Chapter 2
He found the venerable tutor, Master Thomas, seated behind a great wooden desk looking at some large books. As the tall boy approached, the old man removed his spectacles and set them aside.
“What do you want?” Philip asked quickly.
“I spoke to the queen -, ” the teacher said, folding his hands.
“I thought she was busy!” The boy interrupted.
“It was brief,” the man explained. He paused slightly, before continuing. “ I told her about your behavior this morning.” He watched the prince’s eyes fall. “Circumstances prevent her from dealing with you as she desires.” There was another pause. “But she left instructions for you to retake the subjects from earlier today.” At this the prince’s head shot back up.
“No!” The boy shouted suddenly, as if getting control of himself.
“The queen gave strict orders,” his tutor said sternly.
“It isn’t fair!” Philip cried. “ I’m supposed to go sword fighting with Sir Reginald. He’s waiting for me now!” The prince turned sharply, slapping his heel on the cold stone floor, and went to leave.
“I’ve already informed Sir Reginald,” the old man called after him. “He is no longer waiting for you.”
Philip turned around, this time more slowly. His disappointment and defeat were expressed clearly in the blank stare he gave his teacher. Then, his royal eyes grew hard and his jaw, firm.
“I am not going to study,” the boy informed Master Thomas.
“You don’t have a choice,” the tutor’s voice was more weary than mad. In response, the prince folded his arms and thrust his shoulders back. The old man met the boy’s challenging gaze quite calmly. One by one, he began to gather the prince’s books until there was just a single stack. His wrinkled hand then reached out for a metal bell on the table’s edge.
“What are you doing?” the prince demanded sharply.
“Your mother said to lock you in your room with your books, if you presented any problem.” The boy’s only answer was a silent stare. The tutor’s suspended hand grabbed hold of, and shook, the little bell. “Young William will carry these for your majesty,” he explained to Philip. Almost immediately a small boy - a royal page - came scurrying into the large room.
“Yes, my lord?” William asked with a bow.
“It may be later than you think, sire,” replied the grave teacher. “I fear for your sword, once your mother learns of what you’ve done.”
“I suppose you think it’s horrid that I do not worship my studies.”
“On the contrary, your majesty, that’s the least of my worries. Your attitude is perilous. Today, it’s your studies; tomorrow…” With a heavy sigh, the old man leaned back and gestured for young William to carry out his task. The page gave a slight bow and then went ahead. Philip’s eyes followed him out and then returned to his tutor. They were quiet for a while and looked at one another for what seemed like an eternity, as Philip searched for what to say. Finally, in a tone, he deemed befitting of his rank, the prince whispered: “It will do you no good.” Then he turned quickly and stomped out of the room - leaving his teacher no opportunity to respond.
“This test is not meant for me, your majesty.” The man called after the prince. Acting as if he had not heard, Philip only quickened his pace. The old man watched his young lord leave the room. His eyes followed the boy out and then closed gently. Slowly, his head fell, until it rested in his hands. He sat there for some time alone, quiet, sad and weary… very weary.
“The king,” he whispered, raising his head, “will find a greater war to be fought, when he returns from the battlefield.”
“Where shall I put these?” William asked. He had been standing for a few minutes, waiting for a signal from his prince.
“Throw them in the rubbish heap for what I care!” Philip said coldly.
William looked around. He wasn’t sure how to take the prince’s response. He found a small table by the balcony’s entrance. Philip made no objection when he put them there, so the page respectfully took his leave from the young prince’s royal presence.
Philip waited, but didn’t hear the door close. He turned around to find that William had left it open for the tutor, who was now standing just outside the doorway. They exchanged looks, the prince and the old man, but not words. And none were needed. The prince felt his defeat keenly, but he summoned every ounce of his pride to repel his elder’s admonishing glance.
Then, the tutor reached forward and began pulling the door closed. Before it shut, the old man’s eyes were briefly raised. For that small moment, Philip saw a streak of pain run through his wrinkled face and dim his eyes. It effected the boy, but in a way he neither understood nor enjoyed.
Then, before the closing thud’s echo had faded away, the prince heard a distinct click come from the outer keyhole. The clanking of keys could be heard accompanying the tutor’s fading footsteps down the long corridor. The locked-up prince’s indignation flamed inside of him again and with a sudden passion he ran to the table which held the study books and kicked its legs from beneath it. The tall stack came crashing to the floor and Philip, hoping his master had heard the loud noise, added to it by kicking the small table to the other side of the room.
