Chapter 33
“I dub thee knight.” The king’s voice echoed vibrantly through the air.
These solemn words were followed by a profound silence. Then, with equal grace and skill, the regal weapon was returned to its master’s side.
“Rise, Sir Michael,” the king beckoned.
The speechless hunter remained staring at the ground.
“Your Majesty,” Michael said at last. “I am your servant.”
“This I know,” King Philip III answered, raising the huntsman to his feet. “And now you are my knight.”
“Your highness,” Michael protested, “there must be some mistake.”
“The only mistake,” the young king corrected, “was that it took a fortnight to happen. But even wars take time to finish.”
“The war is over!?” the hunter cried out, forgetting himself. King Philip smiled broadly.
“And we are victorious!”
“Blessed be God!”
“Aye.” The king nodded. “And we owe it to you.”
“To me, your majesty?”
“You saved my son’s life,” King Philip explained, “and prevented a ransom that would have meant death for this kingdom.”
“But to win the war?” Michael insisted.
“My son’s would-be-kidnapper, that foreigner, was himself a prince of the Exthereons. Seeking an easier victory for his brother, the man entered and spied on our kingdom, searching for valuable information. Not in his wildest dreams, would he have ever hoped for the opportunity that came before him: to kidnap my own son, and hold his life as a threat for my surrender. And yet, because of you, it never came to that. Instead, this Valdigard was returned to his brother… on the condition of their departure and our complete victory.”
The band of soldiers listened proudly to their king. Their eyes went from the young monarch to the knighted peasant and several bowed their heads.
“But,” the hunter boldly protested, “I am not to be thanked for this. This is God’s work.”
“But He used you!” the king insisted.
“For that I am grateful, but I only acted according to my conscience.”
King Philip smiled and put a friendly hand on his knight’s shoulder.
“I cannot ask for more. Would that all my subjects responded thus to God’s grace. My only comfort is knowing that the King of Kings will reward you beyond what I could ever hope to.”
Michael nodded gratefully, but remained silent. The sound of joyful tears, however, could be heard coming from little hut. King Philip glanced past the hunter.
“Come,” he slapped the peasant’s soldier. “Let us be off.” He turned back to his horse.
“But where, my king, are we going?” asked Michael.
“To the castle.”
A flood of hushed excitement came from the hunter’s children. Their father however was slow to follow.
“Thank you, your majesty, but we cannot.”
A wave of shock and indignation ran through the soldiers. The king, on the other hand, remained calm, though disappointed.
“But why not?” he asked.
“Our village,” Michael answered, “is only now recovering from a pirate raid, and - ”
“What?” the king spun ‘round to his soldiers. “I had no knowledge of this!” Their king’s heated tones caused the men to remain awkwardly silent. “What has become of this village!” he demanded. In face of their continued silence, the hunter intervened.
“Your majesty,” he said kindly, “You have only just now returned from a war. Come, take heart! Hope is not lost for Maristella.”
Philip III turned back. His mind was deep in thought.
“What would you suggest?” The young king asked.
“Well, for starters, the food is scarce,” began the peasant. King Philip surveyed the nearby trees.
“The hunting?” he asked. “How is it in these woods?”
Michael shook his head sadly. “Terrible.”
“Well,” the king stroked his beard, “It’s been a long while, but I remember the royal forests to have ample game. Do you think it would suffice?”
“Oh assuredly!” said the hunter eagerly. “Another ideal source of food would be the gardens. Several were burnt, but if some healthy soil… ”
“It will be brought this very day!” The king slapped his hands together, then rubbed them in earnest thought.
“Now let’s see, how many people are in need of homes?” His slow stride halted by the hunter.
“Well,” Michael stepped forward, “There are at least ten families.”
“Now suppose,” the king continued, “that supplies were brought tomorrow,” he glanced at the huntsman beside him. “Are there enough hands to go to work?”
“We could use a few more strong men,” Michael admitted. The king assured him of their aid and then inquired as to the animal stock.
One by one, the children’s heads peeked around the doorway. They followed the soldiers’ gaze down the road. There was their father walking alongside their king, discussing plans. By now, the two were arm in arm, heading for the village.
************
“Here, Bridgett. Catch!”
“Slow down, Teresa! I cannot keep up with you.” The girl scrambled for another apple.
