great disgrace of being seen by the watchmen was unavoidable, but he knew how to get even. He would have their heads chopped off. He would make it impossible for them to laugh about it.
He hastened to the secret gate. The gate was locked. Then he remembered he had left the key in it. There was nothing to do but to walk along the shore to the south gate, and from there through many streets to the palace. What ridiculous songs they would write about him—his subjects, when they saw him like this. But fortunately no one saw him. The streets through which he went were empty. There was only a beggar sleeping by the door of a temple. The King awoke him. “Give me that sack that covers you,” he commanded. The frightened beggar struck at him with his cane.
“Get out! If you don’t I’ll knock you down.”
The King saw that he was the weaker and hurried on. A pack of hungry dogs began to follow him howling. The watchman was sleeping at the gate when someone slapped him on the back.
“Oh! Oh! Who are you? What do you want?”
“Let me in—and give me your cloak.”
The watchman thought it was a joke. He made up a face and then laughed.
“Is that all you want? I’m sorry the imbecile asylum is so far away.”
“I command you to obey,” repeated the King in wrath.
“Get out!” pointing his spear at the ridiculous figure, with tousled hair and bleeding feet.
