The watchman refused. “I can not. The King would cut my head off when he returns.”
“You are an ass,” replied Rogus. “The King can not kill you until he comes back. I will kill you upon the instant if you do not obey me. So you can see you can win both time and money.”
The watchman agreed. Rogus, who had long suspected something, put on the watchman’s clothes and followed the King. Before him, too, the lilies bent their heads. The roses strewed fragrant leaves, and the azaleas whispered the name, Florilla. But Rogus stepped upon them and crushed them. A secret gate, to which King Morus had the key, led from the garden to the shore of the Nile, along which were pleasure palaces. Among these palaces stood the villa of Rogus, which the King had built just the summer before and presented to his faithful servant. Likewise, just a year before, the Minister had written in the Grolden Book, that the favor of the King was a fruitful seed.
Rogus kept following the King, an easy thing now, because the King had forgotten to lock the garden gate.
Profound quiet reigned by the river, even the voice of the ripples was subdued. The twilight was beginning to color the Nile steel blue so that it resembled the curving blade of an executioner’s giant sword.
When the King reached the dwelling of Rogus, he blew three times on a silver whistle. At this sign a young woman appeared upon the balcony. I only
