Edgar shrugged his shoulders. Reading had always been difficult for him and words written in elegant cursive were a complete mystery. Ulrik carefully rerolled the map and tucked it into the safety of his shirt. “We need to finish packing.”
Helga packed as much food as they could carry into a sturdy leather bag, then went into the pantry and emerged carrying two packages: one an envelope yellowed with age and the other, a large bundle. She placed the larger bundle in Edgar’s hands. “This is a special bread. I made it from a very old recipe; I had to look high and low for the ingredients. When you’ve nothing else to eat, this will keep you going. It’s very rich and will make you sick if you eat too much at once, especially if you stuff yourself silly when you’re truly hungry,” she said looking straight at him. He put on his most serious face and nodded his head in agreement.
“For you, Uley, this,” she said, pulling a cross strung on a thin black cord from the envelope. “Your father once wore this. Your sainted mother gave it to him before they were married. The Mage took it from him after your mother died and threw it away. I fetched it from the trash and kept it, more in memory of your mother than anything else. You need to wear it now.” She slipped the cross over his head, and then tucked it beneath his shirt next to his skin, whispering, “I’ve wanted to give you this for the longest time and today seems the right time, being it’s your birthday and you’re going to God knows where. Don’t take it off, dear. Not that I believe in magic charms or any of that superstition, but you need to have it.”
She accompanied them to the stable and helped pack the mule with their luggage. They were following the Mage’s advice to travel in disguise as beggars, for no one need know the truth about the king’s health or the crown prince’s mission. Ulrik suggested that horses would have been faster, but the Mage explained that secrecy was of greater importance than speed. Even though Ulrik didn’t trust the Mage, he had no reason not to follow his instructions. While they readied the mule, Ulrik repeatedly looked up at the stable’s remarkable ceiling and the remnants of the images left in the east window’s remaining stained glass.
This place wasn’t always like this,” said Helga wistfully. When I first came here as a young woman, this building wasn’t a stable filled with horses, mules, and straw. Then it was filled with . . .” She swallowed back her tears with a grunt and said to them, “Enough of that. You have to go quickly before I won’t let you.” She pulled each of them to herself with her great arms, Edgar first, then Ulrik. The prince wanted to cling to her, to stay in her warmth, her safety and her love. Helga broke off the embrace, kissed him on the forehead and pushed him away, commanding, “Now go.” She pointed a finger at Edgar as if he were a little boy. “Edgar, you take care of him. You make sure no ill comes to him, or to you either. I want you both back here safe and sound when all this nonsense is over and done with. Get going. The sooner you’re gone, the sooner you’ll be home.” She turned to go, but then returned to them. “But most important, God bless you both, keep you safe, and send his angels to watch over you.” After bestowing this final blessing, she hurried out of the stable.
They waited in silence until she was well on her way to the kitchen. Edgar shattered the stillness by taking the mule’s reins and walking to the door. Ulrik followed. On the way out the door Edgar noticed some words carved on the doorpost. “Uley, what’s that?”
The prince brushed away some of the grime to uncover the lettering and read:
Lord God, You have called Your servants to ventures of which we cannot see the ending; by paths untrodden, through perils unknown. Give us faith to go out with good courage, not knowing where we go but only that Your hand is leading us and Your love supporting us; through Jesus Christ, our Lord.
“Amen,” Ulrik said softly. Edgar quietly echoed his amen and they headed out the door.
Ulrik and Edgar paid no attention to the sound of the hoof beats fast approaching from behind. Near to hand ran the rivers and streams that they fished, the rocky hills that they climbed, the meadows where they would lie and watch the stars on soft summer nights. Edgar pointed out familiar landmarks as they passed. With only three hours under their feet, they felt no danger. Their disguises had worked because the prince passed through the villages unnoticed, even those he frequented on market days. The only difference was the hostile attitude of the villagers they met. Even Mr. McGory, who was always cheerful with the prince, ordered him off his farm with a comment about another pair of beggars on the road.
Rising over the sound of the hooves came a familiar and unwelcome bellowing of their names, “Ulrik, Edgar, wait for me!” Barty’s cries sounded like an alarm, “Ulrik! Ulrik! Thank heavens I found you!” He galloped up to them, clinging to the horse’s bare back. The horse stopped and Barty collapsed on the ground. The horse immediately took the opportunity for freedom and ran back to the castle and its rightful owner. Barty looked at the fleeing horse and then at Ulrik. “I only borrowed him; I had to make a hasty exit.”
