Embassy

The ambassador was tall, very dark of skin, richly dressed, and glittering with gold and arrogance.

‘Our king,’ he said, ‘has a thousand wives, all chieftains’ daughters. Does your king have so many?’

‘No,’ said the young counsellor, ‘Our king has but one.’

‘Our king,’ said the ambassador, ‘has ten thousand slaves to work his estates, and ten thousand more in his mines. Does your king have so many?’

‘No,’ said the young counsellor, ‘he has none.’

The ambassador sneered.

‘When our king lifts his hand,’ he said, ‘men die. Is it so with your king?’

‘Seldom,’ said the young counsellor.

‘Men tremble,’ said the ambassador, ‘when they but look upon our king. Is it so with yours?’

The young counsellor would have replied, but his words were cut off by the sound of trumpets. A man entered, and in the vast hall, every head was bowed. The man advanced amidst the bowed heads and the silence.

Over the bowed heads, his eyes met the ambassador’s, and the ambassador trembled.

The man took his seat, and the ambassador stared.

‘Why,’ he hissed to the young counsellor, ‘does your king not sit upon his throne?’

The young counsellor laughed.

‘That,’ he said, ‘is not the king. The king is away in his northern realm. That man is his Steward.’

‘Then the king is a greater man than he?’ asked the ambassador.

‘Oh, far greater,’ said the young counsellor.

The ambassador gulped nervously.

Elboron winked at his father over the heads of the crowd.