At the north end gates of the castle town, there stood a bespectacled guard of forty. He was a family man who loved nothing more than caring for his young daughter and playing the bugle. While he was a professional in the first category, he was only a novice in the second, but secretly, he hoped to become one of the royal trumpeters. Even those closest to him doubted that possibility, but it always remained a fantasy in the back of his head. Little did he know, with the approaching throne on the horizon, that he’d be able to live his dream for a day…and nearly get executed as a result.

“Clear the gate,” Archibald commanded the guard. “And make way for Prince Cyrus.”

The guard leaped to attention and saluted with his staff in hand. His large cone-like helmet dipped over his eyes, but he quickly shoved it up.

“Yessir.”

He ran to the box-shaped guard house. It was built into the towering wall of limestone.

“Hold on,” Prince Cyrus shouted from his gold throne. “Where’s my welcoming committee? Where are the royal trumpeters ready to blow the royal tune as we march through?”

“Err…they’re at the tavern. Today is their day off,” said the guard standing very still.

“What?” The prince shouted in disbelief. “Did no one tell them this was a very special day. This is the first day I get to look onto my subjects, and more importantly, they get to look onto me. We need someone to alert them with the regal anthem.”

“Er…uh”—the guard raised his hand with a sudden idea—”I have my bugle in the guard house. I always practice it in the off hours. I know the royal anthem…”

Cyrus narrowed his eyes, but suddenly, his cheeks expanded with a wide smile. “Yes that’ll do. Well, what are you waiting for? And what is your name?”

“Miles, sir.”

“Well Miles, you will be my one man band. You will play loud and clear so my subjects emerge from their houses and gaze with love and adoration onto their future king.”

Miles saluted again and ran to the guard house. The gate creaked and croaked as it lifted. Cyrus grinned at Archibald. The Majester could tell that Cyrus was giddy with excitement. He had no shame or perception on how he would be perceived, he simply knew he would be making a grand entrance.

Miles grabbed his second hand bugle. It was a bit rusty around the handles and the valves squeaked and sometimes stuck when he pressed them. Miles hoped that wouldn’t be the case when he made his debut in the town square. With only a nod from the prince, the party proceeded through the gate. Every soldier performed the royal lock step in unison. Archibald and Miles walked in front. The Majester’s dark eyes shifted to the bugle playing guard and realized there was sweat on his brow.

The side streets lined with stands of fresh fruit and ripe vegetables. Wafting smells of butchered meat and horse manure lingered with them. Miles took a deep breath and blew into the horn with imperfect embouchure on his lips. There was a loud blurt from the bugle and Miles quickly cleared the spit valve in order to get a cleaner sound. Cyrus glared at him as the people around them took notice. Miles blew again and this time the notes resounded a lot better. He hit the right notes this time and began the fanfare.

Miles knew the full history of the Coates royal anthem. Composed by the 12 year genius composer, Lipsius, the tune commemorated the newly established kingdom of Aristillus. Every person who grew up in the castle town and their forefathers knew the tune and how masterfully it drew attention to decrees, parades of soldiers and most importantly, royal entrances. Both Cyrus and Miles were well aware, upon entering the city square, everyone would be there to see why the royal anthem was being played and who it accompanied.

Marching up a sloped road of gray cobblestone, the bugle player emerged with the royal Majester in the center square. Alongside wooden market stands and traveling carriages, crowds of people were gathering around it. They exclaimed gleefully as they saw the Coates famous Majester who gave them a playful wink and a raise of his hands. The golden throne followed with seven royal guards traveling behind it. People cleared the way and gazed upon the golden throne. Seeing it was an unfamiliar royal, they quieted down. With the exception of some whispering between old wives, everyone was dead silent. The carriage marched into the center of the square and Cyrus finally gazed out onto all of his subjects. He lifted his hand and Miles silenced his horn as well.