Ulrik looked down at his cousin sprawled on the roadside. A makeshift bandage torn from his silk shirt bound head. Ill-fitting peasant’s pants that had seen too many seasons replaced his finely embroidered trousers. His left eye was swollen shut and the bruise was spreading while Ulrik and Edgar watched.
“What in heaven’s name happened?” asked Ulrik.
Barty tried to speak. The words came out as thick as his swollen jaw. “Those new soldiers are no respecters of royal rank. They failed to see the honor of losing most of their pay to one of noble blood.”
“They beat you up because of that?”
“No. They treated me in such a churlish fashion because I tilted the odds in my favor.” Edgar looked at him with a confused look, not understanding what he was trying to say.
“They saw that my little friends were friendlier to me than to them. Help me up,” he ordered. Edgar obediently eased him to his feet. Barty grimaced as he took to his feet; they had been beaten as well.
“What happened?” Edgar asked.
“If I understand him, Edgar, the soldiers caught him cheating and didn’t like it one bit.” Barty nodded, and began hobbling down the road, acting as if he were the leader.
“I’m going with you. You’ll need someone like me. I may be battered, but I remain the Duke Bartomeus von Stroheim. Come on.” He turned and limped haughtily down the road. Edgar looked at Ulrik and they both choked back a laugh.
“Lean on the mule,” Ulrik offered, “You need him more than I do.”
They met few other travelers on the road at this time between the change of seasons. Luternia remained calm and quiet; daily activities kept folks busy and comfortable at home, even though their homes seemed more shabby and unkempt than the prince had remembered. Still, Ulrik envied them. He wanted to be home where his life was as comfortable as a motherless boy’s could be. More than once during that first week out he wanted to abandon the quest, turn, and run home. Yet he continued on, not because of the Mage’s command but because of his father’s plea. Running home would be selfish. He could, of course, invent all sorts of reasons to return home: the task was impossible, his father might die before he could return, or he should be home to care for his father and work to get rid of the Mage. All these reasons and more ran through his mind with each step taken away from the castle.
As Ulrik had a duty to his father, so had Edgar to Ulrik. Barty’s duty, however, was to Barty, and he exercised it in helping himself to their food supply. By the beginning of their second week, they had reached the farthest and most rugged edges of the kingdom. The hills ran closer together, growing higher and higher. They persuaded themselves that each new hill had to be the last and that the going would be smoother once they crested this hill, only to find another higher hill on the other side. The roadway reflected the roughness of the terrain, causing more stumbles. Only the mule didn’t seem to mind, plodding along with a regular rhythm, one hoof in front of another, his pack getting lighter with each sly visit by Barty. Ultimately they crested the last hill and from the top saw the road winding down and ending at the bottom of a very high bluff. Suddenly, they descended to the bottom, fully expecting the road to end at the base of the bluff.
The road, however, forked in two, skirting the base of the bluff in opposite directions. The map left out the road’s details. Ulrik sat on the ground, rubbing his feet and thinking how useless this whole expedition was. Edgar opened the pack on the mule to bring out their meal.
“Uley,” he exclaimed, “where’s the food?”
Ulrik pulled himself off the ground, walked barefoot to Edgar’s side and looked into the pack where only a few crumbs remained. He turned to Barty and said, “What have you been doing? You had no right to help yourself.”
“I was hungry,” said Barty. “I didn’t think.”
“That’s right, you didn’t think about anyone but yourself and now none has anything to eat. What are we supposed to do now?” snapped Ulrik.
“I don’t know, I didn’t plan this trip,” Barty snapped back. Before the two cousins could come to blows, Edgar stepped in.
“Uley, you forgot what Helga gave me,” he said taking her parting gift from his knapsack. “She said we could eat this.”
Barty moved in for a closer look, sniffing the air as if to pull the aroma from the tightly wrapped parcel.
“We were supposed to save it for when we really needed it, not because someone stuffed themselves when no one was looking,” said Ulrik, looking straight at his cousin. Edgar’s stomach growled.
“For your sake, Edgar, let’s serve it. Barty gets the heel, though,” directed the prince.
