“Tell me,” he said gloomily, “tell me, O my Wise Men, as you hold in your possession all the secrets of this world, and of other worlds unknown to ordinary mortals, tell me, I adjure you, why my tower of refuge will not stand.”
He ceased, and a deep silence fell upon the room. Wizard turned to astrologer, and astrologer to magician, for each knew in his heart that he could give no answer to the question of the King.
At last the oldest man present stepped forward and bowing low, began to speak in deep and solemn tones:
“Your Majesty,” said he, “give us we pray you until tomorrow at high noon. This night shall the wizards work their spells and the astrologers consult the stars in their courses. Then shall we be able to tell you why your tower will not stand.”
“Let it be so,” replied the King, “but also let it be well understood that if at high noon tomorrow you are still unable to answer, your lives shall pay the penalty, even as the lives of my workmen shall pay the penalty if they do not raise my tower within the hundred days. Fail me not, my Wise Men!”
That night, far down in the deepest dungeons of the castle, the wizards gathered together about a steaming cauldron, vainly chanted their incantations and worked their magic spells, while on the highest battlements, the black-robed astrologers watched the stars from evening until morning; but when the day-star itself faded from their sight in the paling blue of dawn, they were no wiser than at the beginning of their vigil.
“What shall we do?” they cried to one another in consternation when the two companies of watchers had met to report their failures.
“Hush! Speak low!” whispered the Sage. “We must pretend. It is the only way to save ourselves. I have a plan.”
And as they gathered about him he continued: