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for Sham there was a bag made of shiny gold cloth.
    The Sultan’s shrill voice pierced the quiet.
    “These bags,” he said, “contain the pedigree of each stallion. They also contain amulets of great power, amulets that will prevent and cure the bite of scorpions and protect your stallions from evil spirits. Guard these bags well. The King of France and Monsieur le duc will thus bear witness to my greatness.” He patted his chest and grinned until his eyes were hidden in their folds of fat.
    “Ride under the sun,” his voice intoned. “Ride under the rain water, blessed of Allah. Ride the golden hills of the Atlas Mountains. Ride through the green valleys and the regions of the plains. Ferry across the winding rivers. And when you havecrossed the provinces of Errif and El Garb, then do you embark at Tangier and sail the blue waters of the Mediterranean. Travel in safety so that the King and Monsieur le duc will thus bear witness to my greatness.”
    He turned to Signor Achmet. His voice changed. “Give your horses the heel!” he shrieked. “Salem alick! Farewell!”
    “Alick salem!” cried the Signor, Then, clapping his spurs to his horse, he wheeled and rode out of the gate, followed by the six purest-bred stallions in the kingdom of Morocco.
    In the twinkling of an eye, horses and riders were gone, speeding toward the ship prepared for them.
    The Sultan returned to his palace with a smile of satisfaction, thinking how neatly his plans were working out.
    He did not know that the captain of the vessel had pocketed the money sent to buy corn and barley for the horses and had stuffed the sacks with straw instead. Nor did he know that the horseboys would be made to man the heavy sails on stormy seas. Nor that day after day they would be fed only on bread and water until they were skin and bones when, at last, they reached the coast of France.



10. The Boy King
    I T WAS four weeks later to a day when Signor Achmet and his little company arrived at the court of Versailles. Monsieur le duc, the King’s adviser, was in the beauty salon at the time. He was calmly admiring himself in a mirror, when suddenly the pixie-like face of the King’s groom was reflected right alongside his own.
    “My lord duke! My lord duke!” the groom puffed. “I have news! News!”
    “What brings you to the beauty salon?” Monsieur spoke in an icy tone. “Is the stable afire?”
    “Oh, no, my lord.”
    “What is it, then?” he asked, viewing the back of his wig with a long-handled mirror.
    The elfin figure of the groom was agitated with excitement. “Why, ’tis a gift to His Majesty, the King,” he breathed. “A gift of six horses. They stand within the stable this very moment.”
    “Ha!” scoffed Monsieur le duc. “A hundred horses are in the royal stables. Yet you disturb my toilet with news of a paltry six more.”
    “But, my lord! They’ve come by land and by sea all the way from. . .”
    “Hold your tongue!” the Duke commanded. He turned to the gentleman-of-the-wigs. “You shall add forty more curls,” he said, rolling the words on his tongue as if he were tasting a French pastry. “You shall do twenty on either side to form the effect of pigeons’ wings. What think you of it?”
    The gentleman-of-the-wigs raised the fingers of his right hand as if he were holding a teacup.
    “ Exactement! ” he grimaced. “Forty it shall be! Twenty on either side! It will be my masterpiece!” And he whisked the wig from Monsieur’s head, carefully replacing it with the old wig which, to the eyes of the groom, looked almost identical.
    The Duke turned to the groom. “Whence did you say the horses came?” he snapped.
    “I did not say, my lord.”
    “Well, speak up!”
    “From Africa, my lord. From Morocco. And, my lord, thebearer of the gift and his six horseboys will not leave the stable.”
    “What’s that? What’s that?”
    “They stand like stones. They will not leave. The chief fellow has a letter, and he