It was characteristic of Baldry that he always (in seafaring phrase) sailed pretty close to the wind, and it was lucky for him in this case that the King’s satisfaction in knowing that he was not dead after all slightly outbalanced his new rage at finding that not only had he been tricked, but that he had wasted some rather superior blank verse. But Baldry dexterously twisted himself out of reach of the King’s itching foot and fled to where Sylvia and Joe were standing (both rather perplexed with these happenings) and embraced them with ardour.
“Ah, our cousin of Snerg!” said the King with a mournful smile, “well has the poet said that beneath a monarch’s crown there is often a sore head. But now let me recount to you what other reasons this Gorbo of yours gave for his behaviour. It will take some believing.”
King Merse, after hearing full details of how Gorbo had been cozened into perpetration of the outrage, gave his opinion that, the man being the ass he was, it would be best to pass the matter over as an error of judgment.
“That’s one way of looking at it,” said King Kul rather peevishly. “Of course it was I who got the stinger, not you. But,” he added with true nobility, “the quality of mercy is not strained like cabbage. Ho there, guards! unchain that extraordinary person. He is free.”
Gorbo’s fetters were instantly removed and carried away in a basket. He murmured some inarticulate thanks to the King and then went over to his brother Snergs, who were ranged against the wall and who greeted him with affection mingled with scarcely dissembled mirth. But he was cheered by the sudden impact of two small bodies; Sylvia and Joe had flung themselves at him and were hugging him tight.
King Kul watched the scene for a moment with a benevolent smile; then he turned to King Merse and Vanderdecken.
“Come,” he said, “to my privy chamber, where a stoup of wine and a mixed biscuit awaits us. The Master of the Buckhounds will see to it that your men are cared for. Pray mind the step.”