The King leant back in his chair. “I will listen and answer,” he said.
“Where is the citadel of an army, O King?” asked Nicholas.
“An army has no citadel,” answered the King. “A city has a citadel, a fortress of stone or of brick, set in the middle of it and on high. But an army lies in tents or on the bare ground, moving hither and thither. An army has no citadel, O Prophet! Are you answered?”
“Where is the citadel of an army, O King?” asked Nicholas again.
“An army has no citadel,” replied the King. “A city that is made of brick and of stone has a citadel. But an army is not of brick and stone, but is made and composed only of men, of their flesh and bones, their sinews and muscles, their brains and hearts. An army has no citadel, O Prophet! Are you answered?”
“Where is the citadel of an army, O King?” asked Nicholas for the third time.
Then, seeing that he had a meaning, the King took thought; for many minutes he sat in meditation, while Nicholas stood in the centre of the tent, never moving, with his eyes set on the King’s face.
At last the King answered.
“An army has a citadel,” he said. “The citadel of an army is the stout heart of him who leads it. His heart is its citadel, O Prophet! Are you answered?”
“You have spoken it. I am answered, O King!” said Nicholas, and he turned and went out from the King’s tent.