“The raincoat’ll come in handy,” said Felek. “I’ll give it back to him when he’s better,” he added in justification. “Come on, let’s get to the train. We’ve already lost ten minutes.”
Their division was just being checked in when they elbowed their way onto the platform.
“Do not disperse,” ordered a young lieutenant. “I will return immediately.”
Felek told the soldiers what had happened to the volunteer and, rather worried, introduced Matt.
What will they say? Matt wondered.
“The lieutenant will throw him off the train at the first station. They’ve already told him about you and he made a face.”
“Hey, soldier, how old are you?”
“Ten.”
“Nothing’ll come of it. He can get on the train if he wants. But the lieutenant’ll throw him off, and naturally we’ll get an earful.”
“If the lieutenant throws me off the train, I’ll walk to the front line,” shouted Matt rebelliously.
Matt was choking on his tears. How could this be? He was the king and should have ridden a white horse down the flower-strewn streets of his capital, leading his legions to war. But instead he had to slip away like a thief in the night to be able to do his sacred duty of defending his country and his subjects. And now he was being pelted with one insult after another!
But the sight of the cognac and salmon quickly changed the expressions on the soldiers’ faces.
“Royal cognac, royal salmon,” said the soldiers in praise.
It gave Matt pleasure to watch the soldiers drink his tutor’s cognac.
“All right, then, little buddy, have a drink of this, we’ll see if you know how to fight.”
At last, Matt was drinking what kings drink.
“Down with tyrants, tutors, and cod-liver oil!” cried Matt.
“Ha-ha, he’s a revolutionary,” said a young corporal. “But who are you calling a tyrant? Not King Matt? Better be careful, sonny. One of those ‘Down withs’ might get you a bullet.”
“King Matt is not a tyrant,” objected Matt excitedly.
“He’s still young yet. Nobody knows what he’ll grow up to be.”
Matt was about to say something else, but Felek changed the subject skillfully. “I’ll tell you what happened to us. There were three of us on the way here. Then there was this big explosion. I thought it was a bomb from an airplane. But it was only a box of flares. It looked like stars falling out of the sky.”
“What the devil do they need flares for in a war?”
“To light up the road when there are no searchlights.”
“There was heavy artillery over to one side. The horses were frightened and rushed at us. Me and Tomek hopped off to one side, but the other volunteer didn’t have time.”
“Was he hurt bad?”
“There was a lot of blood. They took him right to the hospital.”
“That’s war,” sighed one of the soldiers. “Drink a little more cognac. Where is that train?”
Just then, the train pulled up, hissing steam. Noise, confusion, commotion.
“Don’t board yet,” cried the lieutenant, running toward them from a distance.
But his voice was lost in the uproar.
The soldiers threw Matt and Felek onto the train like two pieces of luggage. Farther down, two horses who didn’t want to board the train were kicking up a fuss. Some of the cars had to be uncoupled; the train started moving, but then there was a loud clank and the train returned to the station.
Someone came into their car holding a lantern and called out the soldiers’ names. Then the soldiers grabbed their mess kits and ran for their soup.
Matt saw and heard a little of what was going on, but his eyelids were getting heavy. He was asleep when the train got going at last, and when he awoke, the even beat of the wheels on the rails told him that the train was racing full steam ahead.
I’m on my way, thought King Matt, and fell asleep again.
THE TRAIN WAS made up of thirty freight cars full of soldiers, a few open platform cars carrying trucks and machine guns, and one special car for the officers.
Matt woke up with a slight headache. His leg, back, and eyes hurt. His hands were sticky and dirty, and worst of all, they were unbearably itchy.
“Get up, you dopes, or your soup’ll get cold.”
Matt wasn’t used to army food and could barely swallow two spoonfuls.
“Eat it, brother, because that’s all you’re getting,” said Felek to encourage Matt, but it didn’t help.
“I have a headache,” said Matt.
“Listen, Tomek, don’t even think about getting sick,” whispered Felek in a dejected voice. “You’re allowed to get wounded in a war, but not sick.”
Suddenly, Felek began scratching himself. “The old guy’s right—they’re crawling all over us. Are they biting you?”
“Who?” asked Matt.
“Who? The fleas. Or maybe something worse. The old guy told me that in a war bullets are less of a problem than those little buggers.”
Matt knew the story of the unfortunate royal footman, and he wondered what the insect that made the king so angry looked like.
But there was no time to wonder, for suddenly the corporal shouted: “Hide, the lieutenant’s coming!” Matt and Felek were shoved into one corner of the freight car.
There was a uniform check, and it turned out that some of the soldiers lacked proper uniforms, but it also turned out that there was one soldier in their car who was a tailor and loved to work. The tailor was bored, and so he was glad to make army uniforms for the volunteers.
Boots were more of a problem.
“Listen, are you boys really thinking of fighting in the war?”
“That’s right.”
“All right, fighting’s one thing, but marching is tough, too. Next to his rifle, a soldier’s best friend is his boots. You’re a soldier as long as your legs are strong, but when they give out, you’re finished. A dead dog. Good for nothing.”
