Portrait of a Knight

Chapter 6: The Duchess of York

Ash and I galloped on our steeds over the rolling hills of York. We had become the best of friends in a short time.
Today was May 14- and I was now older one year. I had yet to grow, but I was not in dire spirits, for Ash had only slightly sprouted. He knew much of me now, and I much of him. He knew that I came from slavery in Greece, but treated me as his own brother. I was a human to him, an English human. He knew the truth of my coming to the Isles.
Somehow, the story of my rescuing Master Maycot had been misconstrued to he rescuing me from the clutches of barbarous Turks in a holy temple. Much to my dismay, all places of my travel looked upon me as a dependent and a weakling. William and Henry had made the rank of squire, yet I remained a page.
I had followed Master Maycot into many a battle, carrying his standard and shield, and when he was downed, I would return his horse to him.
William and Henry in the presence of Ash were my friends, and in his absence, mine mortal enemies. They were cowards on the battlefield to say the least, fleeing at the sight of swords and bows, rushing for the cover of rocks and trees; however, Master Maycot never punished them. It was only ever me. He said my only use to him was that of forging his armor and weapons. I had learned quickly that mine hands were deft and magical with a hammer. Perhaps I was the spawn of the genius Hephaestus. I fancied that on occasion.
Master Maycot forbade me read, confining me to the fumes of the forge. Stories of new evaded me. The only books I was able to steal for mine were small volumes of ancient alchemy and arithmetic from mine old heritage. I was informed by Miss Mary Ann (before I took to the theft) that tho works were called "classics" and that not even the master could read them. Apollo favored me, however, and I could roughly read mine own language, thanks in part to Miss Glass.
Mine creations were superb and cunning. Master Maycot looked the best of the Crucible when he rode into battle. I so desperately wanted to be squire for him. As poor a man as he was to me, he remained the greatest knight in the land. Many battles we shipped across to Miss Glass' homeland and slew many an Irishman. I did not condone the death of tho I considered brothers. They sought freedom, and did not ask for the interference of some neighboring country. Thus was the state of mine home a year prior. I empathized with the Irishmen.
Ash and I dismounted our horses outside the stone wall of Fireside Manor. It was a large estate. It rested less than a kilometer from the flowing Ouse, a mighty river. The manor rose four floors, an oddity for such an abode, but it suited its residents well. I was told they often held parties and galas round the seasons. I fancied a session in one of tho events.
Ash drew his wooden long sword from its scabbard. "Fancy a duel?" He inquired.
"Jolly good!" I mused. I always enjoyed a duel, though I was never much good at it. Though under the tutelage of the greatest English knight, I was never offered a lesson on account of my small frame and lack of battle intuitiveness. Ash and I often dueled, and when I held a sword, I lost. It was a matter that affected neither my consciousness nor my self-respect. Ash was better and better would win. That was the fact of battle.
Our wooden blades collided. Ash's blade slightly splintered with each strike. Though his form and strength surpassed mine, my forging prowess extended into my wooden works.
Ash's melees strengthened and I backed down. He struck my sides and arms. I swung haphazardly and he dodged under, knocking my blade away and pressing to my throat.
"Ha! I have thee yet again!" Ash laughed. He tossed his sword away and tackled me to the ground. We wrestled and frolicked joyfully.
In the midst of our fun, Ash's father appeared at the black gate of the manor. He pressed it open with his palm and stood before us. His presence demanded immediate attention.
We rose quickly and stood ready, Ash straightening his tunic and I my shirt.
John Ashenhurst (the father of John mind ye) was the Baron of Bristol. He was master of my Master. He was also the distant cousin of the Duke of York. Currently, two families resided in Fireside. I knew only of Lord Edward, I had never met the second family.
"John, Page Knox," John Ashenhurst spoke. His voice was strong and his eyes the same green as his boy, though I suppose that would follow the other way. He was a man of perhaps forty less two, but maintained a youthful physiognomy in his athletic build.
I had only met Lord John twice before. Once in Bristol and another in London when Master Maycot had to deliver a recovered treasure to the British Royal Archives after we had raided a rebel camp in the Wash. Lord John had sent for his boy few days prior, and Ash asked me to come along. Of course, Master Maycot expressly dissented. Ash, however, pulled his rank on Master Maycot. I did fancy when he did such.
