“And victorious,” Michael added softly, glancing briefly at his son. “Well,” he swung a flour sack off his shoulder and reached into his pocket. “George, how much for that bird there?”
“What?” the stout man squinted.
“The chicken,” Michael pointed, “how much do you want?”
“But, Michael, I know you don’t need this. You’re a hunter! Buy some fruit from James there. Don’t waste your money on meat.”
“I’ve already gotten my wife some flour. Please, the hunting hasn’t been so good and we can’t afford to kill our chickens.”
George smiled, but did not move. The tall man grabbed the bird in question and handed it to his son, Peter, tossing several coins on the table.
“Wait,” the butcher picked up the money. “It isn’t worth all that!”
“Maybe not,” the hunter said, picking up his sack. “But you have mouths to feed.”
“Not as many as you do,” George protested.
A loud crash saved Michael from responding. A fruit cart had been upset and a rainbow of colors went rolling out in all directions.
“Peter,” Michael gestured to his son. “Go help James gather his fruits.” The young boy immediately ran over and obediently knelt down to help retrieve the runaway food.
Chapter 3
“Have you sold anything all day, George?” the man asked.
“Well, Michael, it’s been worse. But I haven’t sold as much as I’d like. It’s getting harder to store this much meat.” The butcher wiped his forehead as he surveyed his booth.
“I understand.”
“Harder to sell, you mean,” a farmer chimed in. “I fear for the harvest this year. My problem is going to be finding the extra to sell. What with all the raids we suffered last year, my family almost starved.”
“I agree, Patrick,” George said. “it seems poor timing for the king to leave. May God and Our Lady bring him back safe!”
James, however, was yelling at a lad who seemed to be the cause of it.
“Why don’t you watch what you’re doing?” James shouted.
“It was an accident!” the boy protested, but with little contrition.
“James,” Michael stepped in calmly, intercepting the next reprimand. “What happened?” he asked casually.
“Is it not obvious?” the angry man slapped his hands to his hips. “This careless boy has ruined all my fruit with a single blow.”
“I did not mean to,” the young boy insisted.
“Of course not!” the fruit seller said sarcastically, “Maybe your foot got caught on one of its legs. Coincidental, I suppose. But it happened only after I refused to give you a small job in exchange for a meal. I’m surprised you didn't ‘help pick the fruit you spilt!’ Why do I think there would be less in the cart when you were done helpin’!”
“James!” Michael interrupted. “Surely, it’s not as bad as all that.”
“Oh, isn’t it?” James asked. A small crowd had begun to gather around the scene. “Look at how much food he damaged!”
“How much was it, Peter?” the hunter asked his son.
“Around twenty pieces, no more than thirty. The rest can be sold.”
“And the others, eaten, I’m sure,” Michael reassured his friend.
“But who will buy them, Michael?” James asked impatiently.
“The boy, of course!” Someone commented from the crowd.
“Have ye any money?” James turned towards the guilty one. Everyone was quiet, waiting for his answer, he took so long to say it.
“No,” the boy looked ashamed for the fact, and several voices were raised amoung the people at this awkward complication.
“He looks strong enough to work the debt,” an old man said out loud.
“His father must have money,” someone else assumed.
“Where is your father?” a woman asked him.
The young lad looked at her and mumbled. “We were separated. There’s no one to look out for me now.” He lowered his head.
“Why not?” someone asked. But the boy had little time to answer for almost immediately a voice called out: “The cart is broken!” The small crowd became more dense as everyone crowded around to see for themselves.
“Well, that’s it then.” James said. “Have ye, then, no way to pay for the wreckage?” The boy licked his lips, but said nothing. There was an uncomfortable silence.
“Will a chicken pay for the spoiled fruit?” Everyone turned to the author of question. “I have it on good authority that this bird is of the highest quality!” the hunter added with a smile. He was working hard to turn the attention to himself and away from the boy.
“And what of the cart, Michael?” James asked, not quite ready to forgive and forget. He seemed frustrated with the huntsman’s calm approach and gentle attitude toward the young hooligan.
