THE YANKEE AND THE KING TRAVEL INCOGNITO

About bedtime I took the king to my private quarters to cut his hair and help him get the hang of the lowly raiment he was to wear.  The high classes wore their hair banged across the forehead but hanging to the shoulders the rest of the way around, whereas the lowest ranks of commoners were banged fore and aft both; the slaves were bangless, and allowed their hair free growth.  So I inverted a bowl over his head and cut away all the locks that hung below it.  I also trimmed his whiskers and mustache until they were only about a half-inch long; and tried to do it inartistically, and succeeded.  It was a villainous disfigurement.  When he got his lubberly sandals on, and his long robe of coarse brown linen cloth, which hung straight from his neck to his ankle-bones, he was no longer the comeliest man in his kingdom, but one of the unhandsomest and most commonplace and unattractive.  We were dressed and barbered alike, and could pass for small farmers, or farm bailiffs, or shepherds, or carters; yes, or for village artisans, if we chose, our costume being in effect universal among the poor, because of its strength and cheapness.  I don’t mean that it was really cheap to a very poor person, but I do mean that it was the cheapest material there was for male attire ­manufactured material, you understand.

We slipped away an hour before dawn, and by broad sun-up had made eight or ten miles, and were in the midst of a sparsely settled country.  I had a pretty heavy knapsack; it was laden with provisions ­provisions for the king to taper down on, till he could take to the coarse fare of the country without damage.

I found a comfortable seat for the king by the roadside, and then gave him a morsel or two to stay his stomach with.  Then I said I would find some water for him, and strolled away.  Part of my project was to get out of sight and sit down and rest a little myself.  It had always been my custom to stand when in his presence; even at the council board, except upon those rare occasions when the sitting was a very long one, extending over hours; then I had a trifling little backless thing which was like a reversed culvert and was as comfortable as the toothache.  I didn’t want to break him in suddenly, but do it by degrees.  We should have to sit together now when in company, or people would notice; but it would not be good politics for me to be playing equality with him when there was no necessity for it.

I found the water some three hundred yards away, and had been resting about twenty minutes, when I heard voices.  That is all right, I thought ­peasants going to work; nobody else likely to be stirring this early.  But the next moment these comers jingled into sight around a turn of the road ­smartly clad people of quality, with luggage-mules and servants in their train!  I was off like a shot, through the bushes, by the shortest cut.  For a while it did seem that these people would pass the king before I could get to him; but desperation gives you wings, you know, and I canted my body forward, inflated my breast, and held my breath and flew.  I arrived.  And in plenty good enough time, too.

“Pardon, my king, but it’s no time for ceremony ­jump!  Jump to your feet ­some quality are coming!”

“Is that a marvel?  Let them come.”

“But my liege!  You must not be seen sitting.  Rise! ­and stand in humble posture while they pass.  You are a peasant, you know.”

“True ­I had forgot it, so lost was I in planning of a huge war with Gaul” ­he was up by this time, but a farm could have got up quicker, if there was any kind of a boom in real estate ­“and right-so a thought came randoming overthwart this majestic dream the which ­”

“A humbler attitude, my lord the king ­and quick!  Duck your head! ­more! ­still more! ­droop it!”

He did his honest best, but lord, it was no great things.  He looked as humble as the leaning tower at Pisa.  It is the most you could say of it.  Indeed, it was such a thundering poor success that it raised wondering scowls all along the line, and a gorgeous flunkey at the tail end of it raised his whip; but I jumped in time and was under it when it fell; and under cover of the volley of coarse laughter which followed, I spoke up sharply and warned the king to take no notice.  He mastered himself for the moment, but it was a sore tax; he wanted to eat up the procession.  I said: 

“It would end our adventures at the very start; and we, being without weapons, could do nothing with that armed gang.  If we are going to succeed in our emprise, we must not only look the peasant but act the peasant.”

“It is wisdom; none can gainsay it.  Let us go on, Sir Boss.  I will take note and learn, and do the best I may.”

He kept his word.  He did the best he could, but I’ve seen better.  If you have ever seen an active, heedless, enterprising child going diligently out of one mischief and into another all day long, and an anxious mother at its heels all the while, and just saving it by a hair from drowning itself or breaking its neck with each new experiment, you’ve seen the king and me.

