"I will have every care of your Majesty and of your Majesty's kingdom," said Norman, keeping up the spirit of the thing at a further hint from his companion, despite his disgust.
"I think you are not of this country," observed the King. "Come you from North or South, or from the rising or from the setting?"
"From the North, your Majesty," replied the boy.
"Fair scion of the North, I will swear you have no lies upon your lips. What is your name?"
"Norman, if it please your Majesty."
"And are you Knight?"
"I am but squire, your Majesty."
"Then, my deliverer, since for years no one has cared for my ruined Majesty, save this, my last, my oldest, my only courtier, for my leech I count not; since you alone have proffered your service to a deserted and broken King, I am filled with good intentions towards you and propose to bestow upon you now at this moment the ancient and honourable distinction of knighthood, that you may bear me homage. Once more, will you swear to serve me faithfully?"
"Oh, certainly," said Norman, the more uncomfortable in that there was something rather noble about the King's madness.
"Then kneel," said the King, rising, as he said the words, in all his battered splendour, with the deep seriousness of a young child at play. Solemnly and almost gracefully, with the wooden sword that a wise supervision allowed him, he dubbed Norman Knight, according to the famous custom of chivalry, which even in England is not quite dead.