To die a hero’s death was Matt’s only desire. Then suddenly he wondered: What kind of funeral will my enemies give me?
BUT EVEN MATT’S last wish was not to come true. Instead of one minute of suffering, cruel fate had hours of humiliation and pain and years of painful punishment in store for him.
The army had surrendered. In all Matt’s kingdom there was only one place still free, the building where the lions had been kept.
The enemy tried to storm the building, but the attack failed. A negotiator was sent in, carrying the customary white flag for protection. But as soon as he approached the building, he received two mortal wounds—Matt fired a bullet that shattered his skull, and Klu Klu’s arrow pierced his heart.
“He killed the negotiator!”
“He’s trampled on international law!”
“It’s a crime!”
“It’s unheard of.”
“The capital must be severely punished for the king’s crime.”
But the capital had already renounced Matt, saying: “Matt is no longer our king.”
While the enemy planes were bombing the capital, the wealthy and prominent citizens held a meeting.
“We’ve had enough of that wild kid’s tyranny. If he wins this time, too, it’ll be even worse than if he lost. There’s no telling what crazy new idea he’ll come up with next. Him and that Felek of his.”
Some people stood up for Matt.
“All the same, he’s done a lot of good, too. His mistakes came from a lack of experience. But he has an open mind and he’ll put his lessons to good use.”
Matt’s supporters might have won the day, but just then a bomb fell so close by that it shattered all the windows in the room where they were meeting.
“Raise the white flags,” cried someone in fear.
No one had the courage to speak out against this low treachery. And we know what happened next.
The shameful flags of surrender were raised and a document was drawn up saying that the city renounced Matt and would not be responsible for his folly.
“Let’s put an end to this comedy,” cried the young king. “We have conquered all Matt’s country. Are we going to be stopped by that henhouse?” The young king turned to a general of the artillery and said: “Set a cannon here and fire twice on either side of that building. If that stubborn Matt doesn’t come crawling out, destroy that nasty little wolf cub’s den with three rounds.”
“Yes, sir,” said the general of the artillery.
But just then the sad king’s sonorous voice rang out: “One moment, Your Royal Highness. Please don’t forget that there are three armies here, and three kings.”
The young king bit his lip and said: “It’s true there are three of us. But we have different rights. I was the first to declare war and I took the brunt of the battle.”
“And Your Royal Highness’s men were also the first to flee the battlefield.”
“But I stopped them.”
“Because Your Royal Highness knew that we’d come to your aid if you were in any danger.”
The young king did not answer. It was all true. The battle had cost him dearly: half his troops were killed or wounded and unfit for battle. And so now he had to be careful lest his two allies turn into enemies.
“So, what do you suggest?” he asked reluctantly.
“There’s no need for us to hurry. Matt can’t do us any harm from inside that building. We can surround it with soldiers. And maybe hunger will force Matt to surrender. But, meanwhile, let’s calmly discuss what’s to be done with him after we take him prisoner.”
“I think he should be taken out and shot.”
“And I think,” the sad king said grandly, “that history would never forgive us if we harmed one hair on that poor, brave child’s head.”
“History will be fair,” cried the young king furiously. “If someone is to blame for so many deaths and so much bloodshed, then he isn’t a child—he’s a criminal.”
The third king, the friend of the Oriental kings, did not say a word. Even as the other two kings quarreled, they were aware that his would be the deciding vote. He was a sly king.
Why provoke the African kings who are Matt’s friends, he thought to himself. “There’s no need to kill Matt. We can put him on a desert island instead. That way, everyone will be happy.”
And so they drew up the following agreement.
Point one. Matt must be taken prisoner alive.
Point two. Matt will be exiled to a desert island.
There was a quarrel over point three, because the sad king wanted Matt to have the right to take ten people of his own choosing with him to keep him company, but the young king would not agree.
“Only three officers and thirty soldiers can go with Matt, one officer and ten soldiers from each of the victorious kings.”
They argued on for two days, then finally they each yielded a little.
“All right, then,” said the young king, “ten friends may join him, but only after a year. And Matt is to be told that he’s been sentenced to death, and only at the last minute will we grant him a reprieve. It is absolutely essential that Matt’s people see him weep and plead, that this foolish nation which allowed itself to be led around by the nose realize once and for all that Matt is no hero but a fresh, cowardly brat. Otherwise, in a couple of years, the nation might rebel and demand that Matt be returned. Matt will be older then and even more dangerous than he is now.”
“Don’t waste time arguing,” said the king who was the friend of the Oriental kings. “Matt could die of hunger in the meantime and you would have been quarreling over nothing.”
The sad king gave in. Two points were added to the agreement.
Point three. Matt will be court-martialed and sentenced to death. Only at the last moment will the three kings grant him a reprieve.
Point four. Matt will spend the first year of captivity alone and under guard. After one year, he will be allowed to choose ten visitors, assuming that they’re willing.
