“Ah, here are some more entries,” he said, pleased with himself. “Here are also the names of soldiers. Cuckoo, Cuckoobird, Cuckoochick, Cuckooclock, Cuckoonest, Cuckooson… Here are soldiers aplenty! Who says I have no army?”
And turning to the equerry Polycarpus:
“Command someone to go at once and summon… and summon all of these soldiers,” he ordered.
But Polycarpus just stood, fixed to the ground, his mouth agape.
“Who is to go? And where?” he asked, befuddled.
“No! No!” said the Prince. “If it is at all possible to find them, we shall find them ourselves. Let us go to town, father.”
“Now?” protested the King. “But we are just about to eat lunch! It is noon!”
“We shall eat more heartily later,” replied the Prince.
And so the King followed him, sulking and muttering, while Master Cartwheeler was slipping away quietly, to go to his mash of walnuts and garlic.
In front of the barracks, they found the one-legged man, who was eating water-soaked broad beans with great relish.
As he saw them he stood up erect and, holding his wooden porringer, he saluted in military fashion.
“Go and fetch the garrison commander,” ordered the King.
“He is bedridden with the snuffles, drinking infusions of lime-flowers,” replied the one-legged man with telegraphic brevity.
“Listen here,” said the Prince slowly, “do you know where I might find the soldiers who are on the army lists?”
“There are no soldiers.”
“Where is Cuckoo?” asked again the Prince.
“Apprentice to the cobbler,” the one-legged man replied hastily.
“What’s that you say?” the King asked crossly. “With whose permission did he leave the barracks to become an apprentice? And Cuckoobird…”
“Undercook to Cuckoochick, who killed Cuckooclock in order to take from him the purse he had found in Cuckooson’s shooting knapsack, the man who won three five-florin coins at the tavern; he has since left to go abroad,” came the reply of the one-legged man, all in a single breath.
The King pulled at the few hairs on his head, and took flight towards the mountain.
The Prince continued his examination with blackened heart.
“And the other soldiers, where are they?”
“They are not,” replied the one-legged man.
“But what became of them?”
“Nothing became of them, for they were not.”
“Since when has the army ceased to exist?” asked the Prince without losing patience.
“It never ceased,” answered proudly the one-legged man. “The army is me, and as the army shall I die.”
The Prince understood that he was wasting his time. With head bowed low, with heart heavy as lead, he headed for Miserlix’s house.
He did not know where to go. He knew no one in town of whom he might seek counsel, or help. And yet he had to find men and arms at once!
“The King paid for an army,” he thought bitterly to himself, “and the soldiers became cooks, or undercooks, or thieves and cut-throats. And the florins found their way into the pockets of the numerous Cunningsons, and the army’s supreme commanders sold the weapons, the chiefs of the royal fleet ransacked the naval base and dismantled the navy’s ships to steal a few fistfuls of iron!”
He made every effort to understand and somehow explain the cause of all this wickedness.
He recalled the words of the master builder regarding the brawls and acts of retaliation taking place everywhere, in the villages and in the cities. He remembered the schoolmaster’s words too, that there were times when it was necessary for one to be truly heroic in order to do one’s duty.
Was there then no one amongst his people who had the dignity to do his duty heroically?
He could not help remembering the thefts and the villainies, petty or significant, that he witnessed everywhere, and he thought: “Is it then only in times of happiness that my people will be honourable and honest?”
Black despair seized him. He went into the woods, wandered and lost himself amidst the thick trees, and lay down on the cool grass, closing his eyes with great weariness.
“Is it worth it, putting up a fight for such people, to ache for such a land?” he murmured to himself.
“Yes!” said a female voice softly. “It’s worth it.”
He opened his eyes and lifted his head, startled.
Before him stood Knowledge.
“How did you get here?” he asked her.
“You no longer came to my hut, and I knew that you were alone. I imagined you feeling dejected and discouraged, and I came to see you. I saw you from the road entering the woods, and I followed you. Yes, it’s worth struggling for your country.”
The Prince hid his face away in his hands.
“If only you knew what sort of people they were!” he said wearily.
“Well then, do you want to become yourself like them?”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“I mean that you scorn these people who are your people, because they are thieves or cowards, or simply because they do not have life enough to fight against misery and the general lethargy. So then, do you want to become like them, forsake the state at the first sign of difficulty, abandon your post, show yourself a coward in the face of toil and responsibility? Your people are like all others, neither better nor worse. They need, however, governance. Could it be perhaps that it is you yourself who are not strong enough to be a leader?”
Knowledge gazed at him, her eyes thoughtful.
“Where fate has seen fit to place us,” she went on, “there must we stay. Fate chose for you the place of a leader. In your place you must stay, and, if need be, there die with dignity and pride. And then, but only then, shall you stand higher than those you scorn. But to leave? Never that, no! That would be desertion!”
The Prince felt a shock run through him.
“I shall stay,” he said with vehement yearning. “I shall work! Yes, I shall save them, even if they themselves don’t want to be saved. My land, I shall make it great again, I shall give it back life, or I shall perish with it. Farewell, Knowledge, and thank you for the courage that your words have stirred up inside me.”
And with great strides he left the woods, without once looking behind him.
X. At the Tavern
HE RAN STRAIGHT to Miserlix’s house and found him at the table with his daughter. When they saw him, they both rose to their feet.
“Sit and catch your breath, you look tired,” said Miserlix, offering him an iron stool. “Have you eaten?”
“I am not hungry,” replied the Prince.
“Please, accept our poor fare,” pleaded Miserlix.
And so the Prince sat at their table so as not to hurt his feelings, and the girl fetched him an iron plate.
“Miserlix,” he then said, not wasting any words, “I am the King’s son, and I have come to ask you a favour.”
Miserlix sprang up from his seat.
“The King’s son?” he exclaimed.
“The Prince!” murmured the girl.
And both fell on their knees, stunned and bewildered.
“No, no, please, do not take it so,” said the Prince, helping them to rise, “I did not say this to frighten you, but to ask rather for your help. Miserlix, have you heard the evil tidings? The King our Royal Uncle has crossed the border and is advancing towards the river.”
“Heaven help us!” cried the girl.
Miserlix grasped his head.
“So, then, the end has come at last,” he grunted.
“No, the end has not come!” the Prince said with fervour. “As long as we all wish it, we can send the enemy away.”