[Illustration: Detail of dark-haired girl in a pastoral scene]
I quote (with slight alterations) from an epic by Charlotte Patacake, a contemporary poet of the country:
King Merriwig the First rode back from war,As many other Kings had done before;Five hundred men behind him were in sight(Left-right, left-right, left-right, left-right, left-right).
So far as is known, this was her only work, but she built up some reputation on it, and Belvane, who was a good judge, had a high opinion of her genius.
To be exact, there were only four hundred and ninety-nine men. Henry Smallnose, a bowman of considerable promise, had been left behind in the enemy's country, the one casualty of war. While spying out the land in the early days of the invasion, he had been discovered by the Chief Armourer of Barodia at full length on the wet grass searching for tracks. The Chief Armourer, a kindly man, had invited him to his cottage, dried him and given him a warming drink, and had told him that, if ever his spying took him that way again, he was not to stand on ceremony, but come in and pay him a visit. Henry, having caught a glimpse of the Chief Armourer's daughter, had accepted without any false pride, and had frequently dropped in to supper thereafter. Now that the war was over, he found that he could not tear himself away. With King Merriwig's permission he was settling in Barodia, and with the Chief Armourer's permission he was starting on his new life as a married man.
As the towers of the castle came in sight, Merriwig drew a deep breath of happiness. Home again! The hardships of the war were over; the spoils of victory (wrapped up in tissue paper) were in his pocket; days of honoured leisure were waiting for him. He gazed at each remembered landmark of his own beloved country, his heart overflowing with thankfulness. Never again would he leave Euralia!
How good to see Hyacinth again! Poor little Hyacinth left all alone; but there! she had had the Countess Belvane, a woman of great experience, to help her. Belvane! Should he risk it? How much had she thought of him while he was away? Hyacinth would be growing up and getting married soon. Life would be lonely in Euralia then, unless—— Should he risk it?
What would Hyacinth say?
She was waiting for him at the gates of the castle. She had wanted Coronel to wait with her, but he had refused.
[Illustration: As the towers of the Castle came in sight, Merriwig drew a deep breath of happiness, verso][Illustration: As the towers of the Castle came in sight, Merriwig drew a deep breath of happiness, recto]
"We must offer the good news to him gradually," he said. "When a man has just come back from a successful campaign, he doesn't want to find a surprise like this waiting for him. Just think—we don't even know why the war is over—he must be longing to tell you that. Oh, he'll have a hundred things to tell you first; but then, when he says 'And what's been happening here while I've been away? Nothing much, I suppose?' then you can say——"
"Then I shall say, 'Nothing much; only Coronel.' And such a clever!"
"Oh, I have my ideas," said Coronel. "Well, I'll be out of the way somewhere. I think I'll go for a walk in the forest. Or shall I stay here, in the Countess's garden, and amuse myself with Udo? Anyhow, I'll give you an hour alone together first."
The cavalcade drew up in front of the castle. Handkerchiefs fluttered to them from the walls; trumpets were blown; hounds bayed. Down the steps came Hyacinth, all blue and gold, and flung herself into her father's arms.
"My dear child," said Merriwig as he patted her soothingly. "There, there! It's your old father come back again. H'r'm. There, there!" He patted her again, as though it were she and not himself who was in danger of breaking down. "My little Hyacinth! My own little girl!"
"Oh, Father, Iamglad to have you back."
"There, there, my child. Now I must just say a few words to my men, and then we can tell each other all that has been happening."
He took a step forward and addressed his troops.
"Men of Euralia (cheers). We have returned from a long and arduous conflict (cheers) to the embraces (loud cheers) of our mothers and wives and daughters (prolonged cheering)—as the case may be (hear, hear). In honour of our great victory I decree that, from now onwards, to-morrow shall be observed as a holiday throughout Euralia (terrific cheering). I bid you all now return to your homes, and I hope that you will find as warm a welcome there as I have found in mine." Here he turned and embraced his daughter again; and if his eye travelled over her shoulder in the direction of Belvane's garden, it is a small matter, and one for which the architect of the castle, no doubt, was principally to blame.