They moved on to other points. How many cities and how much money each king would take. They decided that the capital would remain a free city. And so on and so forth.
Then the kings were informed that someone was demanding to be allowed into the meeting on a very important matter.
The man was a chemist who had invented a sleeping gas. If this gas was released anywhere near Matt, who was already weak from hunger, he would fall asleep at once and could be tied up and put in chains.
“My gas can be tried out on animals,” said the chemist.
A cylinder containing the gas was brought at once and placed a few hundred yards from the royal stables. A valve was opened, and out streamed a liquid that evaporated immediately, covering the stables with a smoky cloud. Five minutes later, they went into the stables and found all the horses asleep. Unaware of the experiment, a stable boy was lying on a bed of straw, so sound asleep that, though they shook him and shot their guns off by his ear, he did not blink an eye. The stable boy and the horses only woke up an hour later.
The experiment had been a smashing success. And so it was decided to put an end to the siege that very day.
It was just as well, for Matt had eaten nothing for three days, giving the little food he had to his faithful comrades.
“We must be ready to defend ourselves for a month,” said Matt.
Matt still had not lost hope that the capital would regret its cowardice and drive the enemy out.
When Matt noticed some civilians fussing about nearby, he thought it was a delegation from the capital and ordered his men not to shoot.
But what was this?
It looked like rain, but it wasn’t rain. Some sort of cold liquid was striking the windows with such force that a couple of panes had already broken. There was a sweet taste in their mouths and a choking smell in their noses. Matt couldn’t tell if it was a nice taste or not. Suspecting a trick, he grabbed his rifle, but his hands felt heavy. He strained his eyes to se
e what was happening on the other side of the cloud.
“Look out!” he shouted, overcoming his weakness.
The gas was streaming in now. Matt’s eyes were closing. The rifle fell from his hands. Matt bent over to pick it up but dropped to the floor himself.
Nothing mattered any more.
He forgot where he was.
He fell asleep.
IT WAS A rude awakening when it came.
Matt had been a prisoner before. But that time they hadn’t known he was a king. Now it was different.
There were chains on Matt’s hands and feet. There were thick bars on the cell’s windows. The windows were high up, almost by the ceiling. The heavy iron door had a tiny round window, and every minute or so, the soldier guarding him peeped in at him.
It all came back to him as he lay there with his eyes open.
What could he do now?
Matt was not the sort of person who dwelled on the past when he was in trouble. No, he always tried to figure some way out.
But how can you get out of trouble if you don’t know how you got in?
Matt was lying on a straw mat on the floor near the wall. He tapped lightly on the wall. Maybe somebody would answer? He tapped once, then once again, but no one answered.
Where was Klu Klu, what had happened to Felek? What was going on in the capital?
A key rattled in the iron door and in came two enemy soldiers. One stood by the door, the other placed a cup of milk and a roll by Matt. Matt was about to knock the cup over and spill the milk, but then he decided that made no sense. It was tough, but he had lost the war.
He sat up, and barely able to move because of his chains, he reached out for the cup. The soldiers stood and watched.
Matt ate the roll and said: “Your kings are awfully stingy. One roll, that’s a little on the cheap side. I fed your kings better when they were my guests. And when the old king was my prisoner, I treated him better than this. Now there are three kings to feed me, and all I get is one little cup of milk and one roll.”
And Matt laughed merrily.
The soldiers did not say a word, because they had been strictly forbidden to engage in conversation with the prisoner. But they reported everything immediately to the warden, who telephoned for further instructions.
An hour later, Matt was brought three more rolls and three more cups of milk.
“Oh, that’s too much. I don’t want to insult my benefactors. There are three of them, so I’ll take one roll from each—please take the extra one back.”
After eating, Matt fell asleep. He slept for a very long time and would have slept even longer, but he was awakened a little before midnight.
“Ex-King Matt the Reformer will be tried by a court-martial at twelve o’clock,” said the military prosecutor, reading from a paper with the seals of the three kings on it. “Please rise.”
“Please tell the court to have my chains removed. They’re heavy and hurt my legs.”
The chains were not hurting Matt and were even too loose. But Matt didn’t want to look ridiculous in court, encumbered with chains meant for grownup prisoners.
Matt won his point: the heavy irons were replaced by light, elegant gold chains.
His head held high, his step light, Matt entered the prison dining hall, where, not that long ago, he had dictated terms to his ministers after he’d had them thrown in prison.
He looked all around curiously.
The highest-ranking generals in the three kings’ armies sat at a long table. The kings themselves were seated on the left side of the room, civilians wearing dress coats and white gloves on the right. Who could they be? They kept turning their heads away so Matt couldn’t see them.
The indictment read as follows:
King Matt issued a manifesto to all children calling on them to revolt and not obey grownups.
King Matt wanted to cause world revolution so that he could become king of the world.
