Chapter 18
“And… And then,” the boy shivered from the cold.
“Then you will go to your father,” the man continued with a smile. He walked across the room and pulled a blanket off an old chair.
“Here,” he shook the dust and wrapped around the lad’s thin shoulders. “Take this.” The prince looked up gratefully.
“Thank you, my good man,” he said. “You will be greatly rewarded.”
“I know,” the man smiled softly. He went over to the table.
“Does anyone else know your identity?” he asked the child.
“The soldiers never recognized me,” the boy declared proudly. “And the others,” he stopped and looked down. In the dim light, the stranger could just make out a small smile on the hesitant young face.
“They won’t be any trouble,” he finished. “Not anymore.”
“Even that friend with you earlier today?” the man asked, sitting by the table. Philip nodded.
“He’s gone,” the boy said. “for good.”
It was still raining when the exhausted hunter finally came within sight of the neighboring village. Wiping his face with his sleeve, the man heard the universal peal of the church bells ring the Angelus. Michael removed his hat and knelt in the mud. It was six o’clock. One of the three times a day, when Catholics are called to remember the hour and moment when the Archangel Gabriel asked a young Jewish virgin, if she would be the Mother of the Messiah.
As the last Hail Mary ended, finishing the Angelus, the fervent hunter remained on his knees. In the steady rain, he may have been pouring forth a litany of prayers, begging for wisdom and guidance. Then again, as no sound escaped his lips, perhaps he said nothing at all. Those who can hear our silence, often understand it better than words.
It was a forty minute walk, but he made it, all the way to the tavern which he had just visited earlier that day. Now, however, he had the unfortunate pleasure of entering the filthy abode. As he approached the round man behind the bar, he was met with a bellowing invitation.
“Come,” the large person waved, “Have a drink to warm your blood. ‘Tis raining devilishly hard out there.” His fat hand went for a glass.
“Thank you,” the hunter protested, “But no. I’m looking for someone.”
“If he’s any sort of a man you’ll probably find him here!” the bartender laughed heartily. Try as he might, the weary hunter couldn’t even grin politely at the poor man’s humor. He was cold and starting to become tired.
“Hey!” Someone shouted across the room, “I know you!” A man stumbled over to the tall hunter.
“You were with that boy!” the drunk cried, pointing at him. It took everything Michael had to appear innocently calm. Too often today, had he been thus accused.
“Good riddance,” joined in his friend. They toasted to this, their “good fortune,” and fell over each other with laughter. The hunter waited patiently for his chance.
“None of you, by chance,” he asked coolly, “would happen to know a fellow I met here, earlier today.” His casual manners smoothly banished the suspicion in their eyes.
“What’s his name?” the first drunk asked. Michael blinked.
“I don’t know.” He replied honestly.
“Well do you remember anything about him?” asked a loud man rudely. The hunter racked his mind for a clue. As he did so, an image quite clearly returned to him. He could see the stranger now, listening to the boy, leaning on a pole.
“Oh!” The bartender recognized the description. “That is Sam Cunnel. A fisherman. Lives right down this road, kind of near the river. You can’t miss his little shack. Its got a ring of hedges ‘round it. And he's got no neighbors either for a good mile.”
Michael, again, refrained his excitement and thanked his oblivious guide. No, he wouldn’t have a drink. Yes, he was quite sure. Thank you all the same. Good night. And the polite stranger strolled merrily out into the rain.
******
A tiny ember jumped out from the flickering flames and onto the thoughtful boy’s lap.
“Ouch!” Philip pulled his legs away from the fire and rubbed his knee.
“Not so close,” a voice calmly warned. “Your clothes must be dry by now, my prince.”
The young boy turned and looked into the dark room. “How late is it?” he asked drowsily.
“Almost eight,” the man replied, standing up. He walked over to the table. “Are you hungry?”
The lad’s hand went to his empty stomach. It had had nothing all day.
“Then come,” the fisherman said heartily, “Come eat.” His young companion eagerly scrambled to the table and sat down. The boy was mindful to place his chair with his back to the fire, while still facing his host. Before him was set a simple meal of fish and bread.
As he watched the youth devour his food, the fisherman rubbed his stubby chin and leaned back.
When pausing for a breath, Philip looked up at his quiet friend. “I do not believe I remember your name,” the boy said.
“Because I’ve never given it,” the man smiled. “But I will now, for we have an alliance, you and I.” This received a silent grin from the hungry youth.
