Billy was bewildered—he looked from the King to his company, from the company to the Horn Man and then back again to the King. Such a faded, worn, torn, uncut, unshaven and unkempt crowd he had never seen outside of a company of beggars. And such nags as they bestrode. The lame, the halt, and the blind were all represented among their horses, while donkeys and mules in all states of decrepitude carried others.
"So that is the King?" said Billy.
"Ay! the King and his retinue of noble ladies and gentlemen—out of the way."
Here the King spoke, "Phwat detains our noble silf Herald?"
"And so this crazy quilt is the Herald, is it?" said Billy to himself and true enough when he examined the man's tattered clothes more closely he saw that he wore a much dilapidated Herald's Tabard.
"A base born fat boy, your serene Highness, who refuses to out of the way, though I have outed him several times."
"I can't, your Honor—" began Billy.
"Treason," cried a voice, "he called his Highness your Honor."
"That's Lèse Majesty," whispered the Herald to Billy.