Free Hamlet by John Marsden Page A

boys were nearly twelve and Ophelia nearly eleven, and led them from the southern wing back to his tower, down the final steps and out of the castle. They ran through the western gate, yelling cheek at the young Dutch guard, whom they liked, and on into the village.
    Hamlet went this way often enough. The people here admired him and stopped what they were doing when they saw him coming, left their work, moving forward eagerly. Some clapped; a few girls called his name; half a dozen boys ran down the hill after the young prince and his friends.
    Hamlet, however, paused for nothing and no one until they were in the forest. By then Horatio was nearly fifty meters behind and Ophelia was white in the distance, a goose perhaps, a bird struggling for her life.
    Hamlet stopped and watched her. He seemed fascinated with her today.
    “What are we doing?” Ophelia asked when she caught up to them and had finished panting.
    “I don’t know. Looking for the monster? Searching for dragons? I felt possessed by the running urge.”
    Horatio looked cross. “I thought we were doing something special.”
    Hamlet ignored him and smiled at Ophelia. “We are. Maybe. Who knows?”
    They walked on, calm now, chatting only of the here and now, the faint track to the left, the spider scuttling across their path, the piece of bark patterned like the king’s personal standard.
    “Do you know this road?” Horatio asked the prince.
    “No. But I imagine it leads to Eligah.”
    “I went there when I was little, with my father. But I don’t think we came this way. Anyway, we were in a carriage. I wasn’t paying much attention.”
    “What’s Eligah?” asked Ophelia from behind them.
    “A village. They make cheese, mostly. Haven’t you heard of Eligah cheese?”
    She didn’t answer.
    A thumping from the left hinted at a wild boar, and the three children walked closer together, looking eagerly and anxiously from side to side. Only a few weeks earlier a baby had been taken by a boar, or so it was believed, and the villagers were still trying to hunt the beast down. But the forest was quiet and the road clear.
    Soon it became monotonous, and Horatio, who liked everything to have meaning and purpose, almost suggested turning back. But a glance at Hamlet’s face dissuaded him. The young prince was intent on something. He looked more like a jungle hunter than a boy traveling through the woods in Denmark.
    They walked for nearly two hours and reached the outskirts of Eligah. Now Horatio became more interested. Here was an interruption; here was the quickness that comes only with people. The village was larger than he remembered, with an ancient bridge just ahead of them and a tall church spire in the distance. On both sides of the track were pig and dairy farms, the tiniest farms Horatio had ever seen. He began to wonder if he had ever been here at all.
    To his frustration, however, Hamlet stopped.
    “Time we were heading back,” he announced.
    “But why have we come all this way?” Horatio objected. Already he was sulking, knowing that his wishes would not prevail. It was not just that Hamlet was a prince; it was also that Horatio was not quite strong enough.
    “How would you like it,” Ophelia said shrewdly, “if you couldn’t go anywhere without people making a fuss of you? He’s entitled to some privacy.”
    “But you don’t know if that’s what he’s thinking,” Horatio said.
    “Don’t talk about him as if he’s not here.”
    “Well, that’s exactly what you were just doing.”
    Hamlet watched the squabble with interest, smiling slightly. He had nothing more to say, though, and started walking back along the clear, wide track. Horatio was baffled. Why had they come here? Had there been no reason after all?
    At that moment there was a cry from Hamlet’s left and slightly behind him. Horatio and Ophelia stood frozen, listening and staring. Hamlet seemed to need no time to study the situation. At the first sound he was already