When the children woke next day the events of the evening came to them with a shock. They had not been thrown into a dungeon, as they had not unreasonably feared would be the case, but had been rather hurriedly bundled out of the way by the Lady Ermyntrude and put to bed in a fairly comfortable back room with two beds and told to go to sleep at once, which they felt was rather a difficult thing to do under the circumstances. They felt that they were losing their popularity, and besides, they were greatly worried about their friend. Speculation as to why he had behaved as he had and what would be his probable fate kept them whispering for hours.
But when they were dressed by a maid (who brought them an early cup of milk) and had gone downstairs, they found the situation easier. The King had passed a good night. He had no temperature and was able to eat a hearty breakfast. He did not express a wish to see the children, and they were glad of this because they felt it would have been so awkward. The Lady Ermyntrude gave them their breakfast and then took them out for a walk in the garden, and Tiger had a run with some puppies that belonged to her.
The King attended a council at which were discussed various suggestions made by the nobles as to the ceremonies to be observed in the cutting off of Gorbo’s head. It was finally decided that it should be done in the market-place at 11.30, and, this being settled, the King proposed (for the basis of his method of government was strict justice) that the villain should receive a fair trial.
Gorbo was brought in, loaded with an almost unnecessary length of chain, and stood before the Lord Chancellor, who was to conduct the case.
“Your name, prisoner?” asked the Lord Chancellor.
“Gorbo, so please you, sir,” replied the unhappy Snerg.
“Your age, Gorbo?”
“Two hundred and seventy-three, sir.”
“Your occupation, Gorbo?”
“Potter, sir.”
“And why, Gorbo, did you leave the harmless calling of potting to come to this land and give a fleshy cut to the King’s Grace?”
“Because----” He could say no more.
“The reason is inadequate, Gorbo. Think, for your time on earth is short if you give no better bid for life.”
“Mother Meldrum told me to,” said Gorbo, his wits roused by the extremity.
“Aha, now we get near it! But even then, Gorbo, the reason seems no full one. Is it the foul custom of the Snergs to smite all, however exalted, at the chance word of a witch?”
“She—she said that the King was a grievous tyrant—and that he needed killing badly. But the chief reason was she said that if I didn’t kill him, he’d kill Sylvia and Joe.”
The Lord Chancellor turned to the King. “In truth, sire, we seem to have secured, at the cost of a stinger to your Majesty’s person, the biggest numskull the world has ever known.”
“It would seem so,” agreed the King, with a half pitying look at Gorbo. “I suggest, my lords, that he be allowed to tell his tale in his own fashion and we will then see if it agrees in substance with the tale of those little ones.”
“A noble idea and worthy of your Majesty’s brain capacity,” said the Lord Chancellor. “Come, fellow, your tale, plainly told.”
With much faltering and stammering (for he feared he had proved the truth of the prophecy that he was the biggest fool) Gorbo began his account of all that had happened since he left Watkyns Bay. He warmed up as he proceeded and got more at his ease, for he saw that all listened with deep interest. He diplomatically stopped at the point where he arrived at the palace gates on the previous evening.
“All agrees well with the tale of the children,” said the King. “I think, my lords, we must let this oaf keep his head for the present.”
“Yes, sire,” said the Lord Chancellor, “and in my opinion----”
But his opinion was lost to the world, for at that instant there was heard a clamour without and a sounding knock at the door.