A Knight in Central Park

chapterTen

Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.

—Shakespeare

Teeth chattering, Joe followed Alexandra through the village of Brookshire, thankful for the sun’s rays pressing through the clouds and warming his back. His hair was damp from his quick bath in a wooden tub filled with cold water. He’d used a tattered old cloth to dry off and also to scrub his teeth. Less than twenty-four hours had passed since he’d been tossed into a strange new world, and yet he’d gladly trade every possession he owned back home for a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste.

The smell of burning charcoal floated in the air. Hammers pounded against metal. From his studies of medieval cities, he would have expected much more chaos and noise. But he heard no ringing of church bells. Nor did he see streets lined with shops. In fact, the streets were not streets at all, but narrow dirt paths weaving about small huts with thatched roofs and cob walls. The doors weren’t made of rough-hewn oak as they had been at the Tibbs’ small manor, but instead were oiled linen flaps still wet from an earlier rain.

He was cold and uncomfortable; clearly out of his realm. The leather pants Alexandra had left for him were not going to work. They were much too tight. And these slippers they considered boots. Ha! He might as well be barefoot for all the protection they provided against thorns and rocks. But before he could make his complaints known, they reached their destination.

As Alexandra peeked inside one of the smaller huts, he remained silently miserable. She held open the flap and motioned for him to enter. A good-sized bed took up most of the space within. Beneath moth-eaten blankets lay Alexandra’s grandfather. His eyes were closed and his bearded chin rested against the faint rise and fall of his frail chest.

Joe swiped a flea from his forearm, one more annoying reminder that he was trapped in the Twilight Zone. Of course, fleas existed back home, but this was beyond the norm. No amount of vacuuming could conquer the endless attack of blood-sucking parasites.

Alexandra nudged her grandfather’s shoulder. “Grandfather, wake up. Sir Joe is here to meet you.”

The old man jolted awake, then struggled upward to a more comfortable sitting position. Bushy eyebrows jutted out over piercing brown eyes. A thick wiry silver-grey beard covered his chin. “Alexandra, dear, you are a sight to behold.”

Alexandra patted her grandfather’s hand and smiled.

“I have been expecting you both.” His voice was raspy. “Come closer,” he said to Joe, gesturing with crooked bony fingers. “Let me have a look at you.”

Joe went forward, which was not an easy feat considering the leather pants were riding high and tight.

The old man stroked his beard. “So, you are The Chosen One.”

“Afraid not,” Joe said. “I’m a professor of Ancient Art and History, definitely not The One.”

The old man’s eyes sparkled. “Ahh, but I am afraid you are The Chosen One, or you would not be here now.”

Joe eyed the man curiously, tried to determine if the old man still had a full deck, so to speak. “If the only requirement for becoming The Chosen One is being chosen, then I would have to agree that I am, in fact, The One. And just for fun,” Joe went on, “let’s suppose for a moment that I am the man you’ve been waiting for.” He held his arms wide. “Now what? I am but one man. I have no armor or weapons.” He leaned forward to make sure the old man could hear every word. “I avoid conflict at all costs, holding firm to the belief that violence doesn’t solve anything.”

The old man looked Joe square in the eyes. “Are you saying you have never had to defend yourself against another?”

Joe straightened, recalling all the fights he’d gotten into as a young boy. He couldn’t count the times he’d ended up in the principal’s office, knowing there would be no consequence since he had no mother and his father was clear across the country. “I suppose you could say I’ve gotten into my share of scrabbles. But,” Joe quickly added, pointing a finger at the old man, “that was a long time ago. I was young, and it’s completely beside the point.”

As if he were a lawyer stating his case, Joe paced the hut as he added matter-of-factly, “I’m not from this time. I’ve never raised a sword in battle. But for some incredible reason you and Alexandra believe I, of all people, could travel across unfamiliar territory to fight off who knows how many armored warriors; never mind breaking into Richard’s castle or saving Alexandra’s sister.”

