And when he woke next morning, he believed
it was a dream, and that he was
king again. But as he turned his head,
he felt the coarse straw under his cheek
instead of the soft pillow, and he saw that
he was in the stable, with the shivering
ape by his side. Robert of Sicily was a
jester, and no one knew him for the king.
Three long years passed. Sicily was
happy and all things went well under the
king, who was not Robert. Robert was
still the jester, and his heart was harder
and bitterer with every year. Many times,
during the three years, the king, who had
his face and voice, had called him to
himself, when none else could hear, and had
asked him the one question, "Who art
thou?" And each time that he asked it
his eyes looked into Robert's eyes, to find
his heart. But each time Robert threw
back his head and answered, proudly,
"I am the king!" And the king's eyes
grew sad and stern.
At the end of three years, the Pope bade
the Emperor of Allemaine and the King
of Sicily, his brothers, to a great meeting
in his city of Rome. The King of Sicily
went, with all his soldiers and courtiers
and servants,--a great procession of
horsemen and footmen. Never had been a
gayer sight than the grand train, men in
bright armor, riders in wonderful cloaks
of velvet and silk, servants, carrying
marvelous presents to the Pope.
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