Chapter 22
Before the stranger could speak, there was a dull thud, followed by the sound of footsteps hurrying towards them. Michael looked to his left and saw the shocked fisherman coming to halt.
“Finally, you’ve arrived!” Cunnel accused the newcomers breathlessly. “Wicksley, you would be late.” The prince watched the man addressed nod at a companion to shut the door. Then, turning a cold eye towards the fisherman, the man identified as Wicksley stepped forward. Michael drew back even further, pulling the boy with him.
That must be Cunnel's accomplice, Philip thought, For he is most clearly the leader. The boy looked up at Michael’s face. The hunter’s eyes were fixed on the man in question.
Would that he had known they were coming, as I did, regretted the prince. But, even I didn’t know there would be three.
“Hold your tongue, Cunnel” Wicksley threatened, “It looks like I just rescued your part of the bargain.” The fisherman turned spitefully at Michael. The dark man, too, was examining the silhouettes before the fireplace.
“Who is this man?” The stranger indicated towards Michael.
“A confounded meddler, Wicksley” Cunnel responded vehemently, “who has been plaguing me and the prince all day. Had he not intervened, I would have had the brat this afternoon.” His eyes darted angrily at the boy. Philip shuddered at the thought and drew away from the fisherman’s threat. But his feet, being bound, slipped and Michael caught the thin lad by his shoulder. Gently lifting him back, the hunter turned and faced the men.
“Take my word for it,” Michael reassured them with a smile. “This boy is not worth the trouble.”
“Then why he is worth yours?” the stranger asked incredulously. “What? Is there something about him that you know and we do not?”
“The hunter has his own interests.” The fisherman said. “That I know. He seeks to kidnap the boy for his own purposes.”
A dark light flickered on Wicksley’s hooded face. This huntsman was a competitor. Yes, he had caught the child first and by all rights had first claim to this prize. But... A smile curved the cloaked man’s lips. There are no rules left unbroken in this kind of business. And yet… Wicksley studied the figure, silhouetted before the fire. This man seemed calm for being outnumbered. But his peace did not result in tepidity or surrender. The hunter was alert and, as Wicksley noted, keenly aware of his situation. Wicksley breathed in long and deep. He enjoyed a good competition. He looked over at Cunnel’s drawn knife. Yes, there are ways of winning, he thought, fingering his sword. But they were boringly quick and hardly fitting for this man’s apparent courage. Surely, a compromise could be reached.
“So he has the same interests?” Wicksley smirked. Cunnel only spat in disgust.
“No,” he said, slipping his dagger back in his belt. “The wretch just wants the boy returned to the king’s castle.”
“Or so it seems” the stranger added thoughtfully, eyeing the hunter. His gaze came upon the lad now standing, or more leaning, against the huntsman’s side. He quickly noticed the boy was bound.
“Name your price,” Wicksley offered unexpectedly. The hunter was somewhat taken aback. Cunnel stepped forward anxiously.
“W -What?” the fisherman stuttered. He looked in astonishment at his companion, who did not retract his offer. But the hunter neither declined nor accepted it. His only answer was a quiet smile.
The stranger seemed somewhat impatient.
“Believe me,” he assured Michael. “I’m willing to offer a very handsome sum for the prince.” Cunnel approached even nearer, trying to intercept Wicksley’s stare at the huntsman.
“First, I have a question,” said Michael calmly. The fisherman turned sharply towards him. Wicksley grinned. Now the hunter was coming to his senses.
Michael looked from one to the other and then spoke: “You think this boy is the prince?”
Philip watched their expressions change from shock to anger, as the fisherman whipped out his knife.
“Who are you trying to fool?” Cunnel snapped. “You know he is!” Wicksley was now intrigued.
“Who are you really?” he asked. Michael did not hesitate.
“A simple huntsman, with a poor flock,” he said earnestly. “Just retrieving a lost lamb.”
“That’s what he said earlier.” The fisherman pointed an accusing finger. “But the prince denied it.” Wicksley looked over at the boy.
“I notice you’ve kept him gagged,” he told the hunter. “Or would his statements conflict with yours?” The question was added in sarcastic tones. Michael’s response was calm, but serious.
“I at least have the wisdom to put little value on testimony without evidence.”