Edgar gingerly slid the blade of his knife through the waxed cheesecloth wrapped around the loaf. The loaf smelled freshly made. He sliced through the crust to reveal a pressed cake filled with dried fruits and nuts. Following Ulrik’s instructions, he gave Barty the heel. When Barty saw that the heel contained the least amount of fruit and nuts he whined. Ulrik received the thickest slice. Remembering what Helga said, he ate it slowly, nibbling around the edges. Each morsel tasted better than the last, the final one filling him with hope.
“All done? We can’t just sit here,” said Bart, interrupting the moment and looking back down the road they had recently traveled. He half expected a party of angry soldiers to appear at any moment and had been anxiously searching the road for any signs of their approach. Barty continued, “Let’s ask my little friends which road to take.” He extracted the dice from a pocket and caressingly shook them in his hands. “Trust to luck, I always say.” He caught Ulrik’s unbelieving glance as he was about to cast the dice. “Don’t worry, these are fair. Evens right, odds left.” He threw them onto the ground. The three of them hunched over the dice. A pair of ones showed.
“Two,” Edgar cried out. “One . . . and, uh . . . one—two.”
“Evens,” Barty announced, “we go right.”
Ulrik grabbed his cousin’s coat sleeve before he could charge down the right-handed path. “Wait. Before we make a hasty decision we need to explore both paths a bit. Edgar, you and Barty look down the path to the right. I’ll take the mule and see what’s down to the left.”
“What’s the matter, cousin, still don’t trust me?” Barty said in response to Ulrik’s cold stare. “I guess not; come on Edgar, let’s see what’s around the corner.”
Leading the mule, Ulrik went down his chosen path. The bluff was not nearly as wide as it had first appeared and he soon saw what lay ahead—a great swamp and quagmire. Dampness coiled across the ground in swirls of fog.
The road wove its way through the shallow ponds, the creeping streams, and the endless bogs. Swarms of insects filled the air; one stung him hard on the back of his neck, raising a welt. The mule pulled to go ahead, working to find the dry road. Ulrik pulled the mule’s head around, “Come on, let’s go see what the others have found.” The mule balked, then reluctantly followed.
“We’ve found the way and it’s beautiful; you’ve got to see it.” Barty exclaimed. He was as excited as he had been the day before the soldiers beat him up. “Less than a quarter mile around this bluff the path widens- it’s all very clear and you can see it gently winding through . . . through . . .” he paused to think. “A garden- yes, that’s it, a garden.”
Ulrik handed Edgar the mule’s lead and took out the map. Edgar came up behind him and looked over the prince’s shoulder. Edgar looked at the map this way and that, trying to make sense of it. He was looking for an answer, knowing it was somewhere on the map but couldn’t find it. “What about this?” he said, pointing to the words on the map.
While Edgar and Ulrik studied the map, Barty grabbed the lead and headed down the path he had discovered.
“Wait, wait,” Ulrik called to him. “Edgar’s right. We’ve got the map; we should at least look at it.”
Barty waited impatiently for them down the path while Ulrik studied the map; Edgar peered over his shoulder and pointed to a spot on the map with his broad finger. “What’s that say, Uley?”
“It says, ‘Sleepers Awake’ and as near as I can tell it refers to the place Barty wants to go.”
“What does that mean?” asked Edgar
“I haven’t any idea,” Ulrik replied, rubbing his forehead in confusion.
Barty called from around the bluff, “It means you’d best wake up and follow me. Hurry on.” Barty cursed the mule as it brayed loudly.
“We’d better go after him, if for no other reason than the sake of the mule,” Ulrik said. Edgar’s deep laughter echoed off the bluff’s walls as they hastened down the path to Barty and joined him.
When Ulrik rounded the corner of the bluff, he saw that his cousin had told the truth. The pathway meandered on for miles down the shallow valley, lazily winding through a garden of bright wildflowers. Because of his urgency, Ulrik wanted the path to cut straight through to the other side.
“Come on, isn’t it great!” called Barty. He tugged on the obstinate mule and shouted, “Move, you dumb animal.” He swatted its rump with the flat of his hand, raising a small dust cloud. The mule snorted and obediently trudged down the path. “This poor dumb animal doesn’t know when he’s got it good,” he commented. Barty’s argument with the mule gave the other two an opportunity to catch up. Ulrik agreed that this road offered a better prospect than attempting to make their way through the swamp and bog.