If I could have foreseen what the thing was going to be like, I should have said, No, if anybody wants to make his living exhibiting a king as a peasant, let him take the layout; I can do better with a menagerie, and last longer.  And yet, during the first three days I never allowed him to enter a hut or other dwelling.  If he could pass muster anywhere during his early novitiate it would be in small inns and on the road; so to these places we confined ourselves.  Yes, he certainly did the best he could, but what of that?  He didn’t improve a bit that I could see.

He was always frightening me, always breaking out with fresh astonishers, in new and unexpected places.  Toward evening on the second day, what does he do but blandly fetch out a dirk from inside his robe!

“Great guns, my liege, where did you get that?”

“From a smuggler at the inn, yester eve.”

“What in the world possessed you to buy it?”

“We have escaped divers dangers by wit ­thy wit ­but I have bethought me that it were but prudence if I bore a weapon, too.  Thine might fail thee in some pinch.”

“But people of our condition are not allowed to carry arms.  What would a lord say ­yes, or any other person of whatever condition ­if he caught an upstart peasant with a dagger on his person?”

It was a lucky thing for us that nobody came along just then.  I persuaded him to throw the dirk away; and it was as easy as persuading a child to give up some bright fresh new way of killing itself.  We walked along, silent and thinking.  Finally the king said: 

“When ye know that I meditate a thing inconvenient, or that hath a peril in it, why do you not warn me to cease from that project?”

It was a startling question, and a puzzler.  I didn’t quite know how to take hold of it, or what to say, and so, of course, I ended by saying the natural thing: 

“But, sire, how can I know what your thoughts are?”

The king stopped dead in his tracks, and stared at me.

“I believed thou wert greater than Merlin; and truly in magic thou art.  But prophecy is greater than magic.  Merlin is a prophet.”

I saw I had made a blunder.  I must get back my lost ground.  After a deep reflection and careful planning, I said: 

“Sire, I have been misunderstood.  I will explain.  There are two kinds of prophecy.  One is the gift to foretell things that are but a little way off, the other is the gift to foretell things that are whole ages and centuries away.  Which is the mightier gift, do you think?”

“Oh, the last, most surely!”

“True.  Does Merlin possess it?”

“Partly, yes.  He foretold mysteries about my birth and future kingship that were twenty years away.”

“Has he ever gone beyond that?”

“He would not claim more, I think.”

“It is probably his limit.  All prophets have their limit.  The limit of some of the great prophets has been a hundred years.”

“These are few, I ween.”

“There have been two still greater ones, whose limit was four hundred and six hundred years, and one whose limit compassed even seven hundred and twenty.”

“Gramercy, it is marvelous!”

“But what are these in comparison with me?  They are nothing.”

“What?  Canst thou truly look beyond even so vast a stretch of time as ­”

“Seven hundred years?  My liege, as clear as the vision of an eagle does my prophetic eye penetrate and lay bare the future of this world for nearly thirteen centuries and a half!”

My land, you should have seen the king’s eyes spread slowly open, and lift the earth’s entire atmosphere as much as an inch!  That settled Brer Merlin.  One never had any occasion to prove his facts, with these people; all he had to do was to state them.  It never occurred to anybody to doubt the statement.

“Now, then,” I continued, “I could work both kinds of prophecy ­the long and the short ­if I chose to take the trouble to keep in practice; but I seldom exercise any but the long kind, because the other is beneath my dignity.  It is properer to Merlin’s sort ­stump-tail prophets, as we call them in the profession.  Of course, I whet up now and then and flirt out a minor prophecy, but not often ­hardly ever, in fact.  You will remember that there was great talk, when you reached the Valley of Holiness, about my having prophesied your coming and the very hour of your arrival, two or three days beforehand.”

“Indeed, yes, I mind it now.”

“Well, I could have done it as much as forty times easier, and piled on a thousand times more detail into the bargain, if it had been five hundred years away instead of two or three days.”

“How amazing that it should be so!”

“Yes, a genuine expert can always foretell a thing that is five hundred years away easier than he can a thing that’s only five hundred seconds off.”

“And yet in reason it should clearly be the other way; it should be five hundred times as easy to foretell the last as the first, for, indeed, it is so close by that one uninspired might almost see it.  In truth, the law of prophecy doth contradict the likelihoods, most strangely making the difficult easy, and the easy difficult.”

It was a wise head.  A peasant’s cap was no safe disguise for it; you could know it for a king’s under a diving-bell, if you could hear it work its intellect.

