“Lentala!” rang the king’s voice.
A way to the foot of the ladder opened, and the king gave her a hand at the top. Deep sadness was in her eyes, as she turned them for a moment upon me.
The king, still holding her hand, reached for mine also. Standing thus between us, he addressed the throng:
“My people, these two and the one who leaped from the wall have been tried as by fire. They would die for their king if he but gave the word. You have seen Gato. Behold these!”
He gazed on the cowed soldiers, and resumed:
“Soldiers of the king, did I but raise my hand, thousands of my loyal and loving people would rend you where you stand. What should be done, my children,” turning to the mob, “to honored and trusted sons who would steal upon their father to strike him down with an assassin’s knife?”
A murmur which rapidly swelled, and a stir which began to seethe, warned the king.
“Peace!” he cried. “A king can forgive. My soldiers were never bad at heart; they were led away. Soldiers of the king, raise a hand in token of your loyalty.”
Every one obeyed. Besides those at the gate were many throughout the crowd.
“Your faithless leader gone, I appoint Lentala, my daughter, as commander of the army.”