The Wondering Prince

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It was late afternoon on a July day in the fourth year of the Great Rebellion. The sun was hot; the grass banks were brown; and the purple nettle-flowers and the petals of the woundwort were peppered with fine dust.

A small party—two men and two women—trudged slowly along the road, looking neither to right nor to left, their eyes fixed on the ground. One of the women was a hunchback, and it was this deformed one who carried a sleeping child.

Sweat ran down her face; she caught her breath as she saved herself from tripping over a stone and going headlong into one of the numerous potholes which were a feature of the road. She wiped the sweat from her face but did not lift her eyes from the ground.

After a while she spoke. “How far from the inn, Tom?”

“We’ll be there within the hour.”

“There’s time before dark,” said the other woman. “Let’s stop for a rest. The boy’s heavy.”

Tom nodded. “A few minutes will do no harm,” he said.

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