“You think he’s right?” Hadrian asked.
“Doesn’t matter at this point. Even if he’s wrong, the owner of this boat will report it stolen. When news leaks out that the prince is missing, they will connect the two.”
Hadrian stood up and looked downstream. “If I were them, I would send a group of riders down the riverbank in case we stopped and another set of riders running fast down the Westfield road to catch us at Wicend Ford. It would only take them three or four hours.”
“Which means they could already be there,” Royce concluded.
“We need to get off this river,” Hadrian said.
The boat came into view of Wicend Ford, a flat, rocky area where the river widened abruptly and became shallow enough to cross. Farmer Wicend had built a small stock shelter of split rails close to the water, allowing his animals to graze and drink unattended; it was a pretty spot. Thick hedges of heldaberry bushes lined the bank, and a handful of yellowing willows bent so low toward the river that their branches touched the water and created ripples and whimsical whirlpools along the surface.
The moment the boat entered the shallows, hidden archers launched a rain of arrows from the bank. One struck the gunwale with a thud. A second and third found their target in the royal falcon insignia emblazoned on the back of the prince’s robe. The figure in the robe fell from view into the bottom of the boat. More arrows found their marks in the chest of the tillerman, who dropped into the water, and the pole man, who merely slumped to one side.
From behind the screen of bushes and willows, six men emerged, dressed in browns, dirty greens, and autumn golds. They entered the river, waded out, and caught the still drifting boat.
“It’s official, we’re dead,” Royce declared comically. “Interestingly enough, the first arrows hit Alric.”
The three of them were lying concealed in the tall field grass atop the eastern hill overlooking the river upstream of the ford. Less than a hundred yards to their right lay the Westfield road. From there, the road ran along the riverbank all the way to Roe, where the river joined the sea.
“Now do you believe me?” the prince asked.
“It only proves that someone is indeed trying to kill you and that they are not us. They’re not soldiers either, or at least they aren’t in uniform, so they could be anyone,” Royce told them.
“How can he see so much—the arrows, their clothing? I can only see movement and color from this distance,” Alric said.
Hadrian shrugged.
The prince was now dressed in the clothes of the steward’s son: a loose-fitting gray tunic, worn and faded wool knee-length britches, brown stockings, and a tattered, stained wool cloak, which was too long. He wore on his feet a pair of shoes that were little more than soft leather bags tied at his ankles. Although the prince was no longer bound, Hadrian kept hold of a rope tethered around his waist. Hadrian also carried the prince’s sword for him.
“They’re moving in on the boat,” Royce announced.
All Hadrian could really see were shadowy movements under the trees until one of the men stepped out into the sunlight to grab the bow of the boat.
“It won’t be long before they discover they’ve only killed three bushels of thickets wrapped in old clothes,” Hadrian told Royce. “So I’d be quick.”
Royce nodded and promptly trotted down the slope.
“What’s he doing?” Alric asked in shock. “He’ll get himself killed and us as well!”
“That’s one opinion,” Hadrian said. “Just sit tight.”
Royce slipped into the shade of the trees, and Hadrian immediately lost sight of him. “Where’d he go?” the prince asked with a puzzled look on his face.
Once more Hadrian shrugged.
Below them, the men converged on the boat, and Hadrian heard a distant shout. He could not make out the words, but he saw someone holding up the Alric-bush complete with arrows. Two of the men remained with the boat while the others waded toward the bank. Just then, Hadrian caught sight of movement in the trees, a train of tethered horses trotting up the slope toward him and Alric. From the bank came shouts of alarm and cursing as the distant figures struggled to race across the field and up the hill.