There was another storm of cheers, the battle-cry of Euralia, "Ho, ho, Merriwig!" was shouted from five hundred throats, and the men dispersed happily to their homes. Hyacinth and Merriwig went into the Palace.
"Now, Father," said Hyacinth later on, when Merriwig had changed his clothes and refreshed himself, "you've got to tell me all about it. I can hardly believe it's really over."
"Yes, yes. It's all over," said Merriwig heartily. "We shan't have any trouble inthatdirection again, I fancy."
"Do tell me, did the King of Barodia apologise?"
"He did better than that, he abdicated."
"Why?"
"Well," said Merriwig, remembering just in time, "I—er—killed him."
"Oh, Father, how rough of you."
"I don't think it hurt him very much, my dear. It was more a shock to his feelings than anything else. See, I have brought these home for you."
He produced from his pocket a small packet in tissue paper.
"Oh, how exciting! Whatever can it be?"
Merriwig unwrapped the paper, and disclosed a couple of ginger whiskers, neatly tied up with blue ribbon.
"Father!"
He picked out the left one,fons et origo(if he had known any Latin) of the war, and held it up for Hyacinth's inspection.
"There, you can see the place where Henry Smallnose's arrow bent it. By the way," he added, "Henry is marrying and settling down in Barodia. It is curious," he went on, "how after a war one's thoughts turn to matrimony." He glanced at his daughter to see how she would take this, but she was still engrossed with the whiskers.
"What am I going to do with them, Father? I can't plant them in the garden."
"I thought we might run them up the flagstaff, as we did in Barodia."
"Isn't that a little unkind now that the poor man's dead?"
Merriwig looked round him to see that there were no eavesdroppers.
"Can you keep a secret?" he asked mysteriously.
"Of course," said Hyacinth, deciding at once that it would not matter if she only told Coronel.
"Well, then, listen."
He told her of his secret journey to the King of Barodia's tent; he told her of the King of Barodia's letter; he told her more fully of his early duel with the King; he told her everything that he had said and done; and everything that everybody else had said and done to him; and his boyish pleasure in it all was so evident and so innocent, that even a stranger would have had nothing more reproachful for him than a smile. To Hyacinth he seemed the dearest of fathers and the most wonderful of kings.
And by and by the moment came of which Coronel had spoken.
"And now," said Merriwig, "tell me what you have all been doing with yourselves here. Nothing much, I suppose?"
He waited nervously, wondering if Hyacinth would realise that "all" was meant to include more particularly Belvane.
Hyacinth drew a stool up to her father's chair and sat down very close to him.
"Father," she said, stroking his hand where it rested on his knee, "Ihavegot some news for you."
"Nothing about the Coun—nothing serious, I hope," said Merriwig, in alarm.
"It's rather serious, but it's rather nice. Father, dear, would you mindverymuch if I got married soon?"
"My dear, you shall get married as soon as you like. Let me see, there were six or seven Princes who came about it only the other day. I sent them off on adventures of some kind, but—dear me, yes, they ought to have been back by now. I suppose you haven't heard anything of them?"
"No, Father," said Hyacinth, with a little smile.
"Ah, well, no doubt they were unsuccessful. No matter, dear, we can easily find you plenty more suitors. Indeed, the subject has been very near my thoughts lately. We'll arrange a little competition, and let them know in the neighbouring countries; there'll be no lack of candidates. Let me see, there's that seven-headed bull; he's getting a little old now, but he was good enough for the last one. We might——"
"I don't want a suitor," said Hyacinth softly. "I have one."
Merriwig leant forward with eagerness.
"My dear, this is indeed news. Tell me all about it. Upon what quest did you send him?"
Hyacinth had felt this coming. Had she lived in modern times she would have expected the question, "What is his income?" A man must prove his worth in some way.
"I haven't sent him away at all yet," she said; "he's only just come. He's been very kind to me, and I'm sure you'll love him."
"Well, well, we'll arrange something for him. Perhaps that bull I was speaking of—— By the way, who is he?"
"He comes from Araby, and his name is——"
"Udo, of course. Why didn't I think of him? An excellent arrangement, my dear."
"It isn't Udo, I'm afraid, Father. It's Coronel."
"And who might Coronel be?" said the King, rather sternly.