“You will do fine,” the old man assured him.

Joe scoffed. “Forced marriages are common during these times, am I right?” Joe asked. “Why not offer Sir Richard your congratulations then sign an agreement, requiring him to provide your village with assistance.”

Alexandra paled. For the first time since her grandfather spoke, she came forth, her face flared red in sudden anger. “You do not know Sir Richard as we do,” she said. “He has no honor. He sends his men off to kill innocent people if it suits his plans, or even his mood.” Her body trembled. “Nay, I would never know a day’s peace knowing my sister was sacrificed for our good will, knowing full well she would be forced to suffer his cruelty day in and day out.”

Joe let out a ponderous sigh. Their minds were made up. And so was his. For the next twenty-nine days he would go along with this charade. If they wanted to believe he was some sort of superhero brought here to save the day, then so be it. He would journey into the woods with Alexandra, along with anyone else she managed to gather for this suicide mission, then camp out for a few weeks. But he wasn’t going to lay siege on any castle. He wasn’t going to die for Alexandra’s sister, a woman he had yet to meet, and a cause he knew little about. “So what’s the plan?” he asked out of what he considered to be morbid curiosity.

“Go ahead, Grandfather, tell Sir Joe the plan.”

The old man tugged at the moth eaten blanket until a large hole revealed knobby knees. “Aye, er, the plan. Hmmm.” He rubbed his beard again as if that might help stir his memory.

Joe rolled his eyes. “There isn’t a plan, is there?”

Neither Alexandra nor the old man could look Joe in the eye. “We’ll just sort of wing it, is that it?” Joe asked. “Once we get to Richard’s castle I’ll just catapult Alexandra over the stone wall and hope for the best.” He rubbed his palms together. “There, we have a plan. Let’s go,” he said, motioning for Alexandra to come along. “I’m ready.”

Alexandra brought a hand to her hip. “Your sarcasm is not amusing.”

Joe cocked his brow. “What? There is a stone wall, isn’t there?”

“Alexandra,” the old man said, his voice firm. “Sir Joe and I need a moment alone.”

Alexandra appeared apprehensive at the idea of leaving him with her grandfather. Nonetheless, she headed for the exit. “I will ready the horses and await Sir Joe near the stables.”

They watched her leave.

“She is lovely, is she not?” the old man asked after the linen flapped shut.

“She’s a nice girl,” Joe said, but all he was thinking about was how the hell he was going to live without Advil for the next twenty-nine days.

“You are a lonely man, are you not?” the old man asked. “No family, no one to take care of you?”

Joe felt a twitch in his jaw. “I enjoy being by myself. And just for the record, I do have family...” The word caught in his throat. “I have my father.”

“Ahhh. He must be worried about you.”

“Worried sick, I’m sure.” Joe wondered what the old man was getting at. “Was there something more you wanted to say?”

“Aye. I wish to speak to you of my granddaughter. A stubborn, strong-minded young woman she is, but she has a good heart.”

Nodding, Joe tried to rub some of the tension from the back of his neck.

“There is a reason Alexandra has not yet married.”

Ah, Joe thought, now they were getting to the heart of the matter.

“Alexandra’s husband was chosen for her years ago. Although she expresses an unwillingness to settle down, I believe she secretly dreams of the day when she will be married and busy with children of her own.”

Joe did not like where this conversation was going. “I’m sure she’ll make a wonderful mother.”

“And a wife,” the old man added.

“Any man would be lucky to have her,” Joe agreed, backing toward the door.

The old man beamed.

Joe tugged at the medieval wool tunic that felt too tight against his chest, growing tighter by the second. The hut felt suddenly stuffy and hot, making it hard to breathe. “If you don’t mind...”

“It is not just any man who shall be so lucky,” the old man added before Joe could escape. “’Tis a very special man. A learned, lonely man who seeks that which all children crave...the love of his parents, or shall we say parent.”

