The Messenger of the Black PrinceMawhinney, Thomas A. H.
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The Messenger of the Black Prince
Mawhinney, Thomas A. H.
Edward, Prince of Wales, 1330-1376 -- Juvenile fiction
For a moment I stood dazed. I rubbed my eyes to make sure that I was
actually awake. The stillness of the inn reminded me of the emptiness of
a tomb. A fear of the awfulness of it all sent the shivers down my legs
and I looked around me for some sign of a living creature who might be
able to explain.
Then the thought of what might happen if I lingered there the space of
one second came to me. De Marsac’s command that I should hang in the
morning knocked the dullness out of me. I took the dagger and wiped the
blade against the guard’s coat. He did not stir but seemed like a block
of solid wood.
I remembered the landlord’s warning that the front of the inn was
guarded so I crept silently towards the back. I opened the door through
which he had entered when he gave us the drink of water. It creaked a
little and cast a scare over me. I passed through the kitchen where the
pots and pans hung in order from pins, all of them bright and shining. I
put my hand on the latch of the back door. To my surprise it opened
almost at the touch. In the next moment I was outside in the open.
It was still dark but a haze covered the sky to the east. By that I knew
it would soon be dawn. I ran across the open space between the inn and
the woods. When I was hidden among the trees I gave a great sigh of
relief.
But I did not stop. I ran on and on. I did not know where I was going
but followed a kind of forest path that was like a thread rather than a
road, for in no place was the grass worn entirely away. The light to the
east grew brighter and brighter. Then the birds began to chatter and
whistle in the branches over my head. A hare crossed in front of me and
with the fear I was in it almost took my breath away.
There was little that I noticed. It was only weariness that slackened my
pace. My running fell away to a shambling nervous walk. I was on the
high ground overlooking a valley that lay off to my left. I knew that
within an hour my enemies would be in full hue and cry after me so I
decided to keep far away from the highway.
I came to a tiny brook that rippled out from between some broken rocks.
I stooped and drank one deep draught after another. I was about to go on
when I spied a man sitting on a boulder. It was the scrivener smiling as
calmly as you please. He had a loaf of bread under his arm and was
stuffing a lump into his mouth. On the grass next to him I noticed a
fairly large lump of fresh cheese.
As though we were at peace with all the world he grinned as gleefully as
a child.
“Good morning, Henri,” he said. “Have you had your breakfast?”
CHAPTER XIV
PURSUED
I sank down on the rock beside him.
“We’re in for it now,” I said.
He raised his brows.
“To my way of thinking, Henri,” he replied, “we’re just out of it.” He
munched on his bread thoughtfully for a while. With a pleased expression
on his face he turned to me. “Isn’t it a grand thing to be in trouble?”
he asked.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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