If you did this God would say, “Look at Bel-Narb, whom I made to be a camel-driver and who has forgotten this.”  And then he would forget you, Bel-Narb.

Bel-Narb: 

Who knows what God would say?

Aoob: 

Who knows?  His ways are wonderful.

Bel-Narb: 

I would not do this thing, Aoob.  I would not do it.  It is only what I say to myself as I smoke, or at night out in the desert.  I say to myself, “Bel-Narb is King in Thalanna.”  And then I say, “Chamberlain, bring Skarmi here with his brandy and his lanterns and boards to play skabash, and let all the town come and drink before the palace and magnify my name.”

Pilgrims:  [calling off L.]

Bel-Narb!  Bel-Narb!  Child of two dogs.  Come and untether your camels. 
Come and start for holy Mecca.

Bel-Narb: 

A curse on the desert.

Aoob: 

The camels are rising.  The caravan starts for Mecca.  Farewell, beautiful city.

    [Pilgrims’ voices off:  “Bel-Narb!  Bel-Narb!”]

Bel-Narb: 

I come, children of sin.

    [Exeunt Bel-Narb and Aoob.]

    [The King enters through the great door crowned.  He sits upon the
    step.]

King: 

A crown should not be worn upon the head.  A sceptre should not be carried in Kings’ hands.  But a crown should be wrought into a golden chain, and a sceptre driven stake-wise into the ground so that a King may be chained to it by the ankle.  Then he would know that he might not stray away into the beautiful desert and might never see the palm trees by the wells.  O Thalanna, Thalanna, how I hate this city with its narrow, narrow ways, and evening after evening drunken men playing skabash in the scandalous gambling house of that old scoundrel Skarmi.  O that I might marry the child of some unkingly house that generation to generation had never known a city, and that we might ride from here down the long track through the desert, always we two alone till we came to the tents of the Arabs.  And the crown—­some foolish, greedy man should be given it to his sorrow.  And all this may not be, for a King is yet a King.

    [Enter Chamberlain through door.]

Chamberlain: 

Your Majesty!

King: 

Well, my lord Chamberlain, have you more work for me to do?

Chamberlain: 

Yes, there is much to do.

King: 

I had hoped for freedom this evening, for the faces of the camels are towards Mecca, and I would see the caravans move off into the desert where I may not go.

Chamberlain: 

There is very much for your Majesty to do.  Iktra has revolted.

King: 

Where is Iktra?

Chamberlain: 

It is a little country tributary to your Majesty, beyond Zebdarlon, up among the hills.

King: 

Almost, had it not been for this, almost I had asked you to let me go away among the camel-drivers to golden Mecca.  I have done the work of a King now for five years and listened to my councilors, and all the while the desert called to me; he said, “Come to the tents of my children, to the tents of my children!” And all the while I dwelt among these walls.