“These are beautiful!” Teresa paused and examined the fruit.
“Are these all going to Maristella?” Bridgett dropped the captured apple into their basket.
“Yes.” Teresa blindly tossed another apple at her sister. “His majesty is most generous.”
“Is the king really counting on Papa to distribute them?” Bridgett asked, chasing the runaway fruit.
“These and all the other supplies that are going to the village.” Teresa picked a bright red apple from the tree.
“That reminds me,” Teresa commented aloud. “Mother is looking for our help with the linens. Matthew should be taking our place here any minute. Here you go.” She tossed the apple back over her shoulder. An indignant cry spun Teresa around and a mischievous smile sprang to her lips.
“Whoops,” she grinned. “Sorry, Peter.”
“Be careful, Teresa!” Complained her brother, with mock indignation. He rubbed his 'injured' arm.
“It was an accident!” The girl defended herself.
“Yeah,” laughed Bridgett, arriving at the scene, “If it wasn’t, the apple would have hit you in the head.”
Teresa made a face at the rude comment. Then, pretending to ignore it, she snatched up the fruit basket and handed it to her amused brother.
“Here, Peter,” Teresa said. “Mama is expecting us.”
“Wait a minute!” the boy protested.
“Try and get the higher apples,” advised Bridgett as she dropped one into his basket. She followed after her older sister. “The basket is almost full.”
“But…” Peter called after them.
“Don’t worry,” the girls smiled. Teresa told him how Matthew was on his way.
“He’ll help you!” Bridgett reassured him.
With a skeptical grin, Peter watched his two sisters hurry away from the orchard. He almost didn’t believe their excuse about the linens.
The past few days, however, had been quite busy at the castle. The king had “Sir Hawkson” supervising the distribution of all the provisions that were going out to the various villages. Yes, it was not Maristella alone that benefitted from the king’s new urge for repair and relief. As King Philip continued to seek counsel from Sir Hawkson, he found it only logical to place on the hunter’s shoulders the burden of leading this task. Although, to say that the responsibility and hardships fell solely on Peter’s father would not be true. Together, the hunter and king worked for the benefit of Amadeum and the glory of God.
So, despite his natural inclination, Peter accepted the girls’ excuse and assumed their previous task of apple picking. He laid the basket on the ground and hoisted himself up into the tree. The thick branches made it difficult to see, so the thin lad scrambled higher until there was a clearing. It was impossible to see outside the tree, but he had an excellent view of the apples. He wasn’t long picking, when he decided to climb back down to the basket. In his descent though, Peter could not help but grab some particularly attractive apples and stuff them into his pockets. Two especially caught his eye, both clumped on an outer branch. The hunter’s son placed one hand on a sturdy limb and reached out with the other. Carefully keeping his balance, the boy skillfully plucked one without causing its companion to fall. Without emptying his hand, Peter grabbed at the other apple. The fruit came off the tree but slipped past his full fingers.
“No!” The frustrated boy reached for it, but too late. Peter watched the promising apple fall through the branches. But before it hit the ground, a hand from below swiftly shot out and caught it. Matthew! Peter smiled. He could only see his hand, but was all the more impressed by the boy’s quick reflexes.
“Good catch!” he called out, swinging himself to a lower branch.
“Thank you.”
The voice was familiar to him, and Peter recognized it instantly. His smile vanished. Philip’s grin, on the other hand, broadened at the sight of Peter’s shocked face.
“Come now,” the prince spun the apple “Don’t look so surprised.” The peasant slowly came further down the tree.
“You couldn’t possibly think that you could live in the castle, Peter, and avoid… an apology.” The peasant boy stopped short, his eyes fixed on the ground. He remained in the tree.
“If all I had to do,” said Peter slowly “was admit to a false guilt, say ‘sorry’, and be done with it, that would be easy. But to be punished for standing by what's right, when giving in to error is so much easier, makes doing the right thing as appealing as it is rewarding. But even if I knew beforehand everything that my decision would cost me – I would do it all over again. Except... ” He paused a moment with almost a smile on his face. “I may not have argued with you for so long.”
