. His prisons are filled with
the flower of Sicilian chivalry--the list of those he dooms to die is
long."

"Though none have died yet," Theron interrupted.

Hieronymus nodded. "They say he swore a great oath his court-fool should
be the first victim of your sword, and till the fool is found the
victims wait on death."

"Please Heaven he be not found, then," Theron prayed.

Hieronymus smiled sadly. "He will be found when his time comes," he
said. "Yet Heaven seems to counter the wicked King. Those whom he drove
into exile still linger in the port. Contrary winds deny their sails."

Theron lifted his head from his hands. "They say the fairest maids of
Sicily have been carried to his palace."

"Yet they are maids still," Hieronymus said, "for he swears to love no
woman till your daughter dies."

"He is so sure of that," Theron sighed.

Hieronymus sought to console him.

"Your cause is just, your sword is sharp; fight in God's name. I will go
to your daughter now."

Theron thanked him with a grateful glance.

"Tell her her father loves her. She knows that well, yet tell it to
her."

Hieronymus left him and passed out of the arena through the archway
which led to the cells. Theron remained sitting on the step with his
elbows on his knees and his chin propped on his hands.

"This is the time when a man should pray," he said to himself, "but my
thoughts tangle and my words jangle."

Through the gardens came a singular figure, tall and lean and withered,
with a wry shoulder like a gibbous moon and a wry leg like a stricken
tree, and his face had a long, peaked nose and loose, protruding lips,
and ears like the wings of bats. His mottled livery was grass-stained
and earth-stained, and he had dizened it with a kind of woodland finery.
He had wild flowers twisted in his hair; a chaplet of scarlet
wood-berries was about his neck; he carried an ash sapling for a staff,
and he munched at an apple. He looked about him curiously, as if a
little dazed. Then he saw Theron and went towards him.

"Good-morning, gaffer," he said.

Theron looked up and beheld to his surprise the missing court-fool
Diogenes.

"You are the fool Diogenes," Theron said. "Why have you come back? The
King longs for your head. I care little who lives or dies, save one,
but fly if you are wise."

Diogenes, for it was indeed he, shook his head. "Nay, nay, gaffer," he
answered. "I am wise; I know my business. I think I have been asleep in
the