Portrait of a Knight

Chapter 3: Under a New Rain

I was greeted by the harsh groans of the ship as it pitched back and forth in the turbulent waters. We had left Athens sometime yester night and now we were nearing some island off the coast of France.
The picture was becoming clearer for me. Alessandria had learned me about a warring nation with the French.
The dense fog began to mist and disperse. As it did thus, I neared the bow of the ship. I had come from below deck to get a whiff of fresh air. The salt of my tears had nauseated me. The salt of this spray was vomit worthy.
Less than two kilometers out rose cliffs so high and white they beamed in visage.
"Britannia," I said hoarsely.
A man approached me. He did not seem to be a knight. I was right. His tan, straight pants were crusty with sea spray and he wore an open blue vest. He wore a red cap upon his head.
He spoke to me in Greek, "You know of England? Smart kid you are."
"You are Greek!" I exclaimed.
"No, son. I'm German. I'm the ship's linguist."
"Linguist?" I asked.
He replied, "Speaker of languages, son. No one else understands you on this vessel and I'm told you don't understand them."
"No, sir," I shook my head. A thought jumped into my head! "Sir, have you seen my friends? Patch and Lefty? They were with three others!" I had left them together just outside the fire zone to find... I-I just needed to know that they were okay.
"Sorry, son. You were the only one picked up. Master says you'll be useful for something."
I grimaced. I would not go through this again.
"I do not want this 'Master.' "
The man took a step away. I could tell he was examining my back. He returned.
"No, I suppose you wouldn't. Do not worry. He is a knight. He will make you one, too."
"A knight?" I asked. "Are they those shining soldiers I saw earlier?"
"Hmm, I suppose they are. The best soldiers in fact. Well respected. Very famous."
"Famous?!" I was on to something here. "They are famous you say?"
"I suppose I did say that. Yes, quite famous."
"Thank you, sir! I must go now. I must become a knight right away!" I turned to leave, but the man halted me by my shoulders.
"Hold it, son. You don't need to hurry off to nothing. Ya gotta be patient. Look, I didn't even get your name."
"It's Jaktorius," I said. There was a pause. He seemed to be expecting more. I smiled to myself. "Jaktorius Chrysós."
"Awh. Fine name. But not nearly British enough. Look, I'd love to give you a strong German name, but you're going to be hanging out with a different crowd. Jack is good, but not nearly Christian enough. Maybe Jacob."
"What's a 'Jacob?' " The word was rather hard to say without sounding completely different. "Something else?"
"Hmm. Alright. How about Jamison? Hardy, strong. And ya surname. That's got to go. Now, you're Knox. Jamison Knox."
"I don't like it," I said dejectedly.
"Well," said the linguist, "that's too bad because I do. And you look just like a Jamison Knox. Now if we could just get you a loaf of bread." He laughed. I tried to smile, but it hurt knowing that he was making fun of my physique. "By the way, you can call me Lang; ever'un else seems to like it. Oh and before you run off, I suggest practicing your name first. That'll let them know you're learnable."
"I can learn on my own," I asserted.
"Fiery for a kid."
A sudden call from the crow's nest above signaled the closeness of the hills.
"Well, son, I recommend going back to your cabin. The Master will see you shortly. Practice your name. See ya."
Lang disappeared below decks. It was strange, I did not readily receive his company, but lack thereof left me quite alone. As other sailors passed by, I attempted to make conversation. They shot me looks of disdain and disgust. No matter what they said, I could not understand them nor they I.
There is nothing worse than having a voice that cannot be heard.
***
I waited in my cabin. I was laying on my hammock looking out my porthole. It was small, and there was a hole in it, so the spray and smell intruded on me constantly.
There was a knock at my door. It was suddenly thrust open and in walked the master I was said to expect.
It was the knight from before, the red one. He was no longer covered in his familiar attire, however. He instead wore brown attire consisting of pants and a full-cover shirt. Covering his extremities was what appeared to be chain mail. He wore plated boots, and riding gloves. At his hip was his long sword.
He came to my side with a smile on his face.
He spoke to me, and when he understood that I had not received his words, he turned his head to the side and let out a laugh.
"I am Jaktorius Chrysós," I said. Maybe that would make him do something different. No. He tilted his head back and laughed even harder.
My skin burned. He would not know my name. Or if he did, he would not accept it.
"Jamison Knox," I said this time. I had practiced well over one hundred times as Lang had suggested. It wasn't perfect, but it was English enough.
"Jamison Knox?" he repeated. His eyes were wide. It seemed we'd reached an understanding. He said more words I didn't understand, but then he started something different. He began fervently pointing at himself and repeating the same words. I finally caught on and was able to repeat them myself, albeit with some difficulty.
"Sir...Nicholas...May-Maycot," I was finally able to say.
This pleased him greatly and he bounced up and down. Seemingly contented with today's introductions, he stuck out his hand for me to shake. I obliged and he left the room.
What a strange man, I thought. First, he kidnapped me, now he was learning me his name and taking me to Britannia? This was all too much. I laid back and closed my eyes.
***
There was a sudden commotion below decks.
I found myself stumbling out of my room, no doubt from seasickness. I was then swept into the crowd and found myself on deck without a thought as to how the movement had transpired.
We had made port.
Lang was scurrying by when I caught his vest and dragged along behind him.
"Lang, where are we?"
"Oh! Son, whatcha doing there? We are in Bristol. You and the Master are going home."
"We are?" I was incredulous.
"Yep. Look, son, be careful out there. This world is different from your homeland in many ways." Lang stopped what he was doing and stooped down to meet my eye. "Don't do anything brash here. And don't speak often. Only English is spoken here. Want to fit in? Learn to speak the language."
"But how do I do that?"
"Lots of practice. Do some reading."
"I cannot read, sir."
"Aye," Lang scratched his head. "Now that's a problem, son. How did you come to be so talkative then?"
"I was learned many stories by a smart woman."
"Aye, smart indeed. Well, it'll be a challenge. Surmountable for sure. Keep your mouth closed and your ears open." Lang ruffled my hair. His name was called and he had to get back to work. "The Master will meet you at his carriage. It is to meet the post there," he pointed to a small building on land, "in half the hour. Be there and be ready. Good luck, little knight."
Lang vanished into the bustle and I was once again alone.
In the sky above, there drifted a mountainous stretch of gray puffs. Zeus had followed me, and he was not happy. The sky opened in a fury of stinging pelts as the water raced to the ground with such force I could not look up for fear of losing an eye.
I rushed to the plank and jumped to the dock. I ran to the post as I was told and sought shelter under its cabana.
The rain was monstrous. It was heavy and strong. I was scared.
I waited as I was told, and in the time mentioned, a carriage appeared drawn by four horses of unmatched alabaster. They were magnificent.
Sir Nicholas Maycot appeared near me. A smile plastered his countenance. The driver of the carriage opened the door. Sir Nicholas hoisted me inside and then followed. The driver closed the door and resumed his position.
I heard the lash of the reins, and we were off.