When Philip rushed away from the din of soldiers, he turned back briefly. He watched them from a distance, as they surrounded the hunter, and bound him with rope. The boy sighed. It was one of relief. Mostly. He stepped forward to continue on his way to freedom, when he stopped short. It was that man!

Coming down the road, directly in front of him was that angry fruit-seller who had tried to harm him yesterday. The prince hid beneath some rubble, waiting for him to pass. When the ill-tempered man was a safe distance away, Philip began to slowly crawl out of his hiding place. The boy nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard there was someone above him.

Leaving James with instructions for George and his heartfelt thanks, Michael departed from his friend. His light shoes dragged through the thick mud. He hadn’t gone far, when from out of nowhere a cart came pulling out in front of him. He had only an instant to jump out of its path as it hurried away. In that brief instant, he was inspired to look at the driver carefully. He had only a moment, as the cart swiftly sped by. Michael was struggling hard to remember anything about the face he had just seen, when he saw another one far more familiar to him. Hiding in the back of the cart, a small head peered out from under a large sheet. It did not see the hunter, and its smiling face dove back beneath the cloth. It was the prince.

Michael sprinted after the cart in quick pursuit. His chase was interrupted, however, by a group of soldiers who inadvertently marched into his path, causing him to hide behind a wall. When they had gone, the hunter continued his chase, only to find that he had lost the cart.

“Please, God,” The tall man said aloud. “Help me or I shall loose him!” Then, an inspiration suddenly filled his mind. The man in the cart!

“I have seen him before!” Michael said to himself. It was the sober drunk with whom the prince had argued, trying to obtain a ride.

“He followed us back here?” The hunter’s brows furrowed in thought. There was more behind this than shear love for the king or serving his son. Michael sighed. The prince had run away with the wrong crowd.

But now he knew where to start. Summoning his strength, the man started off for Fishersbrooke.

The path Michael was taking was a side one, since he assumed the stranger would use the main road. He hoped by this way to reach Fishersbrooke without being noticed by his adversary.

After some time though, not yet out of sight from his village, the hunter stopped and looked behind. One could barely see the smoke now, due to the excessive rain. He could still hear the distant screams and cries, though, as they traveled through the air. The tall man stroked his beard, his face dark with uncertainty. He completely turned his back on the road and faced Maristella. Surely by now, the soldiers would have discovered that he was missing. What of his poor family? Staring through the rain, he took one step toward the village.

“Michael,” a gentle voice inside whispered sadly. “You don’t trust me?”

The hunter wrung his hands with grief.

“Oh, Blessed Mother!” he cried. “If they find my son with that prince’s ring, they shall kill him.”

There was silence.

He reluctantly reached for his hat.

“Very well, Holy Virgin,” he sighed, uncovering his head with respect. “If you truly want me to do this…”

He looked down the muddy road. Every part of his being wanted to go back to Maristella. He gave the village one last look, before he turned around.

“Mary, I entrust them all to you.”

The soaking cap went back on that dark head, and the hunter’s nimble feet began to run.

“Come with me, my prince,” a voice whispered urgently. The boy looked up into a familiar pair of eyes. “I shall take you to your king.”

As the fruit-seller was about turn off the road, quick footsteps caused him to turn around. Running through the heavy rain was that clumsy boy! And a strange man.