“Please, sire, they have something, and that something is demoralizing your people. The incidence of honorable suicide has climbed to an alarming high, and there have been far too many petitions to return to the land of our fathers.
“No doubt you have found means to discourage such requests?”
“Yes, Serene One, but it has only resulted in a greater number of honorable suicides among those thrown in contact with the priests of Mota. I fear to say it, but such contact seems to weaken the spirit of your children.”
“Hm-m-m. I think, yes, I think that I will see this High Priest of Mota.”
“When will the Serene One see him?”
“That I will tell you. In the meantime, let it be said that my learned doctors, if they have not lived too many years and passed their usefulness, will be able to duplicate and counteract any science the barbarians may have.”
“The Serene One has spoken.”
The Prince Royal watched with great interest as Ardmore approached him.
The man walked without fear. And, the Prince was forced to admit, the man had a certain dignity about him, for a barbarian. This would be interesting. What was that shining thing around his head? — an amusing conceit, that.
Ardmore stopped before him and pronounced a benediction, hand raised high. Then — “You asked that I visit you, Master.”
“So I did.” Was the man unaware that he should kneel?
Ardmore glanced around. “Will the Master cause his servants to fetch me a chair?”
Really, the man was delightful — regrettable that he must die. Or would it be possible to keep him around the palace for diversion? Of course, that would entail the deaths of all who had watched this scene and perhaps more such expedient deaths later, if his delicious vagaries continued. The Prince concluded that it was not the initial cost, but the upkeep.
He raised a hand. Two scandalized menials hastened up with a stool.
Ardmore sat down. His eye rested on the chess table by the Prince. The Prince followed his glance and inquired, “Do you play the Battle Game?”
“A little, Master.”
“How would you solve this problem?”
Ardmore got up and stood over the board. He studied it for a few moments, while the Oriental watched him. The courtiers were as silent as the pieces on the board — waiting.
“I would move this pawn — so,” Ardmore announced at last.
“In such a fashion? That is a most unorthodox move.”
“But necessary. From there it is mate in three moves — but, of course, the Master sees that.”,
“Of course. Yes, of course. But I did not fetch you here for chess,” he added, turning away. “We must speak of other matters. I learn with sorrow that there have been complaints about your followers.”
“The Master’s sorrow is my sorrow. May the servant ask in what manner. his children have erred?”
But the Prince was again studying the chessboard. He raised a finger; a servant was kneeling beside him with writing board. He dipped a brush in ink and quickly executed a group of ideographs, sealing. the letter with his ring. The servant bowed himself away, while a messenger sped out with the dispatch.
“What was that? Oh, yes — it is reported that they lack in grace. Their manner is unseemly in dealing with the Chosen Ones.”
“Will the Master help an humble priest by telling him which of his children have been guilty of lapses from propriety and in what respects that he may correct them?”
This request, the Prince admitted to himself, was awkward. In some manner this uncouth creature had managed to put him on the defensive. He was not used to being asked for details; it was improper. Furthermore there was no answer; the conduct of the priests of Mota had been impeccable, flawless, in every fashion that could be cited.
Yet his court stood there, waiting, to hear what answer he would make to this crude indecency. How went the ancient lines? “…Kung F’tze confounded by the question of a dolt!”
“It is not meet that the servant should question the master. At this moment you err in the fashion of your followers.”