The Messenger of the Black PrinceMawhinney, Thomas A. H.
General
The Messenger of the Black Prince
Mawhinney, Thomas A. H.
Edward, Prince of Wales, 1330-1376 -- Juvenile fiction
We landed on the other bank and stepped ashore. We went up the steep
bank as far as the brow of a hill. The whole country,—wooded and
wild,—stretched before us. Whether we would come upon friend or enemy we
had yet to learn. We turned and looked back at the river winding in long
slow curves at our feet. We saw the island in all its outline as green
and peaceful as you could wish.
My eye was caught by an object moving on the opposite shore. When my
gaze grew accustomed to the distance I counted six men. Some of them
were armed with bows and arrows. The rest were cutting down young trees
and dragging them to the river. Now and then I saw the flash of a
sword-blade in the light of the sun.
There was no doubt of it. Our enemies were on foot. They were building a
raft to carry armed men over to the island. They would search it from
end to end. When they learned that we were gone, they would make for our
side of the stream. They would leave no stone unturned to find us. They
would examine every blade of grass for traces of us. They would be on
our heels like hounds. We were in a country that was unknown to us,
while they were as familiar with it as I was with my own.
The Black Prince with his army lay twenty or at most thirty leagues to
the west. I had information that would save them. One thought drove us
headlong on and on—if our enemies should come upon us, there would be no
parleying or hesitation. They would shoot us down like dogs.
CHAPTER XX
NO MAN’S LAND
That day we went on as fast as our legs could carry us. We gauged our
position by the sun. During the morning we kept it in our rear while in
the afternoon we made sure of ourselves by the shine of it (when there
was an opening in the woods) in our faces.
There were no roads that you could speak of—only rutted trails of mud
hardly wide enough for two ox-carts to pass without touching the hubs of
each other’s wheels. Once in a while we saw the hut of a peasant or a
charcoal burner. These we carefully avoided, for we hoped to leave no
sign behind us for our enemies to follow, nor did we wish to fall
stupidly into a trap. Fortunately it was the season of the year when the
nuts were beginning to ripen and we contented ourselves with what we
could get of these.
We slept curled up beside each other at the root of a tree. The next
morning we were on our way again, but I may say with less speed, for our
feet were sore from the unevenness of the ground and our bodies were
stretched and tired from the uncomfortable position in which we had
spent the night.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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