Portrait of a Knight

Chapter 2: Overcome

Sniff! Sniff!
I awoke to the stifling smell of black smoke. It coated my lungs and forced gags from my mouth. I rolled off my straw matt onto the dirt floor of my shack and scanned the area.
The room was dark. By light of some unforeseen source outside, I made the billowing cloud of death above me. I scurried-sure to keep my head down-the few feet the room offered and shook Lefty and Patch to wakefulness.
Lefty's eyes were wide with fear and Patch gagged on the air.
I hurried them outside under my arms and into the small grain pasture. My eyes did not deceive me as I beheld the vehement flames swallowing the pasture in famished delight, leap from the fencepost to the roof of the orphan home.
The kids! I thought in fear. They must be saved!
I bade Patch and Lefty stay by the shack, but not to return into it, lest they suffocate. The grain fire was not so threatening to the shack, though the smoke was clearly troublesome.
I rushed to the home. I stripped what was left of the top of my tattered toga and wrapped it around my mouth.
I rushed the door like the Minotaur and crashed downward. Blood streamed from my scalp and I could feel the bruise already swelling. The door had not budged. I kicked at it for some time. The hinges weakened with each strike. As my count surpassed ten, the door cracked under the heat of the flames and splintered inward.
Suddenly, I felt an enormous gust of wind rush past me into the doorway, almost bringing me along with it! In the next instant, a fireball blasted from inside the home. It passed over my head harmlessly enough, but the force knocked me down and shattered all of the windows.
The hungry red tongues lapped lazily for a minute and I crawled inside on my belly.
Furniture cracked and snapped in the hot yellow teeth. I stayed out of reach of the arms swinging across the walls and floors in heated rhythm.
I could not search the whole home, and only made it to the kitchen. The pantry door was closed.
I crawled up to it and placed my hand upon its brass knob.
I recoiled in pain as the knob was very hot. I found a rag on the dining table and looped it around the knob and tried again.
The door swung open easily enough.
I was relieved when inside I found three children. They seemed alright enough. Soot covered their cheeks and they coughed their graciousness, but otherwise they were fine.
I bade them lie on their bellies. They did as I instructed and followed me out of the burning home.
The grain pasture was now completely engulfed in flames. It burned as though a luminous spotlight had been turned on the ground. My eyes directed me to Lefty and Patch. They huddled close to the shack on its south side. What they could not see was the fire that had sunk its teeth into the eastern side. It was chomping right for them!
I sprinted around the pasture, the orphans following me. I made it to my friends and grabbed their small hands. I led them away to the roadside.
Together, the six of us watched as the orphan home and our shack burned to the ground.
As the fiery display of consumption raged on, I took to examining our crew. There was Lefty, Patch, and I, and of the orphans, Helen, whom was my age, and Paul and Clementauz, who were both six less ten my elders. I scanned the group again. No one had changed. My heart started pounding.
Helen hugged me out of the blue and thanked me profusely. She kissed all up my cheek and I pushed her off. I would not be getting anywhere with her.
I stepped between Clementauz and Paul. They did not notice me.
I spoke up, "Hey! Where is everyone else?"
Clementauz could not respond. She was enraptured by the display.
"Hey!" I shouted again.
Paul looked at me this time. "Kyrá Marlbos is gone. She is gone. Who will care for us now?"
I had no concern for that rotten old pig. She was nothing but bad to me and my friends. She verbally abused us all. She shot extra arrows at Lefty for her fledgling incompetence. She beat Patch where he could see it for his lameness. And she whipped me for caring for them. I knew she also beat me because she felt good doing so.
Her absence was of no concern to me. Patrika Marlbos was an evil woman.
"The others," I continued. "Where are the others?" My heart beat fast.
"They are gone." Clementauz finally spoke. "They were taken by those barbarous Ottomans. They are dead."
I couldn't hear my own words over the beating of my heart. I screamed out nonetheless. "Where is Alessandria!?"
The elder children exchanged glances.
"Tell me!" I wailed.
They looked away and up towards the Acropolis. The rugged mountain rose above our crumbling city-state. The Parthenon sat undisturbed by the chaos below.
***
I sprinted barefooted along the cragged roads.
