Chapter 1
“Well, studying your arithmetic will have to do for now,” said the old man. “I am really very tired of asking you to pay attention.”
“And I’m tired of listening to your old, croaking voice,” the prince retorted.
“If -,” the old tutor spoke slowly and with great restraint, “If I must send for Sir Henry de Authsville, you shall regret it.”
“Threatening the king’s son?” the lad dared.
“- Warning!,” was the stern correction.
“And what crime have I committed?” the royal hands went up in the air with annoyance. “All I want is to be with my father. He’s left the safety of his castle behind, to sacrifice all and fight against those who would threaten the happiness and peace of his people. And what am I forced to do? Not only am I kept from being at his side, but I must sit here and listen to an old man explain how to add numbers!”
“Your duty as prince is to tend to your studies. And with full attention!” Master Thomas added.
“What do you know about being a prince?” the boy scoffed.
“I have instructed your father, and his father before him - ”
“To do what?” the prince interrupted. “You don’t fight swords with Latin! How shall I ever become a knight, much less the king, if, whenever there’s danger, I’m thrust aside like a rusty sword and others are called to my defense?”
“By learning to control your imagination and your temper and by obeying your elders,” the tutor answered calmly. “Now if you’re ready, we will continue.” The man bent over his books.
“Now ‘tis my ‘imagination’ that I love my father,” the prince remarked out loud. “And they ask me to control it.”
The old teacher cleared his throat and raised his eyes. A sharp look, beneath those thick eyebrows, sparked a memory in the prince’s mind. The threat to summon Sir Authsville- the strict knight who served the Queen - made Philip decide that, under the circumstances, it would be best to act like he was studying.
By lunch, the prince was glad to leave his books behind and join his family to eat. When he arrived at the table, though, he found his sister Julia in a most dejected state. The five-year-old princess informed him that their mother, the queen, would not be able to join them for the meal. The role their father had left for her to fill was occupying much of her time.
After he’d eaten, Philip hurried to his room. The door closed behind him as he rushed to a tall, luxurious bed. From beneath it, the boy lifted a large, finely-crafted wooden box and gently set it down. He eagerly undid the latch and, reaching in, pulled out a small sword with an ornate handle. Hanging from its elaborate hilt, was a large pendant on a chain of gold. Briefly studying his family’s royal coat of arms, which was carefully embossed on the golden disk, the prince slipped it over his head. Then he lifted his sword.
Philip eyed the weapon with pride. It was passed down to him from his father, and had been in the family for three generations. Ever since he could remember, Philip had loved to practice with it; in expectation of putting this weapon, his weapon, to great use. He thrust it into the air and examined it at arm’s length. Slowly he turned it from side to side, watching it reflect the noon-day sun which poured in from his balcony. Then, quickly and with great skill, the prince swung the sword around, jabbing here and there, as if everything surrounding him was a deadly enemy.
“For the king!” he shouted and deftly thrust his sword at a sinister-looking vase, knocking it to the floor. Its dull thud echoed on the stone. Philip abruptly stopped but it was not the vase’s plight that concerned him. A different sound had caught his ear. The door to his room creaked slowly as a small hand pushed it open. When the prince found his nine-year-old sister staring at the fallen vase, he sheathed his sword.
“Tis only wood,” he assured her, referring to the vase.
“Aye,” the princess replied as she placed it back atop the table. “But you may not be so fortunate the next time.” Her brother laughed.
“I know how to handle a sword, Meg, and with Sir Reginald’s training I shall soon be as good as father!”. the boy said proudly. “And then, they won’t be able to keep me from his side,” he added quietly. “You will see,” he told his sister “One day, I will be father’s true knight!”
“You always rush things,” the princess sighed. “Why not wait until you’re old enough, before you go flying off to some war?”
“Age should never be an obstacle to the brave of heart,” Philip answered.
“The good God has things grow for a reason.” His sister reminded him. They obviously had had similar arguments before. “You are not born strong nor wise. His plan is for that to take time, which comes with age. The vines in my garden are not as strong as mother’s, much less the ones which cover our castle. Those vines reach up to the sky, they are so tall. And they have stood the test of time and neither rain, nor hail, nor wind have weakened their grasp. But it was not always that way. They were once young and weak like my vines. But one day mine shall be as tall and strong as them.”
“The frost does not kill some plants the way it does others.” The young lad stood tall and erect. “Some are born to stand where others fall.”
Meg's hands went to her hips. She knew her brother too well to think she could convince him. Often they had discussed such things and the little princess was in no mood for another argument. So, saying nothing, the girl went to leave. Turning around at the door, she said, “Your tutor wants to see you, I think, before your lessons with Sir Reginald.”
“Did he say why?” Philip was suspicious of Master Thomas’ intentions.
“No,” the girl said slowly as if trying to remember. “He didn’t send me. But I overheard him, and offered to get you. He’s waiting in the studies.”
Philip reluctantly followed his sister out of the room and then made his way to the study hall. As he wondered what new plans were being hatched to thwart his desire to fight and defend his father, his hand instinctively gripped the hilt of sword more tightly...
It was a cold morning when the kingdom’s small army left, headed by their brave king, to fight against their enemies. Although the war lay to the south, King Philip did not have an adequate fleet in order to carry all of his men across the wide gulf. He planned, then, to send some of them over the water, while he led the rest on foot or horseback through the mountains and across the rugged eastern plains. Going around the water’s shore, they would meet their ships beneath the gulf and continue their march to the south… and to war.
As Queen Margaret and her children watched the men go, the young queen’s eyes grew moist. A mild wind swept through her long, blue veil which had covered the baby in her arms. Shielding little Robert from the chilling air, she turned towards her three other children, who stood staring after their father. Pressing her two-year old’s head to her heart, Margaret offered a prayer to God for her husband’s safe return.
“Please God, bring him back to me soon,” she whispered.
Autumn was just beginning and although it had only been a month since the king’s departure, his castle was already suffering from his absence. Each person busied himself according to his position and duty, but a certain spirit, a darkness, seemed to follow everyone like an ominous shadow. This was King Philip’s first war. Although the kingdom had endured wars before, it had enjoyed peace for the past few generations. Now, their young king, aged thirty-three, must fight enemies far more powerful and experienced than he. It was a great cross for his wife, only four years younger, to bear. While her patience was sorely tested, the queen longed for the least bit of news; even now, when only a month had passed.
But the queen’s worries seemed as nothing in comparison with the unhappiness of her eldest son. Aged twelve, the young prince could barely keep his mind on his studies. It would often trail off into deep thought, as he pictured himself by his father’s side, sword in hand, in the heat of battle. Oh, why didn’t his father let him go? He was too young, they all said. While his father was away, they said, he must: help his mother; tend to his studies; and pray for his father’s success and safe return. But who would help the king as much as his own son? Who else could serve the king as his true and faithful knight? Philip jabbed his pen through a sheet of parchment in disgust.
“Your majesty, please,” Master Thomas, his tutor exclaimed. “Would you stop putting holes in your desk!”
“I would rather place some in my father’s enemies,” the boy admitted.
This small kingdom’s past history showed that the only interruption to the peace they enjoyed was the pestilent pirates who scaled their coasts and plundered their ships. But while these thieving brigands made the kingdom weary (and on their guard), a new threat was beginning to emerge from the south. The king’s keen eyes had not foreseen this threat and was greatly alarmed when one of his trading vessels was wiped out by a barbarous attack. But it was not the pirates this time!
It was the Exthereons (ex-THĒ-rē-unz), a strong people, whose greedy leader, known as Lord Missetheon, had taken a keen interest in this little kingdom’s domain. It was not long before war was declared.