"He's—he's—well, he's—— Here he is, Father." She ran up to him impulsively as he came in at the door. "Oh, Coronel, you're just in time; do tell Father who you are."
Coronel bowed profoundly to the King.
"Before I explain myself, your Majesty," he said, "may I congratulate your Majesty on your wonderful victory over the Barodians? From the little I have gathered outside, it is the most remarkable victory that has ever occurred. But of course I am longing to hear the full story from your Majesty's own lips. Is it a fact that your Majesty made his way at dead of night to the King of Barodia's own tent and challenged him to mortal combat and slew him?" There was an eagerness, very winning, in his eyes as he asked it; he seemed to be envying the King such an adventure—an adventure after his own heart.
Merriwig was in an awkward position. He wondered for a moment whether to order his daughter out of the room. "Leave us, my child," he would say. "These are matters for men to discuss." But Hyacinth would know quite well why she had been sent out, and would certainly tell Coronel the truth of the matter afterwards.
It really looked as if Coronel would have to be let into the secret too. He cleared his throat noisily by way of preparation.
"There are certain state reasons," he said with dignity, "why that story has been allowed to get about."
"Pardon, your Majesty. I have no wish to——"
"But as you know so much, you may as well know all. It happened like this." Once more he told the story of his midnight visit, and of the King's letter to him.
"But, your Majesty," cried Coronel, "it is more wonderful than the other. Never was such genius of invention, such brilliance and daring of execution."
"So you like it," said Merriwig, trying to look modest.
"I love it."
"I knew he'd love it," put in Hyacinth. "It's just the sort of story that Coronel would love. Tell him about how you fought the King at the beginning of the war, and how you pretended to be a swineherd, and how—"
Could any father have resisted? In a little while Hyacinth and Coronel were seated eagerly at his feet, and he was telling once more the great story of his adventures.
"Well, well," said the King at the end of it, when he had received their tribute of admiration. "Those are just a few of the little adventures that happen in war time." He turned to Coronel. "And so you, I understand, wish to marry my daughter?"
"Does that surprise your Majesty?"
"Well, no, it doesn't. And she, I understand, wishes to marry you."
"Yes, please, Father."
"That," said Coronel simply, "is much more surprising."
Merriwig, however, was not so sure of that. He liked the look of Coronel, he liked his manner, and he saw at once that he knew a good story—when he heard one.
"Of course," he said, "you'll have to win her."
"Anything your Majesty sets me to do. It's as well," he added with a disarming smile, "that you cannot ask for the whiskers of the King of Barodia. There is only one man who could have got those."
Truly an excellent young man.
"Well, we'll arrange something," said Merriwig, looking pleased. "Perhaps your Prince Udo would care to be a competitor too."
Hyacinth and Coronel interchanged a smile.
"Alas, Father," she said, "his Royal Highness is not attracted by my poor charms."
"Wait till he has seen them, my dear," said Merriwig with a chuckle.
"He has seen them, Father."
"What? You invited him here? Tell me about this, Hyacinth. He came to stay with you and he never——"
"His Royal Highness," put in Coronel, "has given his affections to another."
"Aha! So that's the secret. Now I wonder if I can guess who she is. What do you say to the Princess Elvira of Tregong? I know his father had hopes in that direction."
Hyacinth looked round at Coronel as if appealing for his support. He took a step towards her.
"No, it's not the Princess Elvira," said Hyacinth, a little nervously.
The King laughed good-humouredly.
"Ah, well, you must tell me," he said.
Hyacinth put out her hand, and Coronel pressed it encouragingly.
"His Royal Highness Prince Udo," she said, "is marrying the Countess Belvane."
[Illustration: A man surrounded by clouds of smoke]
Belvane had now had twenty-four hours in which to think it over.
Whatever her faults, she had a sense of humour. She could not help smiling to herself as she thought of that scene in the garden. However much she regretted her too hasty engagement, she was sure Udo regretted it still more. If she gave him the least opportunity he would draw back from it.
Then why not give him the opportunity? "My dear Prince Udo, I'm afraid I mistook the nature of my feelings"—said, of course, with downcast head and a maidenly blush. Exit Udo with haste, enter King Merriwig. It would be so easy.