I passed the spice shops and apothecary stands known to crowd the main alley to the Acropolis. Tonight, they were not busy. They were ablaze.
Food vendors had vacated and spoiled delicacies lay squashed and trodden in the streets.
I slipped in a rather deep puddle. My ankle hurt really badly and my shoulder received a serious scrape, but I did not cry. I had to find Alessandria. I would save her.
Awaiting me ahead was a burning church. I shuddered. It was St. Luke's First Apostle. Alessandria had told me many a good story about her time of learning within those walls.
Now, I watched as its roof blazed angrily, and in its courtyard, the frivolously dressed Venetian soldiers engaged the rugged and brutish Turks.
The Venetian soldiers swung deftly with their light swords. They struck down Turks in artistic manners. Every move was calculated and not without grace. The Turks, on the other hand, were quite savage. They utilized large axes and war hammers. I watched in awe as they swung their mighty axes, sharper than the Gorgon's stare, and split the Venetian's in pieces. It was horrifying, yet I was unable to look away. The gore of combat was gut twisting, and savory.
As the last Venetian fell in the courtyard, the Turks pounded their chests and let out an animalistic roar. They were celebrating.
One of the soldiers, a round man with dull looking armor and a triangle of black for a beard, made my visage. He shouted something to his allies. It sounded like a gargle to my ears, but that didn't stop them from turning my way.
I had obviously overstayed my welcome. I broke west and the soldiers fumbled to mount the gate and take up pursuit.
I panted heavily as the air could not make its may fast enough into and then out of me. I sought cover in the barrel of a grape press. It was fermenting wine I later found out, as the potent aroma filling my nostrils made me woozy. I sipped the contents and reenergized.
The thundering steps of boot on stone raced by. I heard the heavy breathing and gargled speech of the Turks. They rested a moment outside my cover.
I felt I might die if they did not move on. I sunk further into the wine, hoping they would not discover me. Seconds turned to minutes and minutes assumed the hourly visage of infinity. I could not breathe.
A sudden cry from across the square rescued me. The Turks hefted their metal weapons to their sides and hurried away.
I sprang from the barrel covered in the purple juices of the wine. The Turks were assuredly gone. I turned back south and raced for the Acropolis.
I bounded up the hill and lunged to the cliffside.
Scraped and bloodied, I scaled the back of the mountain to the top. I surfaced on the west side of the Parthenon. The moon hung a silver disk of cratered omens in the east.
As I crept around the Parthenon, the sound of metal clashing against metal became prominent. I ducked down to avoid detection.
I felt my way along the fallen marble of my castle and approached the front.
From my hiding spot, I could see a new battle being engaged, just in front of the steps of holiness. Turks clashed in battle with soldiers I had never seen before. They wore armor of the grandest white and silver, and their swords were bejeweled as though kingly. Capes of ornate coloring, from red to blue, to the brightest yellows and greens flowed outward from their shining shoulders with each sword strike.
The Turks were large men indeed, but the swiftness and the skill of these silver soldiers was unmatched. The silver soldiers dispatched the Turks with haste and ardor. Their moves were regal and deft. Nothing was left to chance.
Unlike the Venetians, these soldiers had much wider swords, longer too. They required two hands to hold. When a sword like that came down upon an Ottoman arm, it flew clean off!
I scanned the battlefield. There was one soldier of the new class who was completely unique. His armor was a blood red. It was mortifying, yet I could not look away from its beauty. My sight was stayed upon this man, whose appearance was markedly different the longer I observed.
He wore no helmet as did his shining comrades. His head was free and full of majesty. His shoulder length hair was brown and groomed. His skin was white and his jaw powerful. His dark eyes were empty, yet filled with a fire for battle. He, I would come to know as Sir Nicholas Maycot, the renowned English knight, Captain of the Crucible, an assembly of the most skilled and powerful knights in England.
Sir Nicholas was the most noticeable in any battle. He had the best skill with a sword and was by far the best built. His speed was unmatched and his success rate, whatever the job may be, unparalleled. He was known as Dragonblood, a nod to his blood red armor with the appearance of red scales for his shoulder plates.