Philip gave a satisfied look at the mess he had made. After a few moments, a thought entered the prince’s head and he filled his arms with books. He went out onto the balcony and emptied his load near the railing. Then he hurried in to get the rest, which he dumped on the heap outside. Carefully, he selected his least favorite books, which he laid on the railing - preparing to hurl them out into the air and down to their fate.
A familiar noise got his attention and Philip gave a short glance below to his right. There he saw, some distance away, his two sisters playing in the orchards. Meg’s cheerful laughter brought back to the prince her haunting words:
“God has things grow for a reason. You are not born strong nor wise. That takes time, which comes with age. ...These tall strong vines which cover our castle have stood the test of time, though once they were young and weak like my vines. ... But one day mine shall be as tall and strong as they.”
Philip sighed. The struggle within him was fierce, but he had a will of his own, and it was very strong. He began to doubt. Was he too young? Were his actions wrong? Who was right and what should he do? What would his father want him to do? His mind was filled with hundreds of thoughts. With his heart sinking lower and lower, one question seemed to rise above the rest. After all this, had Philip been beaten so easily? Should he admit defeat?
For one brief moment the struggle reached fever pitch. And then it was over.
“Never,” Philip said bitterly. He snatched up a book and raised his arm to throw it. He momentarily caught sight of a small vine which had been knocked off the railing and onto his books. So quickly does the mind work that, no sooner had he seen it, he forgot his intention of throwing the book. He looked up at the thick growth of vines which twirled around the turrets of the castle, reaching up to its very top. Slowly, he lowered his arm as his mind raced.
“Age-old vines,” he spoke to them softly, “which cover this castle. We shall test thy strength.” Philip tossed the book aside and went back inside his room.
“’Tis a pity that old ogre took my sword.” His eyes flashed at the memory. “But I’m sure that father can supply me with one when I get there. A better one!” He pulled an old chest from the wall and reached behind it. “I’ll have to be in disguise until I get there.” He held up a ragged tunic. He had found it once while hunting with his father, who’d given him permission to keep it.”
Philip changed his hunting coat for the muddy tunic and searched around for his knife. Diligently, but quickly and with some skill, the prince collected together the few provisions he would need.
“I can’t bring much,” he said stuffing a handkerchief in his belt. He looked around his room.
“I don’t have any food,” he said slowly. “ I guess I’ll have to - ”
Suddenly, he stopped to listen. Was it just his imagination …- wait! No… yes! Someone was coming down the hallway. The young boy froze. His hand went over his racing heart and he tried to stifle his breathing. The footsteps approached the bedroom door… but then passed on. Philip heaved a great sigh but quietly.
In hopes of distracting his future pursuers, the prince gathered all his books and set them up to look as if he’d been studying them. Then, he jumped into his bed, twisted around a bit and then got out, throwing the blankets aside. At the balcony’s door, he turned back to give the room one last check.
“Hopefully, when they think that I‘ve studied and slept through the night, they won’t have any idea of the head start I actually have.”
The prince walked out onto the sunlit balcony and looked towards the gate. That cart was nearly empty now, having delivered its goods to the castle.
“It won’t be empty for the return journey,” Philip smiled, climbing onto the railing. “I’ll see to that.”
Taking hold of a few secure vines, the prince began to slowly descend to his freedom.
“I have to hurry,” he whispered to himself as he ran out onto the balcony and peered around. No one. In the distance he heard a horse and cart approaching from the south.
“Today will be perfect,” Philip told himself. “They won’t come for me ‘til tomorrow morning. The prince stepped backwards onto a book. He looked down.
“But I mustn’t leave this mess here for them to find.”
“I need you to carry these books for Prince Philip here,” the man said, slapping the top of the stack.
“I am not going to read them!” the prince protested.
“Very well. But you shan't practice your swordplay either.” The old man stretched out his hand to take Philip’s sword, but the prince recoiled with an air of disgust.
“Ye dare to touch the royal sword of the king’s son!?!” He exclaimed. The tutor silently looked at the shocked youth.
“Lay it on the table, then,” he nodded with his gray head. There was an awkward silence, where only the heavy breathing of poor William could be heard, as he struggled patiently to avoid dropping his heavy load. At last, the prince withdrew the sheathed sword from his belt and laid it solemnly on the wooden table.
“I shall return to retrieve it,” Philip promised.
