Like the journey back, the village was silent upon their return. The rider looked about. Everything was so still. Unnaturally though, he thought. Perhaps it was his imagination, but the huntsman felt is if everyone he passed was watching…. him. At first, Michael paid it no heed. Then he noticed that his greetings were not returned and his presence was ignored. He had never been treated this way before by his fellow villagers and a strange apprehension began to take hold of him. Surely, he argued within himself fighting to remain calm, I should not be alarmed by this. It had only happened with a few individuals he’d seen. Yes, but …but he knew these people... Before he’d finished this debate, the hunter heard a familiar voice.

“Michael!” A short man came hurrying over to the rider. The horse halted.

“George?” he asked, loosening the reins. “What’s happened here? Has there been a death?” The butcher looked anxiously around. There were only a few people about.

“Michael,” whispered his friend nervously, “Where have you been?”

“I was out of town,” responded the huntsman. “Why?” He noticed the butcher sending Richard a sharp glance.

“There’s trouble - ” George said.

“Where?” the rider asked. The short man fumbled with his long sleeves, but said nothing.

“Speak, man!” said Michael quickly. “For the Love of God,” he begged earnestly, “What trouble?”

“The king.” was the hushed response.

The boy on the horse sat up. Again, the short man looked behind them nervously. “They say his son is missing.” At this, the hunter’s eyes turned sharply towards the boy in front of him. The lad, however, remained fixed on the butcher, listening intently. Without realizing it, a numbness began to spread throughout Michael’s body.

“They think they have traced him to our village,” George hesitated and his voice dropped. “They believe they have traced him to your house.”

Michael’s face was white, but unmoved. Before George had even finished his sentence, the reins had stiffened again as the huntsman’s hands skillfully urged the horse homeward.

“No!” The butcher snatched the steed’s bridle. “They’re looking for you,” he warned his friend. Michael tried to pull the horse away.

“There are soldiers, so many soldiers!” George whispered anxiously. “And they’re sure the prince was at your house.”

“Why?” asked Michael, avoiding the boy’s look.

“I heard something about a knife. A knife belonging to the prince was found beneath a bed,” the man explained. The hunter’s mind instantly raced to his family.

“Get back, George,” he ordered firmly and made ready to leave.

“Don’t!” the fearful man pleaded. He grabbed one of the reins. “It’s too late.”

“What about my family?” Michael insisted. The butcher’s eyes fell.

“They’ve already been arrested.” George muttered.

“How can this be?” The hunter stared at the anxious round face, which fumbled for words.

“They’ve taken your family, with orders to set out and find you.” he said quickly. “That is why you have found all quiet on your return. Everyone knows.”

Michael glanced around. So far, it had remained quiet. Slowly stroking his dark beard, the huntsman strove hard to think, but in vain. The man was trapped and he knew it. His mind strained all the harder, but to no avail. Then, like a flash, the hunter closed his eyes in shame.

“Forgive me, my God,” his heart prayed. “That I should forget Thee so easily. And when I need Thee the most.”

“All this absurd talk of a prince!” George cried indignantly, ignorant of his friend’s conversing with another Being.

“It isn’t absurd!” contradicted the hunter’s young companion. The butcher glared at the child, seated with Michael, who up until this point had remained silent.

“What is that?” the short man blinked. A few people drew closer, listening intently. The hunter’s eyes opened.

“I am the Prince!” declared the youth at the top of his lungs. Everyone in the vicinity turned and approached them, aroused by what they heard. “And this man,” the prince cried, pointing to Michael, “should indeed be arrested!”

Who knows what may next have followed, had not a piercing cry in the near distance cut off the prince’s startling decree.

A suspended silence fell upon the crowd.

There was another scream. And again.

Then, from behind a pair of houses down the village road came a small group of women running, like they were fleeing from the plague. For a moment, the bystanders did nothing. One look at these girls, though, and the keener minds quickly deduced the cause.

“A raid!” breathed Michael.

“Pirates?” The butcher watched his friend’s shrewd face. Another cry prevented his response, but confirmed his conclusion.

A wave of terror swept through the crowd and in an instant, confusion reigned. Amidst the loud clamor surrounding him, the hunter felt a sharp and sudden pain in his stomach. Instinctively, Michael clutched at his shirt, momentarily dropping the reins. This was all the time his attacker needed. In that brief moment, the prince broke free from his captor’s arms and was off the horse.

“No!” Michael shouted, reaching out for Philip’s tunic and grasping at thin air. “George, stop him!”

The butcher heard his cries, but too late. The boy was already slipping his way through the panicked throng. The hunter leapt off his steed and grasped his friend’s arm.

“George,” he told him, raising his voice above the screams that now filled the air. “Take my horse and find the king’s men.” The stout man listened attentively. “Make sure they know of the raiders. Hurry now, man! Go!”

“What about you?” George asked, after mounting the animal. “…Your family?” A smile lit the hunter’s weary face.

“I should fancy they are quite safe -,” he said quickly and with a touch of irony. “- with the king’s soldiers.” A sound caught his ear, and Michael turned. There was smoke coming from the village.

“Go!” he shouted, slapping the horse’s back. “And God be with you!”