I had a new trade now, and plenty of business in it.  The king was as hungry to find out everything that was going to happen during the next thirteen centuries as if he were expecting to live in them.  From that time out, I prophesied myself bald-headed trying to supply the demand.  I have done some indiscreet things in my day, but this thing of playing myself for a prophet was the worst.  Still, it had its améliorations.  A prophet doesn’t have to have any brains.  They are good to have, of course, for the ordinary exigencies of life, but they are no use in professional work.  It is the restfulest vocation there is.  When the spirit of prophecy comes upon you, you merely cake your intellect and lay it off in a cool place for a rest, and unship your jaw and leave it alone; it will work itself:  the result is prophecy.

Every day a knight-errant or so came along, and the sight of them fired the king’s martial spirit every time.  He would have forgotten himself, sure, and said something to them in a style a suspicious shade or so above his ostensible degree, and so I always got him well out of the road in time.  Then he would stand and look with all his eyes; and a proud light would flash from them, and his nostrils would inflate like a war-horse’s, and I knew he was longing for a brush with them.  But about noon of the third day I had stopped in the road to take a precaution which had been suggested by the whip-stroke that had fallen to my share two days before; a precaution which I had afterward decided to leave untaken, I was so loath to institute it; but now I had just had a fresh reminder:  while striding heedlessly along, with jaw spread and intellect at rest, for I was prophesying, I stubbed my toe and fell sprawling.  I was so pale I couldn’t think for a moment; then I got softly and carefully up and unstrapped my knapsack.  I had that dynamite bomb in it, done up in wool in a box.  It was a good thing to have along; the time would come when I could do a valuable miracle with it, maybe, but it was a nervous thing to have about me, and I didn’t like to ask the king to carry it.  Yet I must either throw it away or think up some safe way to get along with its society.  I got it out and slipped it into my scrip, and just then here came a couple of knights.  The king stood, stately as a statue, gazing toward them ­had forgotten himself again, of course ­and before I could get a word of warning out, it was time for him to skip, and well that he did it, too.  He supposed they would turn aside.  Turn aside to avoid trampling peasant dirt under foot?  When had he ever turned aside himself ­or ever had the chance to do it, if a peasant saw him or any other noble knight in time to judiciously save him the trouble?  The knights paid no attention to the king at all; it was his place to look out himself, and if he hadn’t skipped he would have been placidly ridden down, and laughed at besides.

The king was in a flaming fury, and launched out his challenge and epithets with a most royal vigor.  The knights were some little distance by now.  They halted, greatly surprised, and turned in their saddles and looked back, as if wondering if it might be worth while to bother with such scum as we.  Then they wheeled and started for us.  Not a moment must be lost.  I started for them.  I passed them at a rattling gait, and as I went by I flung out a hair-lifting soul-scorching thirteen-jointed insult which made the king’s effort poor and cheap by comparison.  I got it out of the nineteenth century where they know how.  They had such headway that they were nearly to the king before they could check up; then, frantic with rage, they stood up their horses on their hind hoofs and whirled them around, and the next moment here they came, breast to breast.  I was seventy yards off, then, and scrambling up a great bowlder at the roadside.  When they were within thirty yards of me they let their long lances droop to a level, depressed their mailed heads, and so, with their horse-hair plumes streaming straight out behind, most gallant to see, this lightning express came tearing for me!  When they were within fifteen yards, I sent that bomb with a sure aim, and it struck the ground just under the horses’ noses.

Yes, it was a neat thing, very neat and pretty to see.  It resembled a steamboat explosion on the Mississippi; and during the next fifteen minutes we stood under a steady drizzle of microscopic fragments of knights and hardware and horse-flesh.  I say we, for the king joined the audience, of course, as soon as he had got his breath again.  There was a hole there which would afford steady work for all the people in that region for some years to come ­in trying to explain it, I mean; as for filling it up, that service would be comparatively prompt, and would fall to the lot of a select few ­peasants of that seignory; and they wouldn’t get anything for it, either.

But I explained it to the king myself.  I said it was done with a dynamite bomb.  This information did him no damage, because it left him as intelligent as he was before.  However, it was a noble miracle, in his eyes, and was another settler for Merlin.  I thought it well enough to explain that this was a miracle of so rare a sort that it couldn’t be done except when the atmospheric conditions were just right.  Otherwise he would be encoring it every time we had a good subject, and that would be inconvenient, because I hadn’t any more bombs along.