But nothing happened!
The carpet was not the right magic carpet, but the one which King Prigio had put in its place.
“Get on! England, I said!” cried Dick.
But there they remained, under the chestnut tree, sitting on the carpet above the flowery grass.
Prince Charles leaped to his feet; his face like fire, his eyes glowing.
“Enough of this fooling, sir!” he said. “It is easy, but cowardly, to mock at an unfortunate prince. Take your carpet and be off with you,
out of the gardens, or your shoulders shall taste my club.”
“There has been some mistake,” Ricardo said; “the wrong carpet has been brought by accident, or the carpet has lost its power.”
“In this sacred city, blessed by the presence of his Holiness the Pope, and the relics of so many martyrs and saints, magic may well cease to be potent,” said the Duke of York.