So he journeyed on for a week and a day, and then towards evening he came to the king’s town.
There it stood on the hill beside the river—the grandest city in the kingdom. There were orchards and plantations of trees along the banks of the stream, and gardens and summer-houses and pavilions. There were white houses and red roofs and blue skies. Up above on the hill were olive orchards and fields, and then blue sky again.
Beppo went into the town, gazing about him with admiration. Houses, palaces, gardens. He had never seen the like. Stores and shops full of cloths of velvet and silk and satin; goldsmiths, silversmiths, jewellers—as though all the riches of the world had been emptied into the city. Crowds of people—lords, noblemen, courtiers, rich merchants, and tradesmen.
Beppo stared about at the fine sights and everybody stared at Beppo, for his shoes were dusty, his clothes were travel-stained, and a razor had not touched his face for a week.
The king of that country was walking in the garden under the shade of the trees, and the sunlight slanted down upon him, and sparkled upon the jewels around his neck and on his fingers. Two dogs walked alongside of him, and a whole crowd of lords and nobles and courtiers came behind him; first of all the prime-minister with his long staff.
But for all this fine show this king was not really the king. When the old king died he left a daughter, and she should have been queen if she had had her own rights. But this king, who was her uncle, had stepped in before her, and so the poor princess was pushed aside and was nobody at all but a princess, the king’s niece.
She stood on the terrace with her old nurse, while the king walked in the garden below.
It had been seven years now since the old king had died, and in that time she had grown up into a beautiful young woman, as wise as she was beautiful, and as good as she was wise. Few people ever saw her, but everybody talked about her in whispers and praised her beauty and goodness, saying that, if the right were done, she would have her own and be queen.
Sometimes the king heard of this (for a king hears everything), and he grew to hate the princess as a man hates bitter drink.
The princess looked down from the terrace, and there she saw Beppo walking along the street, and his shoes were dusty and his clothes were travel-stained, and a razor had not touched his face for a week.