Ah, but then Hyacinth would have won. Hyacinth had forced the engagement upon her; even if it only lasted for twenty-four hours, so long as it was a forced engagement, Hyacinth would have had the better of her for that time. But if she welcomed the engagement, if she managed in some way to turn it to account, to make it appear as if she had wanted it all the time, then Hyacinth's victory would be no victory at all, but a defeat.
Marry Udo, then, as if willingly? Yes, but that was too high a price to pay. She was by this time thoroughly weary of him and besides, she had every intention of marrying the King of Euralia. To pretend to marry him until she brought the King in open conflict with him, and then having led the King to her feet to dismiss the rival who had served her turn—that was her only wise course.
She did not come to this conclusion without much thought. She composed an Ode to Despair, an Elegy to an Unhappy Woman, and a Triolet to Interfering Dukes, before her mind was made up. She also considered very seriously what she would look like in a little cottage in the middle of the forest, dressed in a melancholy grey and holding communion only with the birds and trees; a life of retirement away from the vain world; a life into which no man came. It had its attractions, but she decided that grey did not suit her.
She went down to her garden and sent for Prince Udo. At about the moment when the King was having the terrible news broken to him, Udo was protesting over the sundial that he loved Belvane and Belvane only, and that he was looking forward eagerly to the day when she would make him the happiest of men. So afraid was he of what might happen to him on the way back to Araby.
"The Countess Belvane!" cried Merriwig. "Prince Udo marry the Countess Belvane! I never heard such a thing in my life." He glared at them one after the other as if it were their fault—as indeed it was. "Why didn't you tell me this before, Hyacinth?"
"It was only just announced, Father."
"Who announced it?"
"Well—er—Udo did," said Coronel.
"I never heard of anything so ridiculous in my life! I won't have it!"
"But, Father, don't you think she'd make a very good Queen?"
"She'd make a wonderful—that has nothing to do with it. What I feel so strongly about is this. For month after month I am fighting in a strange country. After extraordinary scenes of violence and—peril—I come back to my own home to enjoy the—er—fruits of victory. No sooner do I get inside my door than I have all this thrust upon me."
"All what, Father?" said Hyacinth innocently.
"Allthis," said the King, with a circular movement of his hand. "It's too bad; upon my word it is. I won't have it. Now mind, Hyacinth, Iwon'thave it.
"But, Father, how can I help it?"
Merriwig paid no attention to her.
"I come home," he went on indignantly, "fresh from the—er—spoils of victory to what I thought was my own peaceful—er—home. And what do I find? Somebody here wants to marry somebody there, and somebody else over there wants to marry somebody else over here; it's impossible to mention any person's name, in even the most casual way, without being told they are going to get married, or some nonsense of that sort. I'm very much upset about it."
"Oh, Father!" said Hyacinth penitently. "Won't you see the Countess yourself and talk to her?"
"To think that for weeks I have been looking forward to my return home and that now I should be met with this! It has quite spoilt my day."
"Father!" cried Hyacinth, coming towards him with outstretched hands.
"Let me send for her ladyship," began Coronel; "perhaps she——"
"No, no," said Merriwig, waving them away. "I am very much displeased with you both. What I have to do, I can do quite well by myself."
He strode out and slammed the door behind him.
Hyacinth and Coronel looked at each other blankly.
"My dear," said Coronel, "you never told me he was as fond of her as that."
"But I had no idea! Coronel, what can we do now about it? Oh, I want him to marry her now. He's quite right—she'll make a wonderful Queen. Oh, my dear, I feel I want everybody to be as happy as we're going to be."
"They can't be that, but we'll do our best for them. I can manage Udo all right. I only have to say 'rabbits' to him, and he'll do anything for me. Hyacinth, I don't believe I've ever kissed you in this room yet, have I? Let's begin now."
Merriwig came upon the other pair of lovers in Belvane's garden. They were sharing a seat there, and Udo was assuring the Countess that he was her own little Udo-Wudo, and that they must never be away from each other again. The King put his hand in front of his eyes for a moment as if he could hardly bear it.
