Chapter 21
Setting his knife down on the table, the man suddenly turned as if he’d heard the boy’s thoughts.
“But I will let my friend's identity be a surprise for you.” Cunnel breathed. “I’ve spoiled it all too much already.” He sat the boy up against the wall by the fireplace. Philip watched the fisherman eye him satisfactorily.
“Besides, we’re not waiting for his boat,” the man added. “He isn’t bringing one.” A thought then entered the captor’s mind and his smile faded.
“But in case,” he said slowly, “he gets any ideas, we’ll keep you in safer quarters.” Picking up his royal prisoner, the fisherman carried him back into a dark bedroom. He lit a candle and placed the boy down on the floor. Philip watched him push a large chair aside and pull up a heavy rug. There was a small knob in the floor. The boy’s heart sank as he saw the fisherman open a tiny trap door. Quickly, but carefully, the man placed his young captive in the dirty hole. It was a tight squeeze and Philip was wedged in almost sideways. Even then, he could barely move. Cunnel looked pleased.
“No room for making noises,” he smiled. “They won’t find you without my help,” The fisherman muttered as he closed the floor. The carpet was laid down and the boy heard the heavy chair thud above him. A panic seized the prince’s heart. What if this ‘brother’ did not come soon? This air wouldn’t last long.
Oh that stupid idiot! thought Philip.
Which one? A silent voice inquired. To his own dismay, the prince hesitated. Then, his eyes grew hard. That stupid fisherman, of course! But before he could answer the impertinent question, another voice echoed in his head. It was his own.
“There are still some loyal men left in this kingdom! Leave, hunter, before I let my faithful servant here have his way!”
Philip groaned. His complimentary description of his own kidnapper now came back to haunt him. The prince rushed to defend himself. Cunnel had betrayed his trust!
The wretched liar! fumed the prince.
Again, the quiet voice returned. Which one?
The prince sighed bitterly. He was not like Cunnel!
“He was the one who… I mean… I never did… ” His thoughts stuttered through his head, searching for an excuse. None came forward, save for a single memory.
“What good will it do your family, hunter, when they hang you for kidnapping the king’s son?”
In answer, came the vivid image of Peter, his eyes filled with shock and terror, grasping the prince’s threat.
“Not one of them will escape it, Peter!”
Slowly, those eyes changed, and Philip imagined the boy’s father staring back at him, as he made leave of the fisherman’s hut.
“Say your own name, hunter, … May I never see you again!”
A tear rolled down the prince’s dirty face. He did have faithful servants and it was him who had sent them all way, loaded with punishments and rebukes.
Cunnel was adjusting the carpet to look untouched, when he heard a familiar noise. Someone knocked at the front door!
Finally! Philip thought gratefully. Now they’ll let me out of this horrid hole. The fisherman’s footsteps indeed hastened out of the room and to the door. But when it opened, the prince heard a small cry and a heavy thud. Then there were footsteps. The boy tried to listen for how many. They stayed out in the large room though and it sounded as if furniture was being hastily moved about. Then Philip winced as he heard them approach the bedroom and shut the door. There was thumping sounds above him as the chair was moved away. The prince cringed in fear while he waited for his new captors to find him. But the footsteps kept walking about the room.
“This must not be Cunnel,” Philip deduced, “nor anyone who knows of this secret trap.” Cunnel was right. This friend clearly didn't want to share the prize the fisherman. Suddenly, amidst these thoughts, the boy realized that he was rapidly running out of air. He heard the noises above him cease.
They can’t give up! the captive panicked. He was suffocating. “I don’t care what they do to me now… I’ll die in here.” He tried to hit his knee against the wooden lid. His foot, though, stayed trapped beneath his weight. He tried two more times and each to no avail. A bead of sweat trickled down his cheek. His anxious breathing was consuming the little air left. Philip’s strength was beginning to leave him.
“God,” the prince begged, “please!”
Still, he couldn’t budge. The struggle was fierce. Not to move... but to pray. Somehow, it was not easy for the boy who had so confidently and so often trusted his own strength and followed his own desires to ask for help.
“Blessed Mother,” he cried “I’m sorry.” Was he really? Only God and the Blessed Virgin Mary knew.
Sensing hesitation in their judgment, the prince tried again to move. Nothing. He lowered his head in shame. He didn’t deserve their help.
Suddenly, there was a slight nudge on his leg, and Philip felt his knee hit the wood above him.
Silence.
Again, with renewed hope, the boy banged as hard as his space would allow him. To his relief, the prince heard a noise hurry over. One more hit, and the rug above him was pulled away. The lid was quickly opened and the young boy closed his eyes. Gratefully inhaling the fresh air, he cared little if a knife was waiting for him.
“Thank you, my Lady,” the voice above him whispered. “He’s alive.”
A thrill of joy filled the prince’s doubtful heart. It was not possible! The royal head turned to the figure kneeling above him. The candle on the table behind, only served to cast a shadow on the man’s face. But Philip did not need to see it. He knew it all too well. Although the last person he expected, the prince could not think of any other he’d rather see than Michael Hawkson. For once in Philip’s life, words failed him. And for this, he was glad to be gagged.
A cold hand swept over the boy’s face.
“And he’s not ill,” the huntsman thought. “Or hurt,” he added, gently lifting the boy.
Philip was barely out of the moldy hole, when a loud noise shook his startled nerves. Michael’s head turned sharply towards the door. Again a loud crash filled the prince’s ears. Peering over the huntsman’s shoulder, Philip saw what caused the commotion. That large chair, strategically placed by the hunter, was leaning against the wooden door. This heavy obstacle was evidently preventing someone’s entrance into the bedroom. Michael quickly rose to his feet and looked about the dark room. There were no windows. That door was the only way out.
Several more thudding bangs shoved the furniture and a scrawny man came tumbling into the room. Staring straight ahead, he scrambled over to the turned-up rug. Without a word, he snatched the candle off the table and squinted into the empty hole. His jaw dropped in astonishment.
“That fool!” Cunnel sputtered angrily. “How could he possibly have known- ?” A tiny sound interrupted his thoughts. Spinning around, he barely caught a glimpse of a wet boot slipping out the doorway.
“No!” the fisherman shouted out as he lunged towards the escaping hunter. In his desperation though, Cunnel’s foot tripped on the forgotten rug which sent him hurling to the floor.
As Michael hurried away, the poor man’s curses came shrieking after him from the bedroom. Philip’s heart raced as the hunter’s strong arms carried him down the hall. Twisting around the disarrayed furniture, Michael lost his footing and slammed against the wall. Still standing, he shot a glance behind him. No one. With a grateful heart, Michael bounded towards the door. His outstretched hand went to grasp the handle when the wooden portal jolted open.
