There was hardly any rain, the last couple of weeks. Hence, the ground was dry when they reached the spot by the river Hebrus. The tents set up by the King’s entourage were still there. Apparently, Eumoplus and his men did not bother to dismantle them as they retreated to Seuthopolis in haste. The jester narrated to Ismarus and Calysto how everyone suspected that the arrow had been shot from the forest at the eastern edge of the field. The jester said he did not agree on this assumption for the forest was too far away. He pointed to the tent Eumoplus had used. It had a patch of jungles behind it, leading all way up to the cliff. He argued, perhaps the arrow was shot from above the cliff. Either Eumoplus shot it himself, or perhaps he was with the assassin at the time. Then the jester led Ismarus and Calysto to the spot where Tegrios was killed. The arrow which was used to commit this heinous crime still lay there on the ground. Quietly, Ismarus picked up the two parts of the broken arrow before inspecting it very carefully. It was split into two, right where his name had been written. Then he pointed his face at sky above his head. For a while he just remained still. Calysto could sense the anguish in her son. Gently she took his hand in hers, kissed it, and then whispered to him, “Ismarus, it cannot be undone. Let go the bitter past. You will not be able to fulfill your mission, if you do not let go the pain. You must look forward and have resolve.”

On their way to Dacia, the River Hebrus stood like a stumbling block. Due to summer, the size of the river had almost doubled and the current was also significantly stronger. They came to a spot where it was relatively narrow and shallow. Still, the horses were reluctant to wade through the strong current. The jester was not a very skilled swimmer. He informed this to Ismarus prior to riding across the stream. Hence, they had to be very careful while crossing the stream. Calysto crossed the stream safely. However, the jester’s pony had been struggling. At one point, its front paws slipped, as it stepped over a loose rock under the stream. The jester lost his balance and fell from the horse. The horse recovered, and began heading for the bank without its rider. Swept away by the strong current, the jester struggled against the current, but he was overwhelmed by the force of the rushing water. Ismarus released his horse and jumped into the water in order save the jester from drowning. He shouted at the jester, “Do not try to swim towards the bank, just keep yourself afloat!” By the time Ismarus got hold of the jester, they had been carried half a mile downstream by the savage current. Gradually Ismarus brought the jester closer to the bank, swimming at an angle, instead of directly going for the bank.

Calysto could not stop herself from laughing as she looked at her son and the jester panting over the ground. She handed to them a dry piece of cloth so that they could change and dry up. Three days of the arduous journey brought them to a village in Dacia where they replenished their supplies and resumed their journey to the royal palace of Dacia.

What if the sovereign of Dacia refused to provide a safe haven to them? This question had been troubling Ismarus when he decided to check out for himself what the ordinary subjects had to say about their monarch. So far, the information he had, came from those who lived in Odrysia. They were mostly his friends and acquaintance. A lot depended on this. Hence, he was obliged to verify the validity of the information about Resus which had been conveyed to him earlier.

Before setting out on this mission, he discussed it with his mother and the jester. They agreed, it would be a good idea to learn more about their would-be benefactor before stepping into his royal court for shelter.

Autumn was still months away. The lush green vegetations were everywhere, and the trees were adorned with thick foliage. Ismarus suggested to his mother and the jester to rest in the forest while he was away. He promised to Calysto that he was going to return the following morning, if not by sunset.

Though the air had been humid, the gentle breeze blowing from the east kept the weather reasonably comfortable. Ismarus rode at a leisurely pace. He did not want to be rough with his horse. It would not be possible for him to replace it in case of an injury or accident. Another reason influenced him to be so gentle. This horse had been gifted to him by his father. It was only a foal when he received it. When the foal had grown into a beautiful colt, Ismarus began taking care of Petar. He trained Petar to respond to his whistle only, and to remain quiet when he signaled it. Petar could smell his master’s presence whenever Ismarus was at the entrance of the stable. An unbreakable bond of trust and friendship developed over the years between Ismarus and Petar. Petar had become the prized stallion. Its silky chestnut coat, lean and muscular look, made it an object of envy to those who loved horses. On his journey to the unknown, Petar was a source of strength and comfort to Ismarus. Ismarus always carried carrots and apples in his sack. He could go on hungry, but he could not imagine Petar going hungry.

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Around noon, Ismarus came to a village inhabited mostly by skilled craftsmen. The villagers grew suspicious of the stranger as he rode in. Even before he could dismount, they surrounded the horse the stranger had been riding. Petar could sense the hostile attitude of the villagers. He kept neighing to warn Ismarus, until Ismarus gave it the signal to calm down.

