Chapter 9
“The road to find my family may be long and tiresome,” Richard explained. “More than anything else I need a companion… a friend,” he added with a hopeful look. This appeal strangely affected Peter, but he attempted to hide his feelings.
“Where is your family?” He tried to sound indifferent. But Richard could see the intrigue in his eyes, and played along to allure him.
“Far,” Richard said simply. “But I have an idea where they were going and know that we will find them.” He watched and waited as indecision reigned on Peter’s face. At last the peasant boy spoke.
“I should love to go with you, Richard,” his eyes looked up at the bench, “But I have to ask my father.”
“Why?” Richard blurted out angrily. Then, catching himself, added quickly, “I’m sure he trusts your judgment.” Peter made no answer. “What?” Richard continued “Do you think he doesn’t trust you!”
“He can,” Peter said softly. “That’s why I’m going home.”
“What!” Richard was irritably confused. He failed to see that by obeying, Peter was rewarding the trust his father had in him. But young Hawkson refused to argue any longer. He turned his back on his angry companion and climbed up into the cart.
“At least give me a ride there!” Richard demanded, still standing outside the cart.
“Where?” the boy asked. The other pointed towards the woods.
“To ‘Fisherscook’ or whatever that town is called.” He sputtered angrily.
“No.” Peter said calmly. Richard was enraged. How dare this…this… boy disobey his orders! Did he not know?
“Very well, then,” Richard approached him with a strained calmness. “You have left me no other choice.”
“Than to walk on foot?” the seated lad smiled. Richard ignored him. He walked up to the cart and planted his feet.
“I command you, in the name of the king! Take me to the village yonder!” His head nodded towards the wooded road. The peasant just stared at him. A boy, scarcely older than himself, with nothing special or characteristic about him, save his satin-like skin and lofty manners - dared to command him in the name of their high king! A humored smile spread across the rugged lad’s face, until he at last burst into laughter.
“Oh, Richard,” he cried. “Ye be a madman or a jester! But to me, you are quite funny.” And Peter laughed, without sarcasm or ridicule, but with innocent sincerity. So engrossed was he in his merriment, that he paid no heed to the furious glares which his companion sent him.
“What impudence!” thought Richard. “You would not laugh thus, if you knew who you were mocking!” he threatened.
“And who, my friend,” Peter tried to control himself, “has thus commanded me?”
“The king’s son, Prince Philip!” the boy said with great and regal dignity. For poor Peter, however, this was too much and the young huntsman threw his head back with laughter so hard he almost fell off the cart!
“Oh, so you’re Prince Philip, Richard?” he asked, hoping that the contradiction would be obvious to his new friend.
“I am Philip! I lied about the name Richard!” the lad insisted, stamping his foot in frustration.
“So, "Richard the liar" wants me to believe him when he now tells me he is a Philip - and Prince Philip to boot!”
“I am Prince Philip. I had to hide my true identity because …”, his mind searched quickly for a reason that might seem reasonable to this commoner. “- For safety! Even a peasant boy like yourself cannot be that stupid. Surely, you see the need to protect my identity as I travel! We are at war, remember? The crown has many enemies these days!”
Richard had thought he had sounded very convincing. Unfortunately, the hunter’s son was not so gullible as to quickly believe someone who openly admits that he lied to him.
“And how is it,” Peter laughed, “that my prince can travel alone, without company or soldiers?”
“It is to my soldiers that I go,” said Richard.
“Why do they not travel with you?” insisted Peter. Richard breathed deeply.
“It is not for you, a common person, to question the king’s -”
“I’m not questioning the king,” Peter interrupted. “I want to know why his son travels alone. If,” the lad added incredulously, “he truly be the king’s son.”
With a quick thrust in his pocket, Richard drew forth his hand and held it before the grinning boy.
“Here, peasant!” he shouted, “Behold the ring of your prince!” He dropped a cold object into the small dirty hands of the peasant boy.
Peter stared hard at the object he held. Words flooded his mind but froze in his throat. His face became grave. It was a ring with the royal emblem of King Philip III engraved upon it. The young boy’s gaze went from the ring to its owner, who spoke up proudly.
“I am Prince Philip,” the strange boy announced. “If ye be wise, do as I bid thee!”
Sensing hesitation from the peasant, Philip stamped his foot and made a threatening gesture towards Peter with his arm. Azarias, startled, reared up and the cart lurched forward. Peter unconsciously put the ring into his pocket as he grabbed the horse’s reins.
In a moment, Peter had calmed the animal and then he could only stare at his friend in disbelief.