"Why, it's his Majesty," said Belvane, jumping up. She gave him a deep curtsey and threw in a bewitching smile on the top of it; formality or friendliness, he could take his choice. "Prince Udo of Araby, your Majesty." She looked shyly at him and added, "Perhaps you have heard."
"I have," said the King gloomingly. "How do you do," he added in a melancholy voice.
Udo declared that he was in excellent health at present, and would have gone into particulars about it had not the King interrupted.
"Well, Countess," he said, "this is strange news to come back to. Shall I disturb you if I sit down with you for little?"
"Oh, your Majesty, you would honour us. Udo, dear, have you seen the heronry lately?"
"Yes," said Udo.
"It looks so sweet just about this time of the afternoon."
"It does," said Udo.
Belvane gave a little shrug and turned to the King.
"I'm so longing to hear all your adventures," she murmured confidingly. "I got all your messages; it was so good of you to remember me."
"Ah," said Merriwig reproachfully, "and what do I find when I come back? I find——" He broke off, and indicated in pantomime with his eyebrows that he could explain better what he had found if Udo were absent.
"Udo, dear," said Belvane, turning to him, "have you seen the kennels lately?"
"Yes," said Udo.
"They look rather sweet just about this time," said Merriwig.
"Don't they?" said Udo.
"But I am so longing to hear," said Belvane, "how your Majesty defeated the King of Barodia. Was it your Majesty's wonderful spell which overcame the enemy?"
"You remember that?"
"Remember it? Oh, your Majesty! 'Bo boll——' Udo, dear, wouldn't you like to see the armoury?"
"No," said Udo.
"There are a lot of new things in it that I brought back from Barodia," said Merriwig hopefully.
"A lot of new things," explained Belvane.
"I'll see them later on," said Udo. "I dare say they'd look better in the evening."
"Then you shall showme, your Majesty," said Belvane. "Udo, dear, you can wait for me here."
The two of them moved off down the path together (Udo taken by surprise), and as soon as they were out of sight, tiptoed across the lawn to another garden seat, Belvane leading the way with her finger to her lips, and Merriwig following with an exaggerated caution which even Henry Smallnose would have thought overdone.
"He is a little slow, isn't he, that young man?" said the King, as they sat down together. "I mean he didn't seem to understand—"
"He's such a devoted lover, your Majesty. He can't bear to be out of my sight for a moment."
"Oh, Belvane, this is a sad homecoming. For month after month I have been fighting and toiling, and planning and plotting and then—— Oh, Belvane, we were all so happy together before the war."
Belvane remembered that once she and the Princess and Wiggs had been so happy together, and that Udo's arrival had threatened to upset it all. One way and another, Udo had been a disturbing element in Euralia. But it would not do to let him go just yet.
"Aren't we still happy together?" she asked innocently. "There's her Royal Highness with her young Duke, and I have my dear Udo, and your Majesty has the—the Lord Chancellor—and all your Majesty's faithful subjects."
His Majesty gave a deep sigh.
[Illustration: Belvane leading the way with her finger to her lips][Illustration: Merriwig following with an exaggerated caution]
"I am a very lonely man, Belvane. When Hyacinth leaves me I shall have nobody left."
Belvane decided to risk it.
"Your Majesty should marry again," she said gently.
He looked unutterable things at her. He opened his mouth with the intention of doing his best to utter some of them, when——
"Not before Udo," said Belvane softly.
Merriwig got up indignantly and scowled at the Prince as the latter hurried over the lawn towards them.
"Well, really," said Merriwig, "I never knew such a place. One simply can't—— Ah, your Royal Highness, have you seen our armoury? I should say," he corrected himself as he caught Belvane's reproachful look, "haveweseen our armoury? We have. Her ladyship was much interested."
"I have no doubt, your Majesty." He turned to Belvane. "You will be interested in our armoury at home, dear."
She gave a quick glance at the King to see that he was looking, and then patted Udo's hand tenderly.
"Home," she said lovingly, "how sweet it sounds!"
The King shivered as if in pain, and strode quickly from them.
* * * * *
"Your Majesty sent for me," said Coronel.
The King stopped his pacings and looked round as Coronel came into the library.
"Ah, yes, yes," he said quickly. "Now sit down there and make yourself comfortable. I want to talk to you about this marriage."