“My name is Samuel Cunnel,” the dark figure continued. “And as our meal shows, I am a fisherman.”
“They are quite good,” Philip commented.
“Aye,” Cunnel agreed. “But fish are fish and they all taste alike.” His eyes stared past the prince, “Life needs a change.”
“I know,” the boy said. His mood grew solemn as he remembered his journey’s cause. “When life goes on, each day the perfect mirror of the yesterday, the… the…” his young mind searched for the word, “the spirit, the fire behind all your hopes and dreams is smothered and dies. And then you want to change,” the prince added, “and instead of encouragement, you meet opposition and rebellion.”
“True,” the man said passionately. “So many laws, unjust and ruthless, bind you down and prevent you from living as you wish.” The boy wiped his sleeve across his lips.
“And when you follow their rules, who rewards you? They just tell you what to do all the more. I think they kind of enjoy it,” the prince remarked.
“Why wouldn’t they,” added the fisherman.
“And the more you listen to them, the less they listen to you,” continued the boy. Then, thinking back towards days at the Castle, he added, “True, they may hold some affection for you. But that only lasts as long as you’re quiet and do their bidding. But then,” his back straightened, “they become arrogant.”
“And oppressive,” commented Cunnel.
“They think they know so much and yet understand so little. But even that is forgivable, except that they, believing to know everything, think that you must know nothing at all! They act like you’re stupid and helpless, a mere simpleton!”
“And they treat you like one,” the man said. “Like you have no mind of your own and need them to carry you along each step of the way.” Philip grabbed another bread roll and bit it forcefully. His passion against injustice once more rose to the surface. And this time, no dominating figure would stamp it out.
“Justice will be done.” The fisherman added quietly. The prince raised his eyes at his enthusiastic companion. Finally! Someone with the courage to follow his own will. But then, Philip thought, does not every man act according to his own wishes?
“I think, Samuel,” the boy said, “that those who stubbornly cling to the law or enforce it, either enjoy the power, or feel no discomfort. They like what they’re told to do and that is why they do it. Fine. I care not how they live their lives. Nor do I stop them in their designs. Why can they not leave me to live mine?”
“It is a cruel, but common, problem,” said Cunnel solemnly. “There are only a few of us who can fight this tyranny. All the rest are too weak to resist the oppression of authority.”
“Thank goodness, there are at least a few,” the prince smiled at his companion. “I would be nowhere without you.”
“Think nothing of it, my prince.” The man waved aside the compliment. “I believe in you. And in your cause,” he added.
Philip reached out for his cup. “Has evening settled far enough, that we may soon go?”
In response, the fisherman stood up and walked over to the water-streaked window. It was almost impossible to see out of it, but Cunnel was looking at the darkness. The moon was not shining this stormy night. Yes, it was dark enough.
“But we cannot leave yet, my prince,” the man said. The youth’s face was not pleased.
“It’s my brother,” Cunnel went on to explain. “We are waiting for his help. He has a boat much faster and larger than my poor vessel.”
“How is he then late,” Philip commented, “if his boat be so fast?” The fisherman was about to defend his brother, when there came a knock on the door.
“Ah,” Cunnel pushed his chair aside. “There he is now, your majesty.”
The boy remained seated, though, leaning over his plate. Peering past the fisherman, Philip watched him give a hard tug at the wooden door.
A gust of wind and rain came pouring into the little room and the boy shivered, pulling tightly on his blanket. The prince wondered why his brother didn’t come right in. What little heat filled the house was quickly escaping through the open door.
“Come in, if you must,” Philip said rudely, “but close the door! You’re soaking me with rain.”
“Forgive me,” the dark stranger stepped into the dim-lit room. “I did not know I was expected.” He slowly removed his dripping hat.
“You’ve been waited for, for a very long-” and at once his jaw dropped and his face froze. An awkward pause followed the boy’s own interruption.
“You!” the prince pointed an accusing finger at the rain-soaked figure before them. Cunnel backed cautiously away from the stranger. Philip jumped up from his seat and stood behind the table. The stranger just stood there motionless. He did not utter a word.
“Yes” another fellow agreed. “I saw him too!” Gradually, the interest of everyone present was centered on the huntsman.
“Where is that mad child?” one asked him.
“He had an ill look,” a drowsy man muttered.
“Has he finally fled for the king?” another laughed.
“Yes,” Michael smiled, playing along with their levity. “He’s gone.”
“Good!” the drunk man raised a mug to his lips.
