Chapter 27
“…Now and at the hour of our death.” Finishing his prayer to the Mother of God, the huntsman lowered his head.
As he was losing consciousness, Michael heard the proud man whispering: “Even God can not stop me!”
Cunnel squeezed one last time.
A loud ‘Boom’ filled the air and with it, the sound of pelting rain. The fisherman was startled to feel a drenching wind sweep against his back. Then there was a loud and even more startling:
“Halt or we shall shoot!”
Cunnel turned around to two arrows aimed at his head. He looked about the room, to see two other men, all soldiers, inside his house. The fisherman noticed Valdigard had been awoken and was now standing with an archer guarding him.
“On your feet!” one of the soldiers barked at Cunnel. Michael felt his enemy quickly stand up and release his grasp. The hunter gasped and put his hands to his throat. He lay there panting and praying in gratitude, when a familiar sound caught his ear, namely, his own name.
“Which one of these men is Michael Hawkson?” A voice bellowed. It was a fifth soldier, and evidently the leader, who had just entered the room.
“Him!” Cunnel pointed eagerly to the collapsed figure beneath him. The nearest archer gave the fisherman a firm look but sarcastic response.
“Your meager testimony is hardly sufficient evidence.”
“Besides,” the voice corrected, “I was not asking him!”.
Michael slowly rose to his feet, struggling to refocus his mind on his swiftly changing environment. Searching intently for the author of the voice, he found him, standing by the door, behind an archer. The leader turned his head sharply to the side and said “Come now, don’t tell me you do not know.” He spoke impatiently.
The hunter squinted in mild confusion. This leader was evidently speaking to another soldier, but one of short stature, Michael concluded, for he could not be seen behind the archer.
“You were able to spot his Rosary in the mud -” the commander continued, “- you can certainly tell me which one of these men is your father!”
The archer stepped aside to reveal a young boy. The huntsman started in amazement.
It was Peter.
Yes, there he stood, upright by the soldier, his hands bound behind him. His feet were free as he evidently was forced to walk the whole way himself. Michael nearly burst with both joy and grief as he beheld his eldest son, covered in mud, his face drenched with rain and tears, and ready to collapse. Their eyes met and the father saw a heavy fear or sorrow burdening the boy’s soul. Michael smiled in pity. Peter was terrified of betraying him and was resolved to stay silent. The agony that his son felt pierced the huntsman’s heart like a sword. The father shook his head. Peter need not fear of betraying him.
“I am Michael Hawkson,” the hunter admitted.
To his surprise, the nearest soldier hit him across the face.
“He was not asking you!” The man corrected sharply.
“No!” Peter cried out.
“Which one is your father?” The leader continued as if nothing had happened. The boy hesitated. Michael tried to make eye-contact with his son.
“It is all right, Peter.” He whispered. “You can -” Another blow sent the hunter to the floor.
“Silence!” the archer stood threatening over Michael.
Peter stood straining his neck to see. “Stop!” he cried.
No one heeded him and so the boy turned to the leading soldier.
“Yes,” Peter said through his tears, “that is my father.”
“This one?” The archer pulled the hunter up by his shoulder.
The boy nodded. The leader too gave his men a nod and two of them began searching Michael. They did not go far, when one triumphantly pulled out the golden medallion from the huntsman’s pocket.
“Where is the prince?” the soldier demanded loudly. Michael looked forlornly at the royal pendant. His focus shifted to the surprised, but then pleased, Valdigard. The hunter addressed the soldier.
“The prince is near here,” Michael began, “in a bo-”
“You’re wasting your time,” a deep voice interrupted. All heads turned to the cloaked man in the corner. Valdigard looked at Michael and shook his head.
“The hunter will not tell you. But I will.” The leading soldier shifted towards the stranger.
“Hawkson sold the prince,” Valdigard’s eyes met Michael’s. “He sold him to some gypsies.” The hunter’s face did not portray shock, but disgust. Cunnel looked from one to the other, his mind slowly grasping what was going on.
“Where were they going?” The head soldier asked.
“He wouldn’t tell us,” answered Valdigard.
“Where were they going?” The commander turned to the hunter. Michael met his look but did not answer.
“That’s not true!” Peter suddenly shouted. “My father didn’t do that.”
“Quiet, boy!” A nearby soldier hit Peter. Michael watched his son stumble forward.
“Leave the boy alone,” he cried. He strained to conceal his emotions. He could not afford for Peter to be their leverage.
The head man completely ignored the father’s comments. “Where is the prince?” he asked again.
Peter looked up angrily at the commander. “He didn’t kidnap your wretched prince!” the boy cried. The soldier gave him a piercing stare and the young boy returned it. The commander grabbed him by the shoulder.
“Peter!” Michael attempted to break the lock. His tone was warning, but suggested of patience. This mild rebuke received an unexpected reaction from his son.
“Why do you let them lie about you, Papa?” cried Peter, turning towards him. He yanked himself from the soldier. “It isn’t true.”
A moment or two passed and no one spoke. Everyone seemed to be waiting for either the hunter or his son, who were locked in a silent stare. Gazing into his son's tearful eyes, Michael heaved a heavy sigh. Mistaking this for a reproval, Peter instantly hung his contrite head in shame. Despite his angry tones, the boy was crushed to think that he had caused his father any pain. Michael knew this as well as he knew the motive behind his son's words. The boy was angry at Injustice, not at those who suffered at its hands. A single tear escaped the father's eyes as he watched his trembling son suddenly gasp, stifling a sob.
Michael's focus slowly shifted from Peter to the commander who had reclaimed his grasp on the youth's shoulder. Addressing the soldier with all sincerity, the hunter calmly began to explain the whereabouts of the prince. Everyone listened intently as he described Philip’s position as being tied up in a sack on a nearby boat.
“A likely story,” Valdigard interrupted casually. The hunter ignored him.
“He’s being taken to Exthereous.” Michael declared.
His announcement was met with a strange silence. The leader slowly looked from one prisoner to the other. Cunnel carefully kept his eyes to the floor. Valdigard only shook his head with a thoughtful grin. All was quiet, save the thunder. Michael watched and waited for the head soldier.
Suddenly the official raised an angry fist and knocked Peter to the ground.
“He’ll get worse than that!” He said, threatening the boy’s father. “With the next lie you tell me.”
The archer struggled to keep the hunter back, but Michael quickly broke away and dashed for Peter. He'd taken one step when, immediately, he found several swords pointing straight at him. Michael opened his mouth to speak when a sharp voice shouted above the din.
“What’s going on here?”
Everybody looked. A tall soldier had entered the room. The four militia immediately saluted and stood rigidly at attention. Their leader looked anxiously at the new arrival and nodded a welcome. This sixth soldier, clearly of higher rank, was in fact a knight. Immediately, he addressed himself to the situation.
“Since when, Captain Martin, do you disobey the queen’s strict orders by harming the prisoners?”
Peter looked up from the floor. The soldier identified as Martin strained to keep an authoritative tone.
“You may tell the queen,” the captain declared proudly, “that I’ve found the man who kidnapped her prince.” His loud voice rung out with a touch of uneasiness.
“Forgive her majesty if she is duly unimpressed,” the knight mocked apologetically. “As Sir Henry de Authsville has already found the prince.”