Looking at his long sword, bow and arrow, the villagers thought perhaps they had been looking at a lone bandit surveying the area before a raid. One of the villagers beckoned to Ismarus to get off his horse. As soon as he was on the ground, the man took hold of the reins of Petar, and another man led them to the shack of the village chief.

The chief stopped what he had been doing, and raised his head to meet the crowd. The tall bald man who had led Ismarus to the shack said, “Chief, we caught this man surveying our village. Upon being captured, he claimed he came to talk to the villagers. Look at his sword. I do not understand why an innocent traveler would carry such mean looking sword.”

The chief was a middle-aged man. He understood the implication of what the bald-headed villager had said. Obviously, it did not strike a chord in the chief. Turning his attention to Ismarus, very calmly he asked, “Where have you come from stranger?”

“I am from the neighboring kingdom,” Ismarus replied.

“Do you mean Odrysia?”

“Yes.”

“What’s your name?”

“Ismarus.”

The noise of utter disbelief rose among the crowd. The chief exclaimed, “Ismarus, the prince of Odrysia!”

“Yes, I am the prince of Odrysia,” Ismarus confirmed.

For a few seconds, no one among the crowd spoke. As the initial shock had dissipated, the chief asked, “Do you have anything with you to prove your identity?”

Ismarus brought out the ring he used to use as the official seal before handing it over to the chief. The thick gold ring had the initial of Ismarus engraved on its face. After the disclosure, to a large extent, the apprehension among the crowd was gone. Now the chief focused on the purpose of Ismarus’ visit. He asked, “Your highness, what have you been doing in Dacia?”

If he disclosed everything, Ismarus knew it could invite troubles for him. Reluctantly, he narrated the events as briefly as possible. That he had been unjustly implicated in the assassination of his father, was the ground he showed for his flight to Dacia. He stopped short of pointing his finger at any particular figure, being well aware, finger pointing without any evidence would only damage the credibility of his narrative. However, he portrayed the unnatural circumstances leading to his father’s assassination in such a way, that it would not be too difficult for his audience to figure out who had the most to gain from the heinous crime.

The young daughter of the village chief was in her mid-twenties. She had been closely following Ismarus while he narrated his tale. When Ismarus had stopped, she intervened. She said, “Father, this man is no impostor. He is indeed who he claims he is. I heard the tale from another source. I think we should welcome him amongst us. He got himself into this trouble for the sake of a fawn and its mother. If the narrative is true, I would say, he’s a man with the heart of gold. Let him stay with us. Perhaps, he will find in us worthier friends.”

Nikolay seemed convinced by his daughter. Very softly he said to Ismarus, “Young prince, in life you should learn not to antagonize those who can either lift you or drag you down to dust. You should not have stopped your father. It only played into the hands of those who wanted to see you banished from your father’s kingdom.”

“Yes, I know, I should have been more careful,” Ismarus sounded indifferent.

“Do you not regret the way you acted?”

“No, I do not,” snapped Ismarus.

“You do not!” astonishment in Nikolay’s voice was clear. Then he added, “Do you blame your father?”

“No I do not. Perhaps, I would have done the same if I were in his shoes. I understand, a king cannot be seen humiliated by his son before his men.”

“I am curious, my dear prince, if you were offered the opportunity to go back in time, would you repeat what you did?” Nikolay’s young daughter Elena added.

Very gently, but steadily Ismarus replied, “Yes I would.”

The audience seemed baffled by the prince’s audacity. For a while, they just stared at him quietly. Then Nikolay asked, “Do you not have any remorse for losing the throne?”

Ismarus took some time before saying, “I think about it. The deer had a fawn with it. I had to stop him. It was my natural reflex. I think it was destined to happen.”

Nikolay decided to change the topic. He said, “Would you like to stay with us? We would be glad to have you amongst us.”

“I would love to, had my dear mother not been waiting for me in the woods, roughly ten miles from here. I promised her, I would return by sunset,” Ismarus replied.

After the meeting with the village chief, Ismarus was shown the whole village, the way the villagers earned their living, and above all the good will they had for him. Ismarus could not find a single villager who loathed the benevolent and wise monarch of Dacia. They all loved Resus. They viewed their ruler as one of their own. Their love for their ruler provided Ismarus the answer he sought.