pped his hand to his girdle,
where his sword-hilt should have been. But no sword-hilt answered to his
eager fingers. Mad, confused thoughts of treachery mastered him. "Where
is my sword?" he cried. "Who has disarmed me while I slept?" A wild
sense of defied kingship flooded his spirit. "With my naked hands I will
overthrow this treason."

Blindly, idly, he flung himself forward, meaning to scale the steps and
grapple with his parallel, but in a moment the strong arms of Sigurd
held him in the grip of a bear. Then he who stood at the summit of the
steps, and wore the likeness of the lord of Sicily, lifted his hand and
spoke, and his voice was as the voice of King Robert in the ears of all
men there save only one, save only Robert the King, struggling in the
grip of Sigurd Blue Wolf, and to him, through the cruel echo of his own
speech there seemed to ring some note of tones heard in a dream, a dream
of a bronze image that quickened and spoke words of doom.

"Do him no hurt," said the kingly presence, gently. "He is mad, and
madness needs compassion. Let him be in peace, and those of you who are
pitiful may well pray for him. Let us go hence, friends."

"You hear what the King says," Sigurd growled in Robert's ear. "To your
knees, fool!" Robert struggled helplessly to release himself, crying, "I
am the King!" whereat Sigurd, dropping his strong hands on his captive's
shoulders and repeating, angrily, "To your knees, fool!" forced him
ignominiously to the ground, first tottering on his knees and then
collapsing in a huddle on the ground.

The kingly presence on the steps surveyed the grovelling, abject thing
in the fool's livery with an implacable smile.

"Remember," he said, softly, and the word beat upon Robert's brain like
the blow of a hammer. Then he came slowly down the steps through the
lane of adoring faces. As he came to the last, Sigurd, as if fearing
some further attempt on the part of the fool, set his heavy foot on
Robert's back where he sprawled, and pinned him to the ground. But
Robert made no struggle. Unchallenged, his presentment passed to the
edge of the mountain-path, and, descending, disappeared, followed by
whispering courtiers, full of the King's mercy to a brawling fool.
Sigurd lifted his foot from the fallen man and headed his Varangians.
Ladies and youths, priests and soldiers, all in their turn and order
descended the slope of the hill, and Syracuse swallowed them up in time.

But the man i