Chapter 13
“Please, Blessed Mother,” the man prayed beseechingly, “Where is he?” The road ahead split into several paths, the straightest one leading to what seemed to be the heart of the village. “He probably would go that way,” Michael thought and he spurred his horse forward. An invisible hand touched his shoulder and, from the corner of his eye, he spotted an old shepherd coming towards him. The man was leading his flocks out of the village, heading for a lonely trail that went off into the meadows.
“They’re going out to pasture,” he thought. Something else insisted more. Almost in spite of himself, the hunter rode over to the stranger.
“Have you seen a boy pass by?” Michael asked. The old man raised a serene face.
“No,” he smiled. Michael nodded. I thought so.
He thanked the man and turned for the village.
“Wait!”
The hunter stopped.
“Was the boy alone?” the shepherd blinked.
“Yes.” Michael turned back around. The stranger paused and stroked his beard.
“I ...saw a child...” The shepherd spoke slowly, like he was listening to his own words. “Back there,” the old man pointed towards the forlorn path he was still on. It was a dusty road, which ran alongside a little stream, both seemingly led to the village outskirts.
“When?” said Michael quickly. The shepherd wasn’t sure. But wait! Maybe it wasn’t too long ago. Twenty minutes, maybe? The hunter thanked the good man and took the allotted road.
He traveled slowly, looking around for the slightest clue. What if the boy had not kept to the road? How should he find him? Michael looked up at the sky. The sun’s position indicated that it was early afternoon. The poor rider let out a sigh, and with it a prayer.
“Has he gone this way, dear Mother?” he asked wearily.
Several minutes later, he heard sounds coming from an ale house of sorts.
“Fishersbrooke!” the hunter said with some disdain. Most folks around there said the wine flowed through that town like the river. But more than the quantity of wine was the iniquity it produced. Many an honest tradesman stayed clear of Fishersbrooke when he could.
As he approached, Michael glanced around the tavern. Several men were standing outside, laughing and carrying on a conversation. He rode on, passing the small crowd, and continuing on his way. Then something caught the hunter’s sharp ear and eye. Standing some distance away, apart from the others, was a man…talking with a young boy.
Arguing would be a better word. For it appeared that the child was trying to persuade the stranger to give him a ride.
“Have ye no respect!” the boy cried “For thy lord?” He clamored impatiently, “I tell thee, wait ‘till the king hears of this!”
“I shall box thine ears if thou mention the king again!” said the man, nearly drunk. The argument had sobered him much quicker than he would have liked and it put him in an ill humor. He had not the humor to laugh this little joke away, as did his companions.
“You would dare touch the king’s son!” the lad threatened. At this the poor man’s face grew dark, but he made no attempt to strike him.
“Who?” he said. The boy held up his head.
“I am Prince Philip! Thou must do as I command!” The stranger’s response was cut off by a loud interruption.
“There!” A rider shouted, as if he’d just arrived. “There you are, my lad.” The tall man dismounted his horse and strode to the boy’s side. The youth, however, stepped away.
“You know this child?” asked the drunkard, pointing at the boy with his long pole.
“Yea,” Michael smiled. “ I do.”
“Is he yours, then?” the man inquired. The hunter looked across at the boy.
“No, but he is in my keeping,” he said.
“I am not!” the youth protested.
“Do you know his father?” asked the stranger. Michael hesitated.
“Not nearly as well as I know his wishes. And I intend to fulfill them.” He stepped towards the boy.
“You know nothing of my father’s will!” the lad shouted.
“Nor you of obeying them,” responded the huntsman. The attentive drunk looked from one to the other. The other men had heard the commotion and came stumbling over, eager to have a good laugh at the boy’s performance.
“What?” one of them said, “Have ye still no horse with which to ride to battle?” This received a boisterous laugh from his fellow drunkards.
“Perhaps the king will send him a chariot,” a short man cried out “to take him to the madhouse.” And he burst into laughter.
As the mockeries continued, Michael listened and watched the boy’s set face.
“You better keep a close watch on your boy,” one of the men said, addressing Michael. “He is not completely there.” And he pointed towards his own unkempt head.
The boy placed his hands on his hips.
“I can take no more of this!” He shouted loudly, stomping his feet, much to the crowd’s amusement. “I will bear no longer this idiotic rabble!” Some of the laughs died off at these hot words. The hunter’s keen eyes read their thoughts.
“Come now, Richard,” Michael spoke firmly, “It is time to go back.”
“ ‘Richard’? ” one of the men laughed. “Fine name for a fool!”
“I’m not going back with you, you peasant” the boy recoiled from Michael’s hand.
“You are not from here?” that first drunk asked, who all this while had been watching him in silence. The hunter shook his head in response.
“I thought not,” the fellow muttered, leaning on his pole. Michael’s attention, however, was drawn immediately to a gruff looking drunk who had approached the headstrong youth.
“You fancy yourself a prince?” He demanded indignantly.
“The lad’s no control o’er his imagination,” the hunter defended, stepping between the two.
“Nor his tongue,” said the drunk angrily.
“Be glad I do not have yours removed, fool!” the prince retorted, “Now, keep your distance!” At this, the tall hunter grabbed the boy’s collar and pulled him towards himself, just preventing a collision.
“Let go!” the prince tore himself away and faced them all. “I see the sort of subjects my father has!” he yelled. “Ye be vagabonds and traitors to the king! I need none of your help. But woe to the man who dared refuse me, for justice shall be done upon him. ”
Some of the real drunks just laughed at his threats, but most had grown angry with the boy’s rash words. Michael’s hand reached him first and despite the prince’s cries, dragged him from the crowd.
“Unhand me, wretch!” The youth pulled at his grasp. “My father shall hear of this!” Michael threw the boy around and looked him straight in the face.
“Hold thy tongue, Richard!” he said in a low voice. “Or for justice’s sake, I shall avenge thy father.” The small gathering was steadily approaching.
“Ye dare abuse the king’s son,” Philip’s eyes flared. “And he’ll have thy treacherous head on a platter.”
“Were the king involved,” reputed one of the men, “You would loose your own, for your arrogant impersonation of the prince!”
They wanted evidence, did they? The young boy threw his hand into his pocket, with great defiance. This would show them! As he drew it out, though, his confident face was filled with confusion when he looked into his empty hand. His eyes searched the expectant faces before him and his thoughts raced back. The prince twirled around, confronting the hunter.
“Where is he?” the boy demanded.
“Richard - ” the man’s tone cautioned.
“Silence, fool!” the youth interrupted. “Where is thy son Pe- ”
Without warning, Philip felt a sharp blow across his pale face. Stunned, the prince’s hand slowly felt where the hunter had struck him.
The next thing Philip heard was some meek and quick apologies given to the bystanders. Then, this same voice called for his horse, who obediently trotted to his master. The prince felt himself lifted by two strong hands onto the animal’s back. Grabbing the reins, Michael mounted the steed himself and hurriedly rode them away.