Lord John looked from mine eyes to his boy. "John, you are to come with me. There is someone with ye musten be formally acquainted."
Ash looked to me. "May James come, Father?"
"No. James may play in the court. This be the business of noblemen."
"Of course, Father." Ash sagged his head. He placed his hand on my shoulder. "Tie up the horses, James. Do make sure to save some fun for me. I will return hither when I am finished with Father."
"Good-bye, Ash-John," I smiled and hugged my friend. I watched as John Ashenhurst put his arm around his boy and together the two entered the gate and proceeded into the manor.
I did as I was told and tied up the horses. I returned our swords to their respective scabbards. I did want to save some fun for Ash, but I did maintain that I would amuse myself.
I pushed through the gate myself. The view of the courtyard was quite impressive. Before me were hanging gardens, with flowers from across the Isles. The burnt orchid from Wiltshire hung hypnotically from the windows of the manor, the flowers' dark red buds were highlighted by the white petals and reminded me of the angels painted on the windows of Master Maycot's church windows. I passed a collection of Rosebay willowherbs blooming out of a large stone circle. They were tall and pink. They made me think of candied clouds in the sky during an English sunset in Southampton. Those were my favorites.
My mind wandered to a time when I slipped from Master Maycot's sight and went playing in the River Itchen. I am a very good swimmer. I am strong and I can last very long. I do wish that I could transfer this strength to the sword.
I continued through the garden. I pushed my nose into the foxgloves and primroses and breathed in their refreshing scents. Bristol had its own version of beauty, but York was on another level entirely. A new sight caught mine eye.
A bench was erected under a large rectangular window, and the height of the sun sent its rays at an evangelic angle downward upon the model figure of a young girl. Her back was to me, and she did not seem to notice my presence. There was not much I could tell about her from this angle. She wore a white gown with yellow accents, and a sunbonnet wrapped by silk presumably under her chin.
I approached the girl slowly so as not to frighten her. I cleared my throat, "Hullo," I said sincerely. There was a slight jump in the girl's shoulders. She turned slightly, revealing her front features.
I made out a girl of ten, I would be affirmed thereafter, and she possessed eyes that would shame the Thames. I stopped in my tracks, unable to speak. Her hair, a preternatural combination of gold and cocoa, was drawn back, as if in a bun, and hidden in the bonnet. The girl had yet to face me fully, but I saw in her eyes a look of wit and cool fire, if ever there were such a thing.
"Hello," the girl responded. I was immobilized. I could not think for the life of me, for before me sat the essence of Alessandria. The looks were of course no correlation. I felt inwards of myself a pull of familiarity and companionship to which I cannot bring to mine lips to relate the chasm in which I immediately felt myself fall.
My knees buckled and I collapsed to the stone laid ground. The girl gasped, and grabbing the folds of her gown at knee, she hurried from the bench to me. In a move of incredulous agility, she removed her bonnet and began fanning my face.
Mine eyes fluttered momentarily whilst I gathered mine wits. The girl held the under of my head and sat me erect.
"Goodness!" I panted. "Did I faint?"
"I'm afraid that's true. Are you light?" The girl's voice was melodious and distinct. At such a young age, it was matured and could easily have taken the attention of a room.
"I am about myself. Thank you." I rolled away from her and rose to mine feet. I examined her again. She sat on her knees, gentle and serene. I noticed an oddity strapped to her belt. A book it was!
I extended mine hand and she accepted it with gratitude. She rose. I looked to the flowers in the garden, unable to meet her gaze. She, like the majority of tho I came across was taller and more developed than I.
"How do you do, stranger? I do not believe mine eyes have graced thy visage before now." There it was again, that soft, alluring melody. Mine ears were drawn to it and mine eyes followed.
"My visage is common, thou whilst remember me not when I am gone," I said somberly.
"Far from it stranger. Thou art different. Time has been selfish with different. I am Desiree Faire. It is a pleasure to meet you." She extended her hand in salutation.
I humbly accepted it. The confidence and sheer vocality of the presence before me was grandiose and I was unworthy.