"Which one, your Majesty?"
"Which one? Why, of course, yours—that is to say, Belvane's—or—rather——" He came to a stop in front of Coronel and looked at him earnestly. "Well, in a way, both."
Coronel nodded.
"You want to marry my daughter," Merriwig went on. "Now it is customary, as you know, that to the person to whom I give my daughter, I give also half my kingdom. Naturally before I make this sacrifice I wish to be sure that the man to whom—well, of course, you understand."
"That he is worthy of the Princess Hyacinth," said Coronel. "Of course he couldn't be," he added with a smile.
"Andworthy of half the kingdom," amended Merriwig. "That he should prove himself this is also, I think, customary."
"Anything that your Majesty suggests——"
"I am sure of it."
He drew up a chair next to Coronel's, and sitting down in it, placed his hand upon his knees and explained the nature of the trial which was awaiting the successful suitor.
"In the ordinary way," he began, "I should arrange something for you with a dragon or what-not in it. The knowledge that some such ordeal lies before him often enables a suitor to discover, before it is too late, that what he thought was true love is not really the genuine emotion. In your case I feel that an ordeal of this sort is not necessary."
Coronel inclined his head gracefully.
"I do not doubt your valour, and from you therefore I ask a proof of your cunning. In these days cunning is perhaps the quality of all others demanded of a ruler. We had an excellent example of that," he went on carelessly, "in the war with Barodia that is just over, where the whole conflict was settled by a little idea which——"
"A very wonderful idea, your Majesty."
"Well, well," said Merriwig, looking very pleased. "It just happened to come off, that's all. But that is what I mean when I say that cunning may be of even more importance than valour. In order to win the hand of my daughter and half my kingdom, it will be necessary for you to show a cunning almost more than human."
He paused, and Coronel did his best in the interval to summon up a look of superhuman guile into his very frank and pleasant countenance.
"You will prove yourself worthy of what you ask me for," said Merriwig solemnly, "by persuading Prince Udo to return to Araby—alone."
Coronel gasped. The thing was so easy that it seemed almost a shame to accept it as the condition of his marriage. To persuade Udo to do what he was only longing to do, did not call for any superhuman qualities of any kind. For a moment he had an impulse to tell the King so, but he suppressed it. "After all," he thought, "if the King wants cunning, and if I make a great business of doing something absurdly easy, then he is getting it."
Merriwig, simple man, mistook his emotions.
"I see," he said, "that you are appalled by the difficulty of the ordeal in front of you. You may well be so. You have known his Royal Highness longer than I have, but even in our short acquaintance I have discovered that he takes a hint with extraordinary slowness. To bring it home to him with the right mixture of tact and insistence that Araby needs his immediate presence—alone—may well tax the most serpentine of minds."
"I can but try it," said the serpentine one simply.
The King jumped up and shook him warmly by the hand.
"You think you can do it?" he said excitedly.
"If Prince Udo does not start back to Araby to-morrow——"
"Alone," said Merriwig.
"Alone—then I shall have failed in my task."
* * * * *
"My dear," said the King to his daughter as she kissed him good-night that evening, "I believe you are going to marry a very wise young man."
"Of course I am, Father."
"I only hope you'll be as happy with him as I shall be with—as I was with your mother. Though how he's going to bring it off," he added to himself, "is more than I can think."
[Illustration: Same image as for chapter 20]
King Merriwig of Eastern Euralia sat at breakfast on his castle walls. He lifted the gold cover from the gold dish in front of him, selected a trout, and conveyed it carefully to his gold plate. When you have an aunt—— But I need not say that again.
King Coronel of Western Euralia sat at breakfast onhiscastle walls. He lifted the gold cover from the gold dish in front of him, selected a trout, and conveyed it carefully to his gold plate. When your wife's father has an aunt——
Prince Udo of Araby sat at breakfast—— But one must draw the line somewhere. I refuse to follow Udo through any more meals. Indeed, I think there has been quite enough eating and drinking in this book already. Quite enough of everything in fact; but the time has nearly come to say good-bye.