“Peter, this is not what I meant – ”
“No I know what you want, Richard, er Philip – I mean, your majesty.” Peter caught himself each time, ending with a bitter grin. His face softened as his thoughts turned to the past controversy over Philip’s identity. “You know, I didn’t doubt that you were the prince. But that would not have changed my mind. Even if it had cost me my life, as it almost did, I could never have joined your disobedience. And if somehow –” His voice momentarily rose to prevent the open-mouthed prince from interrupting. “If somehow, you believe your father’s victory was God’s approval of what you did, then you’re wrong, Richard!”
Peter, still in the tree, stood staring down into the prince's eyes. A tense silence hung in the air.
“I mean, … your majesty.”
Philip laughed. “You really believe that?”
“You want me to prove it?” Peter dropped down from the tree. The prince watched him approach and kneel before him.
“Peter, don’t – ” Philip shifted awkwardly.
“Why not?” The boy asked without raising his head. “You’ve wanted this ever since I refused you a ride to Fishersbrooke.”
“Perhaps with a little more sincerity.”
“Actually, I find relief in paying homage to my prince without betraying my conscience.”
“As I betrayed mine?”
The peasant looked up. Philip hesitated.
“You’ve misunderstood me,” the prince said at last. “The apology I was referring to was my own.” There was a moment's pause and Philip lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry, Peter. I’m sorry for everything.” He sighed and, raising his head, looked at the kneeling peasant.
“You were right, Peter, not to help me. I know that now. Every reason that you gave me was true; your father’s rules, my running away, all of it. But you know…” the prince looked down at his apple. “Do you know what really convinced me of the truth more than anything else? You know what showed me how wrong I was?”
He paused as if waiting for Peter to answer.
“It nearly cost you your life.” the boy muttered. Philip nodded.
“And the entire kingdom,” added the prince. “But even more than the danger that threatened - it was the good that I witnessed...” Philip paused. His eyes met Peter's.
“...In you and your father. And in light of everything that happened – despite all the pain and trouble I caused- you both still did what you did. And why? Because of what you... believed in, I guess. I acted according to my belief and you acted according to yours. And... ” The prince’s thoughts returned to the past. “I know how I behaved. I saw what almost happened. And after all that your family did!” So vivid were the memories, the young prince buried his face in his hands.
“I was there, Peter,” His head slowly emerged as he spoke. “And your father …” Philip stopped with a shudder. “Oh I can never forget it. And I don’t ever want to.” There was a determination in these last words, a tone that bespoke a will far beyond his years.
“I’ve heard of many brave deeds in the golden tales, but none more noble than what I saw two weeks ago. All my life, I've longed to imitate the heroes of old in many a victorious battle. There, I would bring honor and glory to my father, the king! It was for this that I set out, to prove myself his true knight.”
Even now, Philip's words rung out with royal vigour and Peter involuntarily lowered his head.
Staring ahead at nothing, the prince seemed momentarily oblivious to everything around him. He could see the valiant image he had so often dreamed of: the King's True Knight! Surpassed by none in his courage, heroism, or fidelity, this ideal model was the sole ambition of the young prince. Yet even as Philip dwelt upon this valiant warrior - who truly in his mind was never anyone but himself - the image slowly changed.
The prince breathed in deeply and gave a heavy sigh; not one of remorse or grief, but one of satisfaction. He had changed the image.
“In the end, Peter, I found the king's true knight. Your father.”
The peasant, listening all this time, looked up at these words. But the prince was not looking at him. His eyes and mind were fixed on the hero he'd hoped to be. Yet Philip was far from discouraged. On the contrary, he now had before his eyes a true example of knighthood, one that would counteract the false ideals he had clung to for so long.
“Whatever you and your father believed in, that urged you to act the way you did, even in the face of danger; and whatever gave you the courage to face it - that’s what I want too.”
Philip looked at the peasant kneeling before him.
“Peter,” he took the lad by the arm, pulling him to his feet. “I'm not asking you to think better of me, for that has no just cause.”
“But,” Philip slowly knelt down. “I do beg you to forgive me.”
A quiet breeze swept through the royal orchard. The rustling branches alone interrupted the silence that hung in the air. As the prince knelt before the peasant, the silence grew into an awkward pause as the forgiveness was late in coming. At length, Philip spoke, his head still lowered.
“If you do not, I cannot blame you.”
