Meanwhile the real King Robert yielded sullenly to his fate. Mocked at by all, his only friend the ape, his food the scraps left by others, his heart was still haughty, his pride unsubdued. And when sometimes the angel meeting him would ask, half in jest, half in earnest, "Art thou the King?" he would draw himself up and fling back the haughty answer: "I am, I am the King!"
Almost three years had passed away when there came ambassadors from Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, to the King of Sicily, saying that their brother, Pope Urbane, had summoned them both by letter to the city of Rome to celebrate Easter week with him there.
The angel received his guests with great joy and gave them rich presents of velvet cloaks lined with ermine, rings, and rare jewels. Then he made his preparations and set out with his retinue over the sea to the land of Italy. Crowds of people came out to watch the progress of the royal procession. The horses had gold and silver trappings, jeweled bridles, the knights wore velvet cloaks and waving plumes, and their silver spurs glittered in the sun. Then came the angel-monarch in rich attire surrounded by his counselors and the flower of his knights. The men-at-arms and servants brought up the rear of the procession, and among them, on a shambling piebald steed, his ape perched behind him and his cloak of foxtails flapping in the wind, rode the jester-king—a strange sight which caused unbounded merriment in all the country towns through which the procession passed.
Arrived in Rome, the Emperor and his supposed brother were received with great pomp in the great square before St. Peter's. Little did the Pope dream, as he bestowed his blessing and prayers on his younger brother, that he was entertaining an angel unawares.
Suddenly a wild, unkempt figure rushed from among the crowd and into the royal assembly. Forcing his way to the place where the Pope was seated he cried loudly, "I am your brother Robert, King of Sicily. This man who stands before you in my semblance is an impostor disguised as the King. Do you not know me? Is there no voice within you that says I speak truly, and that I am indeed your brother?"
The Pope made no reply, but gazed with troubled look at the angel's unruffled face. Then the Emperor Valmond laughed and said:
"Brother, methinks you have strange taste to keep a madman for your court-jester!"
It seemed quite evident to the bystanders that what the Emperor said was very true, and once more, baffled and disgraced, the poor jester was roughly thrust back among the wondering crowd.