Let us speed the Prince of Araby first. His departure from Euralia was sudden; five minutes' conversation with Coronel convinced him that there had been a mistake about Belvane's feelings for him, and that he could leave for Araby in perfect safety.
"You must come and see us again," said Merriwig heartily, as he shook him by the hand.
"Yes, do," said Hyacinth.
There are two ways of saying this sort of thing, and theirs was the second way. So was Udo's, when he answered that he would be delighted.
It was just a week later that the famous double wedding was celebrated in Euralia. As an occasion for speech-making by King Merriwig and largesse-throwing by Queen Belvane it demanded and (got) a whole chapter to itself in Roger's History. I have Roger on my side at last. The virtues he denied to the Countess he cannot but allow to the Queen.
Nor could Hyacinth resist her any longer. Belvane upon her palfrey, laughter in her eyes and roses in her cheeks, her lips slightly parted with eagerness as she flings her silver to the crowd, adorably conscious of her childishness and yet glorifying in it, could have no enemies that day.
"She is a dear," said Hyacinth to Coronel. "She will make a wonderful Queen."
"I know a Queen worth two of her," said Coronel.
"But you do admire her, don't you?"
"Not particularly."
"Oh, Coronel, you must," said Hyacinth, but she felt very happy all the same.
They rode off the next day to their kingdom. The Chancellor had had an exciting week; for seven successive evenings he had been extremely mysterious and reserved to his wife, but now his business was finished and King Merriwig reigned over Eastern Euralia and King Coronel over the West.
Let us just take a look at Belvane's diary before we move on to the last scene.
"Thursday, September 15th," it says. "Became good."
Now for the last scene.
King Merriwig sat in Belvane's garden. They had spent the morning revising their joint book of poetry for publication. The first set of verses was entirely Merriwig's own. It went like this:
Bo, boll, bill, bole.Wo, woll, will, wole.
A note by the authors called attention to the fact that it could be begun from either end. The rest of the poems were mainly by Belvane, Merriwig's share in them consisting of a "Capital," or an "I like that," when they were read out to him; but an epic commonly attributed to Charlotte Patacake had crept in somehow.
"A person to see your Majesty," said a flunkey, appearing suddenly.
"What sort of person?" asked Merriwig.
"A sort of person, your Majesty."
"See him here, dear," said Belvane, as she got up. "I have things to do in the Palace."
She left him; and by and by the flunkey returned with the stranger. He was a pleasant-looking person with a round clean-shaven face; something in the agricultural way, to judge from his clothes.
"Well?" said Merriwig.
"I desire to be your Majesty's swineherd," said the other.
"What do you know of swineherding?"
"I have a sort of natural aptitude for it, your Majesty, although I have never actually been one."
"My own case exactly. Now then, let me see—how would you——"
The stranger took out a large red handkerchief and wiped his forehead.
"You propose to ask me a few questions, your Majesty?"
"Well, naturally, I——"
"Let me beg of you not to. By all you hold sacred let me implore you not to confuse me with questions." He drew himself up and thumped his chest with his fist. "I have a feeling for swineherding; it is enough."
Merriwig began to like the man; it was just how he felt about the thing himself.
"I once carried on a long technical conversation with a swineherd," he said reminiscently, "and we found we had much in common. It is an inspiring life."
"It was in just that way," said the stranger, "that I discovered my own natural bent towards it."
"How very odd! Do you know, there's something about your face that I seem to recognise?"
The stranger decided to be frank.
"I owe this face to you," he said simply.
Merriwig looked startled.
"In short," said the other, "I am the late King of Barodia."
Merriwig gripped his hand.
[Illustration: He was a pleasant-looking person, with a round clean-shaven face, verso][Illustration: He was a pleasant-looking person, with a round clean-shaven face, recto]
"My dear fellow," he said. "My very dear fellow, of course you are. Dear me, how it brings it all back. And—may I say—what an improvement. Really, I'm delighted to see you. You must tell me all about it. But first some refreshment."
At the word "refreshment" the late King of Barodia broke down altogether, and it was only Merriwig's hummings and hawings and thumpings on the back and (later on) the refreshment itself which kept him from bursting into tears.
"My dear friend," he said, as he wiped his mouth for the last time, "you have saved me."