"I am Jamison Knox. Pleased to meet your acquaintance."
Desiree did not return my hand. She continued to hold it her own. She seemed cross.
"I do not appreciate lies. You are not a Jamison Knox."
"Oh! Do believe me Miss Faire. I am for certain who I claim to be. I would not intend deception upon one of Aphrodite's loveliest creatures." My mouth snapped closed. I snatched back mine hand abruptly and turned to disappear. Her hand caught mine collar and wheeled me round.
"What didst thou say?" Intrigue plastered her knowing eyes and determined lips. "Thou mayest speak like an Englishman, but thou art none." Desiree tilted her head vexingly to the side. I must say, the look was simple and innocent, yet it commanded my innards to divulge all about me.
"Thou hast me. I am no Jamison Knox. I am no Englishman. I am a dependent Greek. I am Jaktorius Chrysós." I attempted to look away, however, her eyes held me in immobile trance.
Suddenly, her eyes brightened like Artemis in the moon. "Thou art special!" she exclaimed, drawing me into embrace. "Thou art unique in every way! Come, come. Sit with me." Desiree took mine hand and led me to the bench.
We took opposing seats, her hands in mine. My eyes wondered to her waist and to the book. She followed mine gaze and let out a giggle that warmed my chest and throat.
"Would you like to see it?" She drew the book from hip and placed it in my hands. Mine eyes were in wonderful fancy. A new book had found me. The stories I imagined inside were innumerable and fantastic. "Fancy it dost thou?" I could only nod. "Well, go on then. Take a read."
Mine fingers flexed and I drew away from her. I could sense her take that strangely alluring appearance of vexation.
"Jaktorius, be there a problem? Thou mayest tell me. I will not judge thee with misconceptions. I wish to be of help."
Some oddity pierced my innards. I found myself turning face to her. Her serenity arrested mine thoughts of inadequateness and flooded me with beatitude. In a long breath of disappointment, I revealed her I could not read. Short phrases and words were enough to get by for sanity, but not pleasure. I was forbidden to read by Master Maycot, and divulged to Desiree my secret acts of reading the ancients in mine own language when unbeknownst to the others. Miss Glass had learned me some Greek before her departure, I added. I sought adventure and fantasy in pages, which eluded my grasp.
The most fantastical occurrence followed. Desiree produced a sullen frown, thence replaced with a grandiose smile. She took the book herself and raised it to her nose. I saw her eyes move about the page, and she spoke.
"Jaktorius, if thou canst not read, then it is mine duty to perform thy task. Listen well, and journey with me into the next realm. This is the story of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table..."
Desiree thus proceeded to read me many a passage from the great book. I was enraptured by the tales of the great king and his mighty sword, Excalibur, but more so interested in her voice and gesticulations. I was transferred from my seat on the bench to a land of long ago, and rode the horses alongside Lancelot and his men in ever growing quests to defend and expand Camelot.
Thus began the intimate and fruitful companionship between us. I would return to Desiree on future occasions to learn more of King Arthur and his men, of Beowulf and Grendel, and of the poets of the past. She only ever asked that I trade her a story of mine own in exchange for her readings. I more than happily obliged, which furthered the increase of our knowledge banks with fantasies crossing the Channel. She was mine storyteller and I hers. Hephaestus could not have built a better compatibility.
Sitting with Desiree on that bench opened my life to new possibilities. Perhaps she would learn me to read. Perhaps she would share common interest in games. Perhaps she-
My mindful wonderings were cut short in that instant as three new pairs of feet trod into our midst. Both Desiree and I raised ouren eyes to greet the newcomers.
Before us stood the sight of John Ashenhurst, Ash, and a man of handsome features. This man was tall, with tidy brown hair, a long face with a commanding nose and sharp eyes.
John Ashenhurst stepped forward and spoke, "John, this is the young lady for which we haven sought. It seems thy companion Page Knox has been acquainted rather informally." John Ashenhurst looked to the handsome man. "Lord Edward."
"Yes, very good then," was Lord Edward's reply. His voice was high, but controlled. "Young John Ashenhurst II, meet my niece, the Duchess of York, Desiree Faire."