“He is everywhere—­in the heavens, on the earth, and below the earth.”

“If He is everywhere, then He is here.  Show me the likeness of this King, Messenger.”

“Behold it,” Owen answered, thrusting forward the crucifix.

Now all the great ones about the king stared at this figure of a dying man crowned with thorns and hanging on a cross, and then drew up their lips to laugh.  But that laugh never left them; a sudden impulse, a mysterious wave of feeling choked it in their throats.  A sense of the strangeness of the contrast between themselves in their armed multitudes and this one white-robed man in his loneliness took hold of them, and with it another sense of something not far removed from fear.

“A wizard indeed,” they thought in their hearts, and what they thought the king uttered.

“I perceive,” he said, “that you are either mad, White Man, or you are a prince of wizards.  Mad you do not seem to be, for your eyes are calm, therefore a wizard you must be.  Well, stand behind me:  by-and-by I will hear your message and ask of you to show me your powers; but before then there are things which I must do.  Are the lads ready?  Ho, you, loose the bull!”

At the command a line of soldiers moved from the right, forming itself up in front of the king and his attendants, revealing a number of youths, of from sixteen to seventeen years of age, armed with sticks only, who stood in companies outside a massive gate.  Presently this gate was opened, and through it, with a mad bellow, rushed a wild buffalo bull.  On seeing them the brute halted, and for a few moments stood pawing the earth and tearing it with its great horns.  Then it put down its head and charged.  Instead of making way for it, uttering a shrill whistling sound, the youths rushed at the beast, striking with their sticks.

Another instant, and one of them appeared above the heads of his companions, thrown high into the air, to be followed by a second and a third.  Now the animal was through the throng and carrying a poor boy on its horn, whence presently he fell dead; through and through the ranks of the regiments it charged furiously backward and forward.

Watching it fascinated, Owen noted that it was a point of honour for no man to stir before its rush; there they stood, and if the bull gored them, there they fell.  At length, exhausted and terrified, the brute headed back straight up the lane where the main body of the youths were waiting for it.  Now it was among them, and, reckless of wounds or death, they swarmed about it like bees, seizing it by legs, nose, horns and tail, till with desperate efforts they dragged it to the ground and beat the life out of it with their sticks.  This done, they formed up before the king and saluted him.

“How many are killed?” he asked.

“Eight in all,” was the answer, “and fifteen gored.”

“A good bull,” he said with a smile; “that of last year killed but five.  Well, the lads fought him bravely.  Let the dead be buried, the hurt tended, or, if their harms are hopeless, slain, and to the rest give a double ration of beer.  Ho, now, fall back, men, and make a space for the Bees and the Wasps to fight in.”