They traveled slowly, chatting away the time. There were long stops. Sometimes they halted at stations for an hour or more. Sometimes they were put on a sidetrack to let more important trains pass. Sometimes they had to return to a station that they had already passed. And sometimes they stopped a mile or so before the station because there was another train on the track.
The soldiers sang songs: somebody was playing an accordion in the next car. At some of the stops, the soldiers even danced. But to Matt and Felek the trip seemed to be taking forever, because they were not allowed out of the car.
“Don’t you even poke your head out, or the lieutenant will see you.”
Matt was as tired as if he had been through not one but five great battles. He wanted to go to sleep, but he couldn’t because the fleas made him too itchy; he wanted to go out but was not allowed to, and it was stuffy in the freight car.
“You know why we’re staying here so long?” said one of the soldiers, cheerful and high-spirited, who had brought the latest news; he was always worming out information and bringing back news.
“Why? The enemy probably blew up a bridge or damaged the tracks.”
“No, our soldiers are keeping a close eye on the bridges.”
“So they must have run out of coal, the railroad couldn’t have known they’d need so much extra for all the trains.”
“Did a spy damage the engine?”
“Not that, either. All transports have been stopped because the king’s train will be passing by.”
“But who’s going to be riding on it? It couldn’t be King Matt.”
“What good can he do here?” said one soldier.
“That doesn’t matter. He’s the king, and that’s that,” said another.
“Nowadays, kings don’t go to war.”
“Other kings might not, but Matt would,” interrupted Matt, even though Felek was pulling at his sleeve.
“All kings are the same. In the old days, it might have been
different.”
“What do we know about the old days? Maybe back then the kings just lay around on their feather beds and now they tell us lies about them since there’s nobody around who can remember.”
“Why should they lie?”
“All right, but you tell me how many kings get killed in a war and how many soldiers.”
“That’s because there’s one king and a lot of soldiers.”
“And maybe you’d like more than one king? We’re in enough of a mess with the one we’ve got.”
Matt could not believe his own ears. He had always been told how much the people loved their king, especially the soldiers. Just the day before, he had thought that he better disguise himself so that people would not crush him with love, but now he saw that if he revealed who he was, it would not cause any enthusiasm at all.
It was strange—the soldiers were going off to fight for a king they didn’t like.
Matt was afraid they would say something bad about his father, but they didn’t. They even praised him: “The old king didn’t like war. He didn’t want to fight himself, and he didn’t force his people into war.”
That remark brought some relief to Matt’s aching heart.
“And what would a king do in a war, anyway? If he slept on the grass, he’d catch a cold right away. And he wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway, because of the fleas. The smell of a soldier’s clothes would give him a headache. Kings have delicate skin and delicate noses.”
Matt was fair. He had to admit they were right.
Yesterday he had slept on the grass, and now he really did have a cold. He had a headache, and he itched unbearably all over.
“Well, you guys, forget it, there’s nothing we can do about it. Better if we sing some happy songs,” said one soldier.
“There goes the train!” someone shouted.
And in fact the train had begun to pull away quite quickly. Strange as it may seem, every time someone said that it was going to be a long stop, the train would suddenly pull away and the soldiers would have to jump up and run after it. Some of them weren’t quick enough and were left behind.
“They’re teaching us to stay alert while we’re traveling, that’s why,” somebody guessed.
They pulled into a large station. It turned out that some great, important person was to go past. There were flags, honor guards, ladies dressed in white, and two children holding beautiful bouquets.
“The Minister of War himself is going to the front in the king’s train.”
Again their train was shunted to a sidetrack, where they spent the whole night. Matt slept like a log. Hungry, tired, and sad, Matt didn’t have a single dream.
At daybreak, the cars were cleaned and washed. The lieutenant ran around and inspected everything himself.
“We have to hide you boys, because there’s going to be an inspection,” said the corporal.
Felek and Matt were taken to a poor little hut that belonged to the switchman. His kindhearted wife liked to take care of soldiers. She was curious, too, and thought the young ones might tell her something.
“Oh, children, children,” she lamented, “why did this happen to you? Isn’t school better than war? Have you been fighting a long time? Where have you been, and where are you going?”
“My dear lady,” said Felek somberly. “Our father is a platoon leader. And this is what he told us when we were leaving—a good soldier has legs for marching, hands for holding his rifle, eyes for seeing, ears for listening, but he should keep his mouth shut and only open it for a spoonful of soldiers’ soup. A soldier defends himself with his rifle. But one loose tongue can destroy a whole unit. Where we’ve been and where we’re going is a military secret. We don’t know anything, and we won’t say anything.”
Now the good-hearted woman’s mouth was hanging wide open. “Who would ever have expected it—a little boy, but he talks like a grownup. And you’re right, too, because many spies have slipped in among the soldiers. They wear uniforms and ask questions and find out everything and then off they go to tell the enemy.”