“No!” Peter turned away, as if arguing with himself. The prince watched the boy shaking his head. “Would that I had forgiven you long before now,” Peter muttered.
“Why?” Philip asked. The peasant shrugged his shoulders with a sigh.
“Because God wanted me to. And more than that, I knew He did. After all that God had asked of me, somehow, I could not give Him that.” He turned and faced his companion. “And so, your majesty.” Peter raised the prince to his feet. “You not only have my pardon, but my apology. It seems we both had a struggle we did not overcome.”
For a moment, Philip just stared in shock. An apology for not forgiving his crimes! The prince laughed at the comparison.
“You surpass me in everything, Peter. When it came to obedience, there was no contest, and now! In minutes, you're able to achieve what took me weeks to accomplish. Namely, Peter, admitting a fault. And to compare your fault with mine! Ha!” The laughter ended with a smile that lit the prince's eyes and face.
“There is one thing, however, in which I have not yet been outdone. In all fairness, though, I must give you a chance to prove your superiority.”
Peter eyed his companion curiously.
“And what is that, my prince?”
“Hunting! - That is,” Philip added quickly, “if you still want to.” The peasant clearly did, but a sudden memory raised an interesting contradiction.
“I thought you did not know how to hunt!” Peter objected mildly, with a touch of suspicion. The prince grinned.
“I just listened to see how much you knew. I have long sought a fitting competitor. And if your father enjoys hunting as much as mine, then perhaps we...”
“ - could all go together!” Peter interjected excitedly. A mischievous look flickered in Philip's eyes.
“Well...” he began slowly. “Someone has already brought up the subject. And our fathers have made the arrangements.”
“So we shall?”
“This afternoon.”
The prince smiled with satisfaction at his friend's surprised and exuberant face. Peter hurriedly grabbed at the large basket.
“What! This afternoon? Are they waiting for us?” His eyes fell on the many apples. “Oh, look at all this! 'Tis a shame Matthew isn't here to help me with these. I don't know what's keeping him!”
“Here,” Philip held out a hand. “Let me help.”
“Oh,” Peter hesitated but then nodded gratefully. “Thank you, your majesty. I hope it's not too heavy.”
“You must be joking!” the prince laughed, pulling up the basket, “We handled the bench well enough.” Both grinned at the memory and Peter started walking towards the castle, carrying his side of the basket.
“Oh...” Philip stopped suddenly and set the apples down. Peter did likewise and met his thoughtful gaze with a quizzical look.
“By the way,” the prince said. “It's 'Philip'”
The peasant hesitated a moment and then smiled at the reference to his friend's “old” name.
“Not 'Richard'?” Peter teased, laughing. The prince, however, remained serious, but not grave.
“Or 'your majesty'.”
The smile slowly faded from the peasant's face, only to return in his eyes. The two boys looked at one another. No words were spoken, for volumes could not describe what was exchanged in those few moments. Their friendship, uprooted by a tragic fault was now planted so deep within them, that it would stand, for years to come, whatever violent blows life would bring.
Philip smiled and lifted up his side of the load. As Peter eagerly took up the other side, both boys were struck with the same thought that would turn into a reality. This would not be the last task which the two of them would share.
And so the friends continued their errand, with redoubled and steadfast strides.
Had they looked behind themselves, the boys would have seen something which would have instantly seized their attention. At some distance away, quite out of hearing range, though still in clear view of the orchard, a pair of heads came peeking from around a corner. One head, being higher than the other, bent down to the little one's whisper.
“It worked, Papa!” young Matthew said.
“Prayer does, my son.” Michael returned his smile and looked back at the boys. “And often in ways we don’t expect.”
The hunter's gaze turned upwards. Matthew looked at his father, whose eyes were closed. Slowly, the man smiled and his lips formed a silent “Thank You.”
Matthew knew how much was said in those two words and he wondered what was said in return. Facing the orchard and the two boys, Matthew quietly slipped his hand into his father's. At this, the hunter's eyes opened and he turned to his son.
“Are you happy, Papa?” the ten year old asked, still staring ahead. He felt his father's strong hand gently squeeze his own. Matthew returned it with a content sigh.
“I am too,” The boy whispered. And then, within his own heart, Matthew echoed his father's prayer to God and Our Lady.
“Thank You!”
