'What must we be doing today, Curdie?'
'Fighting, sire.'
'Then fetch me my armour—that of plated steel, in the chest there. You will find the underclothing with it.'
As he spoke, he reached out his hand for his sword, which hung in the bed before him, drew it, and examined the blade.
'A little rusty!' he said, 'but the edge is there. We shall polish it ourselves today—not on the wheel. Curdie, my son, I wake from a troubled dream. A glorious torture has ended it, and I live. I know now well how things are, but you shall explain them to me as I get on my armour. No, I need no bath. I am clean. Call the colonel of the guard.'
In complete steel the old man stepped into the chamber. He knew it not, but the old princess had passed through his room in the night.
'Why, Sir Bronzebeard!' said the king, 'you are dressed before me! You need no valet, old man, when there is battle in the wind!'
'Battle, sire!' returned the colonel. 'Where then are our soldiers?'
'Why, there and here,' answered the king, pointing to the colonel first, and then to himself. 'Where else, man? The enemy will be upon us ere sunset, if we be not upon him ere noon. What other thing was in your brave brain when you donned your armour, friend?'
'Your Majesty's orders, sire,' answered Sir Bronzebeard.