“My lord,” he said, and his voice was trembling, “the King asks you to come at once. Bad tidings have come. His Majesty is at a loss, he weeps and calls for you — the Princess has sent me to ask you to come immediately.”
“My lord?!” cried the schoolmaster in a daze.
The master builder started.
“My lord?!” he repeated in turn.
The Prince had risen from his seat. His face was deathly pale.
“The King our Royal Uncle…” he muttered.
“Who are you?! Who are you?!” shouted the master builder, who remembered petrified the words he had uttered earlier.
“I am the King’s son,” said the Prince, stretching out his hand to him. “And now it is I who command you to stop whatever you are doing, and build a new fleet. And if I have no florins to give you, even if many years must pass before I can pay you, again do not stop, only work hard, until the river is swarming again with ships. The time has come for us all to make sacrifices. Forget your own little self and your personal interest, work only for the common good of the land. Our homeland asks this, and I shall myself set the example for all of you.”
The master builder fell upon his knees, seized the boy’s hand and kissed it.
“I shall rebuild the fleet,” he said fervently, “and I shall work until all my strength is gone.”
The Prince then went out, his soul in turmoil. Polydorus followed him. Those last words had electrified him and his heart was swelling with love and admiration for his new lord, for the young man who had uttered them.
VIII. The King’s Crown
THE KING was pacing up and down with nervous, uneven strides, while fat tears trickled down his fleshy, rosy cheeks.
When he saw his son, he let out a cry:
“My boy! The storm is upon us!”
At that, he collapsed on a chair, hiding his face in his hands and crying with heavy sobs.
By his side, placid and indifferent, stood Master Cartwheeler, his arms resting crossed upon his belly, awaiting the orders of his lord with his usual impassivity.
The Prince approached the King.
“Father,” he said, trying to conceal the emotional whirlwind in his heart, “father, weep not. We have need of all our courage and all our strength. Tell me, what is the matter? I know nothing yet!”
The King beckoned to the Lord Chamberlain to relate the news.
“A few hours ago terrified peasants came to the palace,” Master Cartwheeler began, “and they told us that the enemy had crossed the borders and was invading our kingdom—”
“What enemy is that?” interrupted the Prince.
“The King your Royal Uncle,” replied Master Cartwheeler.
“I expected this to happen sooner or later. Speak further.”
“…and the enemies have now halted their advance, as though afraid to proceed. With them is also Faintheart the Judge, who is leading them, and is trying to convince them that the road is clear, that they can go as far as the river. They are frightened, however, and for the time being they have set up camp instead. They have sent some scouts ahead towards the river, to make sure that the area is truly free, so that they may then immediately move in and occupy the entire valley. These are the tidings,” added Master Cartwheeler, resuming his usual impassivity.
The King raised himself up a little.
“Now do you understand, my son? You have heard it all?” he said, weary and spent.
“I have heard. And now, father, the time has come to act. What do you advise?”
“It is I who must ask you that question, my son. What advice do you have? I have already told you that in the future you and I shall rule together.”
“Well, then, father, and my king, my advice is that I should leave immediately and go from one end of the kingdom to the other, to rouse every youth or old man, or boy even, who may bear a lance or hold a sword, and bring them here, so we may give them any piece of iron which may be found in our towns and villages; then send them at once across the river, where I will lead them against the enemy. I also advise one other thing. Your crown, father: you must give it now to be sold abroad.”
Aghast, the King seized his crown with his two hands.
“No, my son, do not take it away from me,” he cried out, genuinely distressed. “Do not sell it! I want it!”
“It is most necessary, father,” insisted the Prince. “Our first need is for florins, and your crown is the only thing of value left in the palace. The time has come when all of us must make sacrifices. Let this one be yours. Give me the crown, father, I ask it in the name of our homeland.”
The King was now sobbing heavily.
“But I, how can I be left without my crown?” he said. “You deprive me of my power and authority by taking away the insignia of my office!”
“On the contrary, I give them and restore them back to you,” replied the Prince. “By giving away your crown so that arms may be bought, you acquire the right to ask for sacrifices from those who shall use these arms to liberate our land. Hand me your crown, father, I beg you on my knees, give it to me!”
The King removed his golden crown; and, turning his face away in order to hide the tears that ran fast down his cheeks, he delivered it into the hands of his kneeling son.
The Prince sprang briskly to his feet.
“And now,” he cried out, “now I seek a valiant man — someone who will make every sacrifice of himself, will cross our country’s border as fast as lightning, sell it, and bring me back its worth in florins.”
From the door where he stood, Polydorus had watched the entire scene, his heart bursting with emotion. His earlier excitement had now turned into unbridled fervour.
He took a step forward and fell on his knees before the Prince.
“As an inestimable favour, I ask you, my lord, to entrust the crown to me,” he said, “and allow me to go abroad, sell it, and bring back its value in florins, or lose my life in the attempt.”
“Go, then,” said the Prince, “fly away and come back swiftly! And may God be with you!”
Polydorus took the crown, kissed the hand that handed it to him, and left the palace running.
Straight to the river he headed, the precious crown hidden away in the folds of his surcoat; he ran without halting to the place where the two shabby old feluccas were moored, still joined by the plank nailed across their middle.
“Fellow countryman!” he cried out. “Ahoy!.. Fellow countryman!..”
The one-armed man, who was enjoying the morning sunshine flat on his back, his one arm under his head, stood up.
“Present and correct!” he cried out.
“What do you ask to ferry me across?” asked Polydorus. “Only do not ask me for florins, for I have none.”
“What do you want to go across for?” asked the one-armed man.
“Secret mission of the State,” replied the equerry.
Unhurriedly, the one-armed man took his long punt pole and, thrusting it all the way to the riverbed, he pushed his feluccas to the bank.
“Get in,” he said, and the equerry jumped into the boat. “Where to?”
“The opposite bank. Put me ashore wherever you want, or wherever you can, only get me across the river fast.”
The one-armed man untied the rope, took again his punt pole and dug it into the riverbed; walking slowly from stern to starboard and pushing on his punt pole, he manoeuvred his boats away from the bank.
“And you go far?” he asked.
“Yes, very far!”
The one-armed man reached the end of the felucca he stood in, and came back to the stern, trailing his punt pole behind him. He thrust it into the water again, and resumed his stroll to starboard.