courting you? I would like to court you."
Alessandria giggled. It evolved into a lighthearted laugh and her bright cheeks reddened. "Oh, Jaktorius, why would you ever want to do that?"
"Because you are pretty. And I like you."
"Jaktorius, you cannot court me." She placed her hand on my shoulder affectionately.
"Why is that?" I was disheartened. My eyes fell to the ground upon my gold. An idea struck me. "I am worthy. You are only half of ten older than me and I am man. I will use my gold to buy my freedom. I will marry you and we will be happy in my castle."
"Your castle?" she blushed.
"Yes," I asserted. I sprang to my feet and pointed to the decaying structure behind us. "I will be King of the Parthenon. And you will be my goddess wife. We will live forever."
"Oh, Jaktorius, if that is your wish then I shall grant it. When you are free, I will marry you and we will live forever." She embraced me lovingly and we sat down together. "But I'm afraid your wish will change. You will not want to marry me."
"I promise I do!"
"You say such things now," she said coyly. "But when you are free, and you are a man, you will wish to court all women. You will want many princesses and duchesses and heiresses."
"I will not. I swear it. You will be my goddess." I scampered off the column and rushed to the edge of the mountain. I struck a pose with my forward knee outward. "Before I am king, I will be your champion. We will ride horses. I will slay monsters and battle demons." I raised a closed hand into the air as if holding a sword. "I will be powerful. I will be famous. And... and-you will have to love me." I was out of breath. My chest rose and fell like thundering drums.
"Oh, Jaktorius, I already do love you. With all my heart."
"You love me as boy. I will make you love me as man."
"Jaktorius, you cannot make someone love you as you see fit."
"But the Kings of France and Britannia, they do as they want. They marry anyone they want regardless."
"You don't want to be like those daft imbeciles. You want to be your own man, Jaktorius. Do not pretend to be someone or something you aren't."
I looked off toward the sea. Zeus and his gray chariot were nearing.
I promptly faced Alessandria.
"Then I will make a name for myself. I will be... I will be..." My vigor fell. I did not know who I wanted to be. I fell to the dirt exhausted. I crossed my legs and pondered fruitlessly for an answer I knew would not appear. "I will make a name for myself."
Alessandria voided the fallen column and approached me. Her sandaled feet made their way through the weeds to my bare, cragged feet. She stuck out her hand.
I took it and up I was again.
"You have a name," she said. "You are Jaktorius."
"I am incomplete. You are Alessandria Konomedes." I turned away. "I am incomplete."
Alessandria turned her back to me. Her eyes scavenged the area for something. Seemingly satisfied, she returned to my direction.
"You do have a name," she asserted.
"I do?"
"Of course. You are my champion. You are Jaktorius Chrysós."