It boots not in this tale what wiles he used to gain Aldebaran’s ear and tongue.  Another man most surely must have failed, because he shrank from pity as from salt rubbed in a wound, and felt that none could hear his woeful history and not bestow that pity.  But if the Jester felt its throbs he gave no sign.  Seated beside him on the grass he talked in the light tone that served his trade, as if Aldebaran’s woes were but a flight of swallows ’cross a summer sky, and would as soon be gone.  And when between his quirks he’d drawn the piteous tale entirely from him, he doubled up with laughter and smote his sides.

“And I’m the fool and thou’rt the sage!” he gasped between his peals of mirth.  “Gadzooks!  Methinks it is the other way around.  Why, look ye, man!  Here thou dost go a-junketing through all the earth to find a chance to show unequalled courage, and when kind Fate doth shove it underneath thy very nose, thou turn’st away, lamenting.  I’ve heard of those who know not beans although the bag be opened, and now I laugh to see one of that very kind before me.”

Then dropping his unseemly mirth and all his wanton raillery, he stood up with his face a-shine, and spake as if he were the heaven-sent messenger of hope.

“Rise up!” he cried. “Knowest thou not it takes a thousandfold more courage to sheathe the sword when one is all on fire for action than to go forth against the greatest foe? Here is thy chance to show the world the kingliest spirit it has ever known!  Here is a phalanx thou mayst meet all single-handed—­a daily struggle with a host of hurts that cut thee to the quick.  This sheathed sword upon thy side will stab thee hourly with deeper thrusts than any adversary can give.  ’Twill be a daily ’minder of thy thwarted hopes.  For foiled ambition is the hydra-headed monster of the Lerna marsh.  Two heads will rise for every one thou severest.  ’Twill be a fight till death.  Art brave enough to lift the gauntlet that Despair flings down and wage this warfare to thy very grave?”

Such call to arms seemed mockery as Aldebaran looked down upon his twisted limbs, but as the bloodstone on his finger met his sight his kingly soul leapt up.  “I’ll keep the oath!” he cried, and struggling to his feet laid hand upon the jewelled hilt that decked his side.

“By sheathed sword, since blade is now denied me,” he swore.  “I’ll win the future that my stars foretold!”

In that exalted moment all things seemed possible, and though his body limped as haltingly he followed on behind his new-found friend, his spirit walked erect, and faced his future for the time, undaunted.

His merry-Andrew of a host made festival when they at last came to his dwelling; lit a great fire upon the hearth, brewed him a drink that warmed him to the core, brought wheaten loaves and set a bit of savoury meat to turning on the spit.