No sooner had the door closed, then the fisherman spotted a damp cap lying on the table. Snatching it up, Cunnel strode across and yanked the door open. He peered out into the storm, but Michael was already gone. Glancing at the hunter’s hat, a strange look came over his face. Then with a proud sneer, the fisherman threw it out into the darkness and slammed the door shut. He turned back, wiping his hands satisfactorily. Philip was silent, but gave the fisherman a slow and approving nod.

Not ten minutes had passed since their uninvited guest had left, when Cunnel told the prince that they were leaving.

“What?” Philip asked in shocked tones. “I thought we were waiting for your brother.” The fisherman eyed him impatiently.

“He’s too late.” The man said. “We must leave now.”

“Why?” the boy insisted. “We could use a faster boat.”

“Mine will well serve our needs.” Cunnel assured him. The prince rolled his eyes.

“You’re scared about that stupid hunter, aren’t you?” he challenged. The fisherman blinked angrily.

“I am in charge of this task.” The unkempt man stood upright. “And we’re going to do it my way.”

The royal youth was indignant. “Need I remind you to whom you are speaking?” the lad said. “I have not yet forgotten your harsh refusal of me earlier this afternoon.”

“Nor I,” The fisherman’s voice was hard. “Get yourself ready. We are going now.”

The boy winced inwardly, but his voice did not loose its authority.

“Very well,” he agreed. “But only because I deem it the right time. We have waited long enough.” Philip turned away and Cunnel smiled.

“Let me get my things,” he muttered and went into a rear room of the house. The prince snatched up his shoes, now dry, from the hearth. He gazed at the rain beating against the window. Strapping on his shoes, Philip grinned in excitement. The time had finally come.

“The darkness will suit us nicely, Cunnel.” He spoke to the man behind him, who was reaching for something on the mantelpiece.

“Yes, my prince,” he whispered, “It will.”

Hardly had the words left Cunnel's mouth, when a thick rope was suddenly thrust around the boy's neck.

Philip gasped for air. His anxious hands darted for the rope, trying to pull it off his throat. While thus distracted, a gag was forced into the prince’s mouth. Philip instantly went to pull it out, but Cunnel grabbed his hand and pulled it behind his back. The boy attempted to get up, in order to face his captor. The rope around his neck, however, did not let him stand. As Philip was jolted back to his chair, he realized that the noose around his neck was fastened to something else; something that would not move.

The prince tried hard to pull his arm away from Cunnel, but the fisherman had a strong hold on it. If only Philip could stand up, he'd be able to break away! Again the boy yanked forward - but the rope around his neck was clearly stuck on something behind him. Frantically, Philip used his one free hand and pulled against the rope.

Cunnel was counting on this and caught his other wrist and immediately pinned both against the prince’s back. As he felt his hands being tied, Philip began to kick the fisherman furiously. In return, Philip felt a sharp and sudden pain in his arms. The man grimaced at the boy’s muffled screams. Cunnel was steadily forcing the tied wrists higher on the prince’s back. The more the boy defended himself, the harder Cunnel pushed. The kicking stopped and immediately, Philip felt his ankles bound.

With frustrated tears, the prince tried once more to pull away. This time, the little stool that he was on, but not tied to, slipped out from under him and he fell to the floor. When his knees hit the ground, instead of smacking his face on the floor, the boy’s head was pulled back at the neck and left hanging inches above the ground. Philip looked up and saw what had kept the rope from giving way. With one end tied around his neck, the other was knotted in a metal loop fastened to the wall. His eyes followed this to the dark figure, which stood exulted above him.

“Yes, my prince,” Cunnel grinned, “the darkness will suit my purpose quite nicely.” Philip glared at him hatefully. There was no room for fear in his angered heart.

“Yes, call me a liar.” The fisherman said, answering the boy’s thoughts. “But at least I’m an honest one.” Cunnel walked over to the table, and Philip turned to watch him as far as the rope would permit him.

“You see,” the man explained, “I don’t lie to myself about who I am; what I do; Or why I do it. Unlike,” he pulled out his knife, “you.” Cunnel watched the boy’s eyes fix on the weapon and fill with fear. All at once, Philip realized his weak position.

“When I disobey the law,” the man continued. “I know why I’m doing it. I have a good reason. My life is my own and yet others try to rule it.” He stepped towards the bound figure, who squirmed and tried to back away. Gloating over the child’s fears, Cunnel stood a while beside him, knife in hand. Then, he cut swiftly at the rope fastened to the wall. Holding the frayed end in hand, he smiled down at the prince.

“Thank goodness,” he reminded his young lord, “for those few of us, with the courage to resist authority.” Philip’s eyes flashed at this mocking betrayal and then slowly lowered in shame. But the fisherman busied himself with finishing the task. Rolling the boy over, he slipped a rope around his knees.

“We shall not wait for my brother,” he told the prince humorously. Philip winced as Cunnel roughly yanked at his elbows and bound them tightly. The man turned his young captive on his side and looked into his eyes. Philip's glares brought an amused and mocking smile to Cunnel's lips. He brought his face near that of the boy's and whispered in taunting tones: “Because, my brave and brilliant prince, it is not my brother who is coming.”