Out of her great respect for the boys, she not only gave them tea but sausage as well.
Matt found the breakfast very tasty, especially since he had washed up and was now nice and clean.
“The royal train, the royal train,” a cry rang out.
Felek and Matt climbed the ladder that was leaning against the switchman’s cow shed.
“Here it comes.”
A beautiful private train with large windows was pulling into the station. A band played the national anthem. The Minister of War was standing by the window.
For an instant, the minister’s eyes met Matt’s.
Matt shuddered and bent over quickly—what if the minister had recognized him?
The minister could not have recognized Matt, first, because his mind was occupied with very important affairs, and second, because the Prime Minister had not told a soul about Matt’s disappearance. The Minister of War had been seen off by Matt, but not the real Matt. But I’ll tell you more about that later.
The Minister of Foreign Affairs had ordered the Minister of War to prepare to wage war against one king, but now they had to fight against three.
And so now the Minister of War had plenty on his mind: It’s easy to say go and fight when three armies are attacking. But what if you beat one or two and then the third one beats you?
They might have enough soldiers, but they didn’t have as many rifles, cannons, or uniforms as they needed. The minister was working on a plan: Attack suddenly, smash the first enemy, take all his supplies and equipment, and only then attack the second.
Matt was a little sad as he watched the troops standing at attention, the minister being given flowers, the band playing on and on.
I should be doing all that, he thought.
But, because he was fair, Matt said to himself: Yes, it’s easy to walk around and salute, listen to music, and accept bouquets. But how would I know where to send my armies when I still don’t know geography?
For what did Matt really know? He knew a few rivers and mountains and islands, he knew the earth was round and rotated on its axis, but a minister had to know all the fortresses, all the roads, and every forest path. Matt’s great-great-grandfather had won a major battle because he hid in the forest when the enemy attacked; he waited until the enemy was deep in the forest, and then, using the forest’s paths, he came up from behind and smashed him. The enemy thought he would meet Matt’s great-great-grandfather head-on, but he had struck unexpectedly from the rear and driven him into the swamps.
But did Matt know his own forests and swamps?
He was learning them now. If he had stayed in the capital, all he would know was his royal gardens. But now he was seeing his whole kingdom.
The soldiers were right to laugh at Matt. Matt was still a very little and ignorant king. Maybe it was bad that war had broken out so soon. If only he had had another two years, or even one.
NOW I MUST tell you what happened in the palace when they noticed that the king was gone.
The head footman went into Matt’s bedroom in the morning and could not believe his eyes—the window was open, the bed looked slept in, but there was no trace of Matt.
The royal footman was a wise man: he locked the bedroom, ran to the master of ceremonies, who was still sleeping, woke him up, and whispered in his ear: “Your lordship, the king is missing.”
In utmost secrecy, the master of ceremonies telephoned the Prime Minister.
Ten minutes had not passed before three cars squealed up to the palace. The Prime Minister stepped from one car, the Minister of Internal Affairs from another, and the prefect of police from the third.
“They’ve kidnapped the king.”
It was perfectly clear. The enemy must have thought it a good idea to kidnap the king. Matt’s army would find out there was no king, lose their will to fight, and then the enemy could take the capital without a battle.
“Who knows the ki
ng is missing?”
“No one knows.”
“That’s good.”
“We have to find out whether Matt was just kidnapped, or killed, too. I am asking you, Mr. Prefect of Police, to look into this. I want an answer in an hour.”
There was a pond in the royal gardens. Maybe they had drowned him. A diver’s suit was brought from the naval ministry. The helmet of the diver’s suit was an iron globe with little windows; air was pumped in through a hose. The prefect of police put the iron globe on his head and went down to the bottom of the pond, where he walked around searching for the king.
The sailors pumped him air from up above. But he did not find Matt.
The doctor and the Minister of Commerce were summoned to the palace. Everything was done in the utmost secrecy, but people had to be told something. After all, the servants knew that something had happened, because the ministers had been running around like lunatics since early that morning. So they said Matt was ill and the doctor had prescribed crayfish for breakfast, which was why the prefect of police had gone down into the pond.
The foreign tutor was told that Matt would have no lessons that day because he was sick in bed. Everyone believed that this was the truth because the doctor was there.
“All right, fine, we don’t have to worry today,” said the Minister of Internal Affairs. “But what will we do tomorrow?”
“I am the Prime Minister and my head isn’t just a decoration. You’ll see soon enough.”
The Minister of Commerce arrived.
“Do you remember the doll that Matt ordered for Irenka?”
“I remember it perfectly well. The Minister of Finance gave me some trouble because he thought I was spending money foolishly.”
“So, go right this minute to that same doll manufacturer and tell him that by tomorrow a doll must be made from Matt’s photograph so that no one, absolutely no one, can tell the difference; so that everyone will think they’re seeing the real Matt, in the flesh.”
The prefect of police came out of the pond, and to avoid suspicion, he brought out ten crayfish, which were immediately dispatched with much ado to the royal kitchen.
King Matt the First Page 5