"Ablutions, Majesty."
His hands were quite clean, but he rinsed them to show that he could use such fixings. If a European peddler had been opening his bag, the chief could not have looked more dubious about purchases.
At last they approached with the crown.
"Please kneel, sire."
Indeed he would not an inch, not so much as a notch on a stick. Stiff as a stalk he stood, but every inch a ruler, defiant in the passing wind. Smith had already observed that he had never seen such majesty in any creature.
"It is customary for our monarchs to kneel. They are in a great church. A man of God anoints them."
"Your O'Kee?"
"His minister. It is not at all humiliating."
"Captain Smith's God?"
"Not mine alone. All believers, sire."