He’s the best person for the job, and my most sincere friend. But if you wish, we can talk about it tomorrow, or the day after.”

“Why only then?” asked the Prime Minister, dumbfounded.

“Because by then so much will have changed. I shall be a married man. But meanwhile we have a duty to perform. Could we please get it over and done with? Let’s swallow the bitter pill, and put our names to this famous treaty.”

Everyone took his appointed place round a large circular table. The Finance Minister once again summarised the significance of the document while the others sat in a bored, restless silence waiting for the decisive moment of signing. Their restlessness stemmed from a shared feeling that the King’s good breeding and seeming impartiality might well conceal some inscrutable, deeply impractical character—some unsuspected trait lurking beneath his general good sense. That he might, at the very last minute, change his mind.

But that did not happen.

Having listened carefully to all they had to say, he asked, in the most natural voice in the world:

“So, you gentlemen are all agreed that the country has no other means of salvation than for us to ratify this loathsome, humiliating treaty?”

“That is so,” the Prime Minister answered. “If Your Highness does not sign it, and we fail to secure Coltor’s advance payment, we might as well close down the Treasury and lock up the Chancellor. That is the stark reality.”

“And you gentlemen are prepared to share with me the odium that will attach to this, that you … to put it politely … ? Well, you know what I am thinking.”

“We shall stand by Your Highness to the last drop of our blood,” the Prime Minister averred.

“We will give our all,” the Minister for the Interior chimed in, “to the last drop of wine and the very last sardine.”

“I do not doubt it. Then I can hesitate no longer. I shall go down in history as the king for whom no sacrifice was too great. Kindly pass the document so that I may sign.”

They watched, each man mouthing a prayer, as the King, very slowly, inscribed his name, and then stood for another moment, gazing in wonder at what he had written.

“So, all we need now is for you gentlemen to put your names to this document, and to send it on to the other signatory. With this I call the Royal Council to a close, and take my leave. Before it gets dark I would like to test-drive my new car, which arrived from Paris yesterday. And so, goodbye.”

“Your Highness … ” the Prime Minister began, hesitantly.

“Well?”

“If you would grant another respectful request from your concerned well-wishers. Your Highness must surely be aware that the population is waiting in a fever of excitement for the signing of the treaty. Sadly, the opposition press has inflamed their feelings. It would seem advisable, in the interests of Your Highness’ personal safety and of public order, that Your Highness should not leave the palace for one moment. At least, not before the wedding. The people will be calmer after that delightful ceremony.”

The King hammered angrily on the table.

“This is outrageous. For two weeks now I have been under virtual house arrest. I can’t go and play golf, because the road runs beside the military barracks. I can’t go to the theatre, because the low light might favour an attempt on my life. I can’t dine in the palace, because the head chef has republican sympathies. I can’t go walking alone on Mt Lilión, or lie under an apple tree reading Dante. To say nothing of this damned coat … Who am I, to be debarred from every pleasure in life that any citizen of Alturia can enjoy? Everyone else can play golf and drive a car. Everyone, except me. So what am I then?”

The Prime Minister rose, bowed deeply, and declared:

“You are the King!”

The King’s face darkened, and he muttered, very quietly:

“Indeed.” 

“Your Highness well remembers,” the Prime Minister continued, “those wonderful words of our great poet Montanhagol: ‘duty is not a bed of roses’.”

“Yes, of course. And on the subject of rose beds, I shall stay in tonight.