"But what does it all mean?" asked Merriwig in bewilderment.
"Listen and I will tell you,"
He told himself of the great resolution to which he had come on that famous morning when he awoke to find himself whiskerless. Barodia had no more use for him now as a King, and he on his side was eager to carve out for himself a new life as a swineherd.
"I had a natural gift," he said plaintively, "an instinctive feeling for it. I know I had. Whatever they said about it afterwards—and they said many hard things—I was certain that I had that feeling. I had proved it, you know; there couldn't be any mistake."
"Well?"
"Ah, but they laughed at me. They asked me confusing questions; niggling little questions about the things swine ate and—and things like that. The great principles of swineherding, the—what I may call the art of herding swine, the whole theory of shepherding pigs in a broad-minded way, all this they ignored. They laughed at me and turned me out with jeers and blows—to starve."
Merriwig patted him sympathetically, and pressed some more food on him.
"I ranged over the whole of Barodia. Nobody would take me in. It is a terrible thing, my dear Merriwig, to begin to lose faith in yourself. I had to tell myself at last that perhaps there was something about Barodian swine which made them different from those of any other country. As a last hope I came to Euralia; if here too I was spurned, then I should know that——"
"Just a moment," said Merriwig, breaking in eagerly. "Who was this swineherd that you talked to——"
"I talked to so many," said the other sadly. "They all scoffed at me."
"No, but the first one; the one that showed you that you had a bent towards it. Didn't you say that——"
"Oh, that one. That was at the beginning of our war. Do you remember telling me that your swineherd had an invisible cloak? It was he that——"
Merriwig looked at him sadly and shook his head.
"My poor friend," he said, "it was me."
They gazed at each other earnestly. Each of them was going over in his mind the exact details of that famous meeting.
"Yes," they murmured together, "it was us."
The King of Barodia's mind raced on through all the bitter months that had followed; he shivered as he thought of the things he had said; the things that had been said to him seemed of small account now.
"Not even a swineherd!" he remarked.
"Come, come," said Merriwig, "look on the bright side; you can always be a King again."
The late King of Barodia shook his head.
"It's a come down to a man with any pride," he said. "No, I'll stick to my own job. After all, I've been learning these last weeks; at any rate I know that what I do know isn't worth knowing, and that's something."
"Then stay with me," said Merriwig heartily. "My swineherd will teach you your work, and when he retires you can take it on."
"Do you mean it?"
"Of course I do. I shall be glad to have you about the place. In the evening, when the pigs are asleep, you can come in and have a chat with us."
"Bless you," said the new apprentice; "bless you, your Majesty."
They shook hands on it.
"My dear," said Merriwig to Belvane that evening, "you haven't married a very clever fellow. I discovered this afternoon that I'm not even as clever as I thought I was."
"You don't want cleverness in a King," said Belvane, smiling lovingly at him, "or in a husband."
"What do you want then?"
"Just dearness," said Belvane.
And now my story is done. With a sigh I unload the seventeen volumes of Euralian History from my desk, carrying them one by one across the library and placing them carefully in the shelf which has been built for them. For some months they have stood a rampart between me and the world, behind which I have lived in far-off days with Merriwig and Hyacinth and my Lady Belvane. The rampart is gone, and in the bright light of to-day which streams on to my desk the vision slowly fades. Once on a time . .
Yet I see one figure clearly still. He is tall and thin, with a white peaked face of which the long inquisitive nose is the outstanding feature. His hair is lank and uncared for; his russet smock, tied in at the waist, wants brushing; his untidy cross-gartered hose shows up the meagerness of his legs. No knightly figure this, yet I look upon him very tenderly. For it is Roger Scurvilegs on his way to the Palace for news.
To Roger too I must say good-bye. I say it not without remorse, for I feel that I have been hard upon the man to whom I owe so much. Perhaps it will not be altogether good-bye; in his seventeen volumes there are many other tales to be found. Next time (if there be a next time) I owe it to Roger to stand aside and let him tell the story more in his own way. I think he would like that.
But it shall not be a story about Belvane. I saw Belvane (or some one like her) at a country house in Shropshire last summer, and I know that Roger can never do her justice.
[Illustration: Roger Scurvilegs]