Cyrus was flabbergasted when no one cheered or even spoke. They all just gaped at him perched high up on his gilded throne. Everyone from blacksmiths in their protective gear, to couriers in their page hats, to upper class ladies in frilly clothes to mothers in simple dresses, they were completely silent… except for one little girl in a brown dress. Her voice piped up loud and clear,

“Why does the prince look like such a pig?”

Cyrus’ ears and face turned bright pink.

“Now he’s turning pink like one too!” The girl said to her mother’s embarrassment. She held onto her child in desperate hopes she’d be spared from the prince’s wrath.

Miles could feel the tension thicken in the air--and wanting to defuse it--he decided to play the royal fanfare again. Unfortunately, he could hardly contain his laughter over the little girl. Her blunt, but innocent words reminded him of the precocious things his own daughter would say. He took a deep breath, but laughed right when he was about to blow into his mouthpiece. Instead of a majestic melody, a loud ‘brap brap’ came out instead.

Everyone turned to Miles and suddenly, the little girl spoke again. “Oink oink! He is a piggy! Prince Piggy!”

Everyone started to laugh much to Prince’s dismay. The inappropriate horn blurts made everyone’s mind jump right to the vision of pigs, and from that day onward, Cyrus was known as Prince Piggy. Whenever people spoke of his travels, they always asked how Prince Piggy fared. None of them disliked him, but rather thought of him as a funny in-joke exclusive to the castle town.

Miles started to play the royal fanfare and the soldiers began to march again. Cyrus hid his face in his robe, wishing he could disappear into it like a magician. Today was the most embarrassing day of his life.

By the time the royal party had reached a stone bridge outside of the castle town. Cyrus was fuming. “If it was up to me, I’d have that child executed on parole. I can’t believe the nerve it had to refer to me as a pig.”

The Majester spoke to him in utmost concern. “Sire, you can’t just execute a child. You don’t know how bad that looks.”

Miles, feeling bad about what he did to the Prince’s honor quickly added, “Plus pigs are highly intelligent creatures.”

“They are?” Cyrus asked, forgetting about his rage for a moment.

“Yep, they know exactly where to look to find food. We’ve got a pig at home and he digs up all kinds of truffles….and”

As Miles spoke, Cyrus grew angrier and angrier until he was glaring at the bugle player with a look of hellfire. Miles noticed the prince’s expression and quickly quieted down. “I guess I should stop talking now,” he mumbled.

Archibald, fearing for Miles’ life quickly instilled some sage advice in the prince: “Let me give you a word of wisdom, Prince Cyrus. You don’t exactly have the favor of the people yet. They barely know anything about you. But I can guarantee if you save the princess who belongs to our greatest allied country, you will be known as a hero among them. Think of this journey as one of redemption.”

“Do you really think so?” sniffed the prince.

He was feeling close to tears but he held them back.

“All great legends begin as scrappy youths, but by doing this, you will be on your way to becoming just like your forefathers.”

The prince brushed his runny eyes and nodded. “I hope you’re right. Let’s get as far away from this town as possible.”

“Aye sire,” the Majester said and raised his hands forward. “Whenever this journey brings you down, just boldly proclaim ‘onward!’ and think of nothing but the goal.”

Cyrus smiled in spite of his pain; he’d learned his first lesson from this journey. Miles waved goodbye as they crossed the short bridge. He was thankful the Prince had forgotten him and spared his life. He promptly forgot about his musical ambitions and remained content with being the north-side gate guard. His family and neighbors were thankful too. They no longer had to hear off-key bugle playing late at night.

***

The cobblestone road ended in a dirt path as the gilded throne made its way into a shady forest grove. Every bright green leaf from the overhead trees joined together to block out the sun. The coolness of the shade relieved the men in their heavy chain mail as they crunched over the dirt and gravel. The Majester began to skip happily. “Fear not, our journey has just begun. Your story, Prince Cyrus, is a legend in the making and…”

“The legend is about to come to a close,” a scratchy, streetwise voice interrupted him. Standing atop the gilded throne was a dark haired bandit with a jagged scar on his cheek and an eye patch. He calmly leveled two