“I tell you he’s the prince!” insisted the fisherman. “And this rat just wants to return him to the castle, to keep himself out of trouble. Believe me,” Cunnel said to his cloaked companion, “If he is found empty-handed, it will mean certain death for him and his family. The prince has led everyone in Maristella to believe that this man kidnapped him. Ah ha! See!” He pointed eagerly at Michael’s face. “You can see it in his eyes. He’s afraid and knows what I say is true. I heard them talking about it. Just ask the boy… the prince!”
Wicksley listened with little emotion to the excited, but disjointed accusations. He turned his thoughtful eyes to the hunter. “So you seek protection?”
Michael shook his head. “I have already receive it from One far greater than you.”
“Your king?” Wicksley raised an ironic brow. “You will be dead before he returns. I know how a soldier’s mind works. They snatch every opportunity to further their interests and merit a good name. If they should chance upon the man who kidnapped their prince, they will swiftly avenge their king. Ha! You would not live to see your king.”
“I was not referring to my good king, but to -”
“Your ‘good king’?” the dark man interrupted. “It is his rebellious son that will be your ruin.” His eyes stared out into emptiness, “and his downfall.”
Philip tried to reposition himself against the hunter. His legs were hurting terribly and he felt that he would fall. Amidst the pain, he did not seem to catch that last phrase.
But Michael had already guessed the situation as such. These men intended to hold the prince for ransom. With the expense of war eating away at the royal treasury, this could wipe out the king’s finances and lead their country to ruin.
“If you are not interested in money,” Wicksley told his adversary. “I can offer you protection.” Though this was addressed to the hunter, Philip became alert and listened intently.
“Join me... and your family will be spared from all harm. Not only spared, but saved. I will see to it.” The hooded man spoke solemnly. “Just hand over the prince.” His confident tones emitted a nobility and power that made Philip cringe. He was afraid - but not of Wicksley. Rather, it was the indecision he could sense in the hunter. Even as Wicksley spoke, the boy could feel Michael's grasp tighten on his shoulder.
“Without inquiring as to how you would fulfill this promise,” said Michael. “I must remind you of the unpleasant reality that you have no proof this boy is the king’s son.” At this, the fisherman broke his silence.
But Michael paid no heed to the angry fisherman. His focus lay on the dark stranger, who remained motionless and quiet. In time, the thunder died away and still no one spoke. The hunter took hope in this hesitant silence. Without uttering a sound, Michael prayed.
Cunnel grew impatient with his companion’s delay.
“Are you deaf?” he asked angrily. “Did you not hear him refuse your offer? He has chosen death.” Turning back to Michael, he added, “Which will be dealt out swiftly.”
“I heard him refute my offer,” Wicksley answered with a touch of vexation. “And this is the second time I’ve heard you give a meager response to his challenge.”
“Do you or do you not have evidence that this boy is the prince?” demanded Wicksley. Cunnel lowered his eyes.
“Answer me!” shouted the man. The fisherman raised a timid face.
“The boy said he was the - ”
“I don’t care what the brat told you,” interrupted Wicksley, “or how convincingly he spoke. The question is does he or you have any proof.” Cunnel looked across at Philip.
“He spoke of a ring,” the fisherman’s voice grew in confidence.
“Then let’s see it,” Wicksley said obligingly. He was more than willing to believe him. He waited and then caught a look in Cunnel's eye that he didn't like.
“Well, where is it?” Wicksley demanded. The fisherman turned accusingly towards Michael.
“His son has it!” he shouted defiantly.
“I have never seen this ring that he claims exists!” said the hunter truthfully.
“The prince said your boy took it!” Cunnel turned triumphantly towards his comrade, “You see! It is a conspiracy. He takes the prince and meets up with his son who has all the evidence they need. And you want to let them walk away with our prize.” He added disdainfully. This last comment had seemed to make an impression on his companion, but the huntsman quickly interrupted his response.
“Did you ever see it?” Michael asked the fisherman. Cunnel’s face grew white and then red.
“Thanks to your son, the prince could not show me.” Cunnel made all evidence point to the huntsman’s greedy and deceitful intentions. But Wicksley was growing impatient. Cunnel's points were vague and uneventful.
“So you’re taking the ring for granted, merely by this boy’s testimony?” Michael asked Cunnel. “May I remind you that it is this same boy who strove to assure you of his royal heritage, having nothing whatsoever for evidence other than his testimony.” The calm rebuttal to the fisherman’s logic had more influence over Wicksley than even Michael was aware of.
But they were all soon to find out.