“Come now, James.” He leaned over to see the damage. “It isn’t all that broken. The worst I see is a missing handle and a broken wheel.” The fruitseller walked over and peered down at the cart. The tall hunter pointed at the wheel.
“I’ve a friend who’ll fix that for nothing at all,” he said. James didn’t move. Michael gave him a good-natured slap on the back. “What do you say, James?”
Slowly, a smile softened the seller’s hard face. It was hard to resist the warmth of his good friend’s charity. “The handle was already missing,” he admitted gently. Quickly raising his voice again he stuttered “And … and - I’ll accept your offer for the wheel.” He straightened his back, adding, “and the bird!” He took the chicken from his friend’s outstretched arm. “Thanks, Michael.”
The hunter answered with a slight tip of his hat. “Gather up the damaged fruit, Peter, and we will bring it home to mother.”
At this point, most everyone returned to their own business and James went behind his stand. The strange boy, however, merely wandered off, unbeknownst to anyone. Only one pair of eyes followed the stranger as he trudged off and away from the bustle of the marketplace.
The huntsman bent down towards his son, “... and tell mother we’ll be having an extra plate at the table.”
Peter looked at the boy in the distance.
“Yes, father,” he smiled. The son took the bag of fruit and headed off for home. Quickly snatching up the sack of flour, Michael went off in pursuit of the young stranger. His long strides soon caught him up to the child.
“Hello,” the man called out. The boy’s head turned to look behind.
“Hello,” he answered, but refusing to stop. Suddenly the tall huntsman was in front of the boy, blocking his path.
“My name is Michael Hawkson,” the hunter held out his hand. “What’s yours?” The boy looked cautiously at the rugged brown hand before him. He thought a moment and then slowly took hold of it with his own. “Richard Barkwood,” the boy answered. Michael gave a small grin.
“Where are you going, Richard?” he asked cheerfully.
“Nowhere, I guess,” the boy said, shrugging his shoulders, “Just trying to find my family.” He looked around. “Where am I?”
“You mean the village? You’re in Maristella.” The name apparently was not familiar to the boy, who turned a thoughtful eye to the road.
“What happened to your father?” Michael asked. A confused look came over the lad’s face.
“I…I don’t know,” he stuttered thoughtfully. “I mean I wasn’t there long enough to see. We- ” there was a short pause as he looked at the tall man’s face. “We were traveling,” he went on to explain, “to our new home, when we were waylaid by some thieves. Father told me to escape, which I did, but…,” his face grew dark. “I don’t know what happened to the rest of my family.”
“Do you know where they would go if they survived?” asked Michael.
“Uh…” His small eyes were searching. “I don’t know.”
“Where were you moving to?” The hunter asked.
“Eastward. Father never told me where exactly.” The boy didn’t offer anymore of an explanation and Michael decided not to pry. Instead, the hunter just stood there, stroking his beard. There was deep thought going on behind his dark eyes.
“By the way,” the boy slowly broke the silence, “thank you… for your help.”
The tall stranger smiled broadly, “You’re welcome, my friend. Would you like to pay me back?”
“I suppose so …,” the boy answered with obvious reluctance.
“How would it be if you carried this flour to my house?” The hunter swung the heavy bag from his shoulders into the young lad’s arms. “And then stayed for supper and bed?” This offer brought a surprised grin to the boy’s face.
“You mean it?” Richard dared not believe him.
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?” The hunter laughed, shrugging his shoulders. “But you have to bring the bag home?” he said with a serious air which ended with a smile.
“Oh, thank you, my good man. I’m forever in your debt! We can start right away, if you like.”
There was an odd tone in the way the strange boy uttered his words. It was almost as if -. Michael stared deeply into the boy’s eyes. He detected something in those eyes that was different, that seemed ... but he couldn’t be sure. What he was sure of, though, was that whoever or whatever this boy was, he obviously needed a meal and a friend.
The young lad, with some effort, struggled with the dusty bag until it rested on his shoulder. The hunter pushed it to a more secure position on the boy’s back, and then he led the youth away from the marketplace, down the dusty road that led out of town.