Watching Sir Nicholas slay the beasts before him inspired me. I rose from my hiding place. Just as I had done so, one of Crucible's knights slew a Turk and dropped his body in front of me.
The corpse's eyes were rolled back and blood trailed from the corners of its mouth. A mortal wound exposed his now lifeless heart.
I fell to the ground and backed away. I stood to run and tripped over an unforeseen rock.
The ground met me abruptly. As I sat back on my knees, wiping the dirt from my face, the luster of some object caught my eye. It was obscured by the dilapidated, marble obelisk of some forgotten deity.
I made my way toward it. As I climbed over the obelisk to view the object, I sunk to my knees in a fit of tears.
I could not make a noise. My eyes flooded and my mouth moved but there was not a sound. I fell prostrate over the lifeless body of Alessandria.
Her body lay propped against the obelisk sitting upright. Her hair had been swept over to the other side. I cried into her chest and clung to her. She was gone. Her blue eyes stared absently back at me. Somehow, that made the pain worse.
I pulled her head to my shoulder and squeezed. Finding the words was just too hard.
"Ale-Ales-Aaa! Alessandria! Wake up! Please wake up!" I bawled in vain. She would not wake. She had passed on to the eternal rest. She would not wake. She would not wake in my arms.
The gleam of the moonlight offset a shining object near me in the weeds. I reached for it. It was a drachma. I embraced it. Without a second thought, I produced a second drachma from my folds.
I laid Alessandria's body out in full. I gently closed her eyes and placed the drachmas over them. I kissed her on the forehead and said, "The ferryman will take good care of you, now... I... I will miss you forever. You are my goddess. But now, you can tell the next life all the stories you told me."
I curled up next to her for a moment.
Beyond me the knights continued their slaughter of the Turks. The clomping of hooves signaled the arrival of more enemies. The knights pressed on.
I lay with my arms around Alessandria's waist and my head in her neck. I mourned silently.
A loud shout from one of the knights (I distinguished it by its oddity, unlike the gargles of the Turks, these words seemed more constructed) sounded of victory. I rose from my area and crept around to observe the knights from behind. They had gathered in a circle in front of the Parthenon's steps. They were all congratulating each other except for the red one. He stalked back and forth on the battlefield. He seemed unsatisfied.
The red knight came towards the cliff. He was coming for me! When he arrived, he displayed no interest. Maybe he hadn't seen me. However, he did take to inspecting an Ottoman corpse. Satisfied he turned his back to the corpse to join his friends.
Suddenly, the supposed dead Turk sprang to his feet, axe at the ready.
"Watch out!" I screamed, springing from my hiding place.
My sudden appearance had not only shocked the knight, but it had surprised the Turk. I rushed him and knocked out his legs. The behemoth lost its balance and toppled over the edge. I looked only briefly. I turned my head before he met the ground.
It was over.
The red knight approached me. His sword was drawn. He spoke in his well-constructed words, which fell deafly on my ears. His brow furrowed for a moment then relaxed. He waved his comrades over.
They all surrounded me like sentinels. Their bright armor gleamed illustriously in the moonlight. All of their metal heads glaring upon me weakened my knees and I collapsed.
The red knight said something and motioned his hand. The others obeyed and removed their helmets. Seeing that they were human enough, the strength returned to my legs.
The red knight looked to his comrades. They shared some unknown laugh and nodded to each other. I didn't like my position in all of this.
Suddenly, the knights returned their helmets to their heads and dispersed. Some headed into the Parthenon and returned with valuable works. My chest began to burn.
"You can't do that!" I yelled. Apparently these men did not understand Greek because they did not heed me. They continued to pillage my castle.
The knights mounted horses. All but the red knight that is. He seemed to be pondering something. His mind made up, he turned to me.
A grin flashed across his face and he announced to his comrades something that delighted them. He bent down and made contact with me. It was frightening to say the least, and without warning let alone my permission, he grabbed my waist with both hands and threw me over his shoulder. I screamed and hollered but there was nothing I could do. He was too strong. I was set on his horse and he mounted the saddle. Clutching the reins, he ordered the horse to speed away.
My eyes never left the spot where I'd left her. All I could think was, Alessandria, good-bye.