Once all of the children had gone to bed, their father went outdoors. He made his daily round to check their few animals. After securing the bolt on the horse’s stall, Michael heard footsteps softly approaching from behind. The hunter turned around.

“Greta?” he squinted at the lamp shining his eyes.

“I didn’t know if you needed some light,” the small woman offered.

“Thank you, but I’m done,” he said, slapping the dirt off his hands. “Did Richard get to bed alright?”

“Yes, but I hope Matthew doesn’t keep him up all night,” His wife forced a smile.

“I don't think he will.” Michael looked up at the full moon. There were dark clouds approaching.

“Michael?” Greta’s quiet voice broke the silence.

“Yes?” the hunter looked back down at his wife.

“How long is this boy staying?” Her voice attempted to seem calm.

“I don’t know…” the tall man shrugged his shoulders. He started walking towards the house. He thought about it. “I really don’t.”

“You just found him at the marketplace?” She said, quickly catching up to walk beside him. Michael nodded.

“What was he doing there?” She inquired.

“Making trouble,” the hunter smiled. His wife breathed a sigh.

“What?” He asked. Gently touching her arm, he had her stop walking and turn to him.

She lowered her eyes. “If he was separated from his family, will they not come looking for him?”

“If they survived and know where to look.”

The woman lifted her head. “Surely,” she hesitated a moment. “Surely, the boy must remember where the robbery occurred. Could you not start by looking there?” Her words came out ever more quickly. Her gaze began to pierce into Michael looking for answers to questions which her mouth did not yet dare to form. Michael nervously turned away, and looked up at the sky.

“You seem anxious to get rid of the boy,” he said calmly. Greta dropped her eyes again.

“I don’t know,” she said. Michael still sensed an agitation in her voice. He waited for her to continue and for awhile no one spoke.

“Michael,” his wife said, holding the lantern close to his face, “Do you believe him?”

“Who?”

“Richard.”

“About what?”

“Everything!” She cried, placing the lantern down. She could bear it no longer and all of her fears came pouring out. “That he’s lost, missing his family, the son of blacksmith. Michael, you know he’s no blacksmith’s boy!” Michael sighed deeply but said nothing.

Greta respectfully but firmly continued to press her point. “You’re not going to get a child to look that neat with just a few baths. His hands look like they’ve lived in gloves. His manners are fit for a duke’s son. There’s just….” She tried to think. “There is just something about him. He sounds and acts- he just doesn’t look like he was raised in a blacksmith’s shop.”

She stopped for a moment to look at her husband. In the pale moonlight, she could tell his eyes were lowered. He quietly stood there, stroking his dark beard. One look at his somber face told Greta that he had already thought of all these things and more.

“I’m sorry,” Greta said quickly and lowered her head. Her husband gently laid a consoling hand on her shoulder.

“I know, Greta. I have already considered -” he shut his mouth and looked down. After a brief pause, he slowly raised his head again, breathing deeply.

“Regardless of his origins, this boy needs help and a place to stay. Until someone else is ready to give him that, I will.” His tone was firm and his points were clear. But her fears were far from calmed.

“What if some nobleman comes looking for him?” she asked anxiously. Michael grinned.

“We shall return Richard to his family when we find them.”

“And do you not suppose that they will wonder as to why he - ?” Her husband shook his head slowly and placed a gentle hand on her lips.

“Do not worry,” he said, as his hand traveled to her cheek. He raised her face. “Peace, Greta.”

His wife smiled and humbly lowered her head. He gently raised her face towards his and tenderly kissed her forehead. His clear eyes looked deeply into hers. Greta smiled, but Michael could see the anxiety still clinging to her heart. Gently gathering her into his strong arms, the hunter laid his cheek against her head. Wrapped in his protective embrace, Greta felt shielded from every danger in the world. Slowly, her husband drove away the fear that had tortured her soul and replaced it with a firm, but quiet peace.

Suddenly, Michael looked up. His father’s ears had detected a familiar sound.

“Was Bernard asleep?” he asked.

“Yes, finally” the woman sighed with relief. “It is so difficult to get him to sleep.”

“Well, my dear,” he patted her back, “I think he’s awake.”

“What?” her smile faded rapidly.

“Listen,” he raised a hand to his ear. Slowly, she could distinguish in the night’s air the faint cries of her son.

Greta enjoyed the warmth and protection of her husband and did not want the moment to end. “Oh well,” she reluctantly sighed. “He’s probably hungry.”

“Probably,” her husband agreed. He gave her a quick, firm hug before the two of them began walking back to the house.

Michael’s keen ear was not the first to have heard poor Bernard’s cries. In one of the pitch black bedrooms within the humble home, a young boy lay awake. He sat up at last, when the baby’s cries continued to grow in volume and strength. Richard looked at the peasant boy sleeping beside him.

“How can he sleep through this?” the guest wondered. “Perhaps he’s used to it,” he responded to himself out loud. He tried to lay down again, but Bernard’s cries kept him from falling asleep. His mind wandered, trying to distract himself until Bernard quieted down.

Then, something occurred to him. He turned over and reached his hand down beneath the bed. His hand fumbled around in the dark. There were his shoes, but also…. Ah, ha! Here. He pulled up a small sheath which held a little knife. Richard smiled. He wanted to make sure he still had it. It’d been a gift from his father, who had taught him also to never sleep with it on. His head turned sharply as he heard the outside door open and two voices enter the house. Quickly, he put the small dagger under the bed again and threw his head on the pillow. He listened to the hunter and his wife pass by. The baby’s cries became momentarily louder as the couple entered their bedroom. Slowly, Richard turned. The crying stopped and all he could hear was Matthew’s snoring. Richard grinned at the humble lad who shared his bed.

“Sleep well.” His whisper was barely audible. “ …and remember this night.” He laid his head back down.

“Few peasants can claim to have slept so close to their prince!”