Joe felt the warmth drain from his face as the old man’s words confirmed his suspicions. “Listen here,” Joe said, tired of the old man telling him what he was missing in his life. “I don’t crave any such thing. I know my father loves me. I have letters from him to prove it, many, many letters. And in her own special way,” he added with more acerbity than intended, “my mother loved me, too. I don’t need...” Joe narrowed his eyes and pointed a finger at the old man and then suddenly lost his train of thought. “Are you saying Alexandra has not married all these years because she’s been waiting for me?”

The old man answered with a grin and a nod. “Upon your return from Radmore’s Keep, there will be much to celebrate.”

“That’s what this is all about?” Joe raked a hand through his damp hair. “I hate to disappoint you, but I cannot marry your granddaughter.”

“You have no choice in the matter. It is your destiny to do so.”

“It’s not happening.” Joe crossed his arms over his chest. “And, just to be sure you don’t try and pull the wool over my eyes, I refuse to go in search of your other granddaughter until somebody hands over the last stone.”

There was a long pause. A trickle of sweat slid toward Joe’s brow at the thought that he might never find that stone. The hut was the size of a small office. The air inside had grown warm and thick, making it hard to breathe. “I’ll stand here all day if I have to,” Joe lied. “I will not budge until I have the stone in my possession. I want assurance that in twenty-nine days I can leave here the same way I came...unattached.”

“You do possess a stubborn streak.”

“Stubborn as an ox.”

“Then you leave me with no choice.” The old man pushed the covers aside and slipped his hand into a fist-sized hole in the ratty mattress. “Here,” he said, holding the last glistening stone in his open palm. “I trust you will now keep your end of the bargain?”

Two brisk strides brought Joe to the old man’s bedside. He took the stone and held it to the light, relieved to see faint lines weaved through silver ones. “I’ll do what I can, that’s all I ever promised.”

“Be forewarned, my son. ’Tis more than a simple stone that brings you here.” He laid his head back upon a large straw-stuffed pillow. “Though I trust you will learn that for yourself before long.”

Joe watched the old man, even felt a tad sorry for him. Seventy-five, maybe eighty years old, and he still believed in dreams and destiny and miracles. Rightly so, considering the old man was still among the living, not to mention, the time-traveling stones. Joe went to the door and turned back. He held up the rock. “Where did you find such a treasure?”

“Perhaps upon your return you will visit with me long enough for me to tell you of my journeys.”

Joe nodded. The faint smell of moldy cedar drifted between them. The old man must have many interesting stories to tell, Joe thought. He wouldn’t mind sitting down with the man under different circumstances.

“Alexandra tells me you seek lost treasure.”

Joe nodded. “That’s right. As long as I’m here I might as well take a look around, keep my eyes open.” The prospect of learning the identity of the Black Knight along with the possibility of finding an ancient artifact or two filled him with a sudden eagerness to set off for the hills. He could almost see the pride on his father’s face when the Academy verified the authenticity of his findings. Maybe there was some truth to what the old man said about destiny after all.

“My instincts tell me you will not leave this world until you have found what you are seeking.”

“Well, thanks,” Joe said. As he pushed open the linen cloth, a welcome breeze swept over him. “I appreciate your vote of confidence.”

The old man lifted a frail hand. “Be careful that you leave no rock unturned. A tragedy it would be if you were to leave behind that which you cherished most.”

Joe peered into the old man’s eyes for a few seconds longer than he intended before deciding the old man had way too much time on his hands. “I’ll be careful. But don’t blame me,” he said, laying splayed fingers to his own chest, “if I don’t come back with Alexandra’s sister. I’m not Zorro and I’m certainly nobody’s hero.”

The old man smiled as if he understood.

As Joe walked off, he found himself shaking his head at the idea of everyone thinking he was some sort of champion sent here to save the day. Hero, husband, it didn’t matter. He wasn’t the man for the job.