“Hereby summon the false traitor Padella, calling himself King of Crim Tartary—”
The King’s curses were dreadful. “Go on, Elephant and Castle!” said the intrepid Hedzoff.
“—To release from cowardly imprisonment his liege lady and rightful sovereign, Rosalba, Queen of Crim Tartary, and restore her to her royal throne: in default of which, I, Giglio, proclaim the said Padella sneak, traitor, humbug, usurper, and coward. I challenge him to meet me, with fists or with pistols, with battle-axe or sword, with blunderbuss or singlestick, alone or at the head of his army, on foot or on horseback; and will prove my words upon his wicked ugly body!”
“God save the King!” said Captain Hedzoff, executing a demivolte, two semilunas, and three caracols.
“Is that all?” said Padella, with the terrific calm of concentrated fury.
“That, sir, is all my royal master’s message. Here is his Majesty’s letter in autograph, and here is his glove; and if any gentleman of Crim Tartary chooses to find fault with his Majesty’s expressions, I, Kustasoff Hedzoff, Captain of the Guard, am very much at his service.” And he waved his lance, and looked at the assembly all round.
“And what says my good brother of Paflagonia, my dear son’s father-in-law, to this rubbish?” asked the King.
“The King’s uncle hath been deprived of the crown he unjustly wore,” said Hedzoff gravely. “He and his ex-Minister, Glumboso, are now in prison waiting the sentence of my royal master. After the battle of Bombardaro—”
“Of what?” asked the surprised Padella.
“—Of Bombardaro, where my liege, his present Majesty, would have performed prodigies of valor, but that the whole of his uncle’s army came over to our side, with the exception of Prince Bulbo—”
“Ah! my boy, my boy, my Bulbo was no traitor!” cried Padella.
“Prince Bulbo, far from coming over to us, ran away, sir; but I caught him. The Prince is a prisoner in our army, and the most terrific tortures await him if a hair of the Princess Rosalba’s head is injured.”
“Do they?” exclaimed the furious Padella, who was now perfectly livid with rage. “Do they indeed? So much the worse for Bulbo. I’ve twenty sons as lovely each as Bulbo. Not one but is as fit to reign as Bulbo. Whip, whack, flog