Matt shot a negotiator who was approaching him with a white flag. Since by then Matt was no longer even a king, he will be tried as an ordinary criminal. The penalty for this crime is death by hanging or a firing squad.
What did Matt have to say to this?
“It’s not true that I issued that manifesto. And it’s not true that I was no longer a king when I shot the negotiator. And no one can know whether or not I wanted to become king of the entire world, only I know that.”
“All right, then. Gentlemen, please read your statement,” said the chairman of the court to the men wearing dress coats and white gloves.
They rose reluctantly, and one of them, white as the paper in his trembling hands, read: “We held a meeting in the capital during the battle, while bombs were demolishing our city. One bomb even blew out all the windows in the very room where we were conferring. We, the residents of the capital, wishing to save our wives and children, decided that we no longer wanted Matt as our king. And so we deprived him of his throne and crown. That was very unpleasant, but we could not take any more. We hung out the white flags as a sign that we did not want war and that it was not our king who was at war, but only Matt, who would have to answer for everything himself. We are not to blame.”
“Sign here, please,” said the chairman of the court, handing Matt a pen.
Matt took the pen, thought for a moment, and then wrote at the bottom of the document: “I do not agree with this statement by a bunch of traitors and cowards who have sold out their country. I am and will always remain King Matt the First.”
Then, in a resounding voice, Matt read aloud what he had just written.
“Judges, generals, gentlemen,” Matt addressed his enemies. “I demand to be called King Matt, because that is who I am and who I will be all my life and even after my death. If this is not to be a trial but a crime committed against a vanquished king, then you are disgracing yourselves both as men and as soldiers. You can say what you like, but I will not answer.”
The generals left the room to confer. Matt whistled a soldier’s song to himself until they returned.
“Do you admit that you issued a manifesto to the children of the world?” asked the chairman of the court.
No answer.
“Does Your Royal Highness admit that he issued a manifesto to the children of the world?” asked the general.
“I do not. I never issued that manifesto.”
“Summon the witness,” ordered the judge.
The journalist-spy entered the chamber. Matt didn’t even wince.
“The witness will testify,” said the judge.
“I can testify that Matt wanted to become king of all the children in the world,” said the journalist.
“Is that true?” asked the judge.
“It is,” answered Matt. “I did want to. And I probably would have succeeded. But the signature on the manifesto was forged. That spy forged my signature. But the truth is, I did want to be king of all the children.”
The judges examined Matt’s signature. They shook their heads—they could see the signature wasn’t Matt’s but pretended they weren’t sure.
But now that no longer mattered. For, after all, Matt had admitted everything himself.
The prosecutor spoke for a long time.
“Matt must be sentenced to death, for otherwise there will be no peace in the world.”
“Do you want somebody to say something in your defense, Matt?”
No answer.
“Does Your Royal Highness wish to have someone speak in your defense?” repeated the chairman.
“There’s no need for that,” answered Matt. “It’s late now, why waste time? Better we all get some sleep.”
Matt spoke in a cheerful voice, giving no sign of what he felt in his heart. He had decided to be proud to the end.
The judges left the room as if they were going to deliberate, but returned almost at once with the verdict. “Death by firing squad.”
“Please sign this,” said the chairman.
No answer.
“I request Your Royal Highness’s signature certifying that the trial was held in accordance with the law.”
Matt signed.
Then one of the men wearing dress coats and gloves suddenly threw himself to the floor, flung his arms around Matt’s legs, and cried out in tears: “Oh, my beloved king, forgive me for betraying you. Only now do I see what we’ve done. If it hadn’t been for our cowardice, you’d have conquered them and it would be you sitting in judgment on them.”
The soldiers had to drag the man away from Matt. What was the good of it; his regrets had come too late.
“I wish you a good night, judges, gentlemen,” said Matt, and he left the room calmly and with dignity, like a true king.
Twenty soldiers with their sabers bared accompanied him down the corridor and across the courtyard to his cell.
Matt lay down on his straw mattress and pretended to sleep.
A priest came to the cell, but he felt too sorry for Matt to wake him up. He recited the prayer for people condemned to death, and then left.
Matt still pretended to be asleep. And what he thought and felt that night is Matt’s secret.
Matt was led through the city.
He walked down the middle of the street, still bound in golden chains. The streets were lined with soldiers, and behind them the people of the capital.
It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining. Everyone had come out to see their king one last time. Many people had tears in their eyes. But Matt did not see those tears, though that would have made it easier for him to go to his death.
Those who loved Matt said not a word, because they were afraid to express their love and respect for him in the presence of the enemy. Besides, what could they shout? They were used to shouting “Long live the king!” But how could they shout that now, when the king was going to his death?
But some bums shouted, and shouted loudly. The young king had ordered that they be given vodka and wine from Matt’s royal cellar.
“Oooo,” they shouted. “There goes the king, the little king. He’s so little, little King Matt, you’re crying. Come here and we’ll wipe your nose.”
Matt lifted his head so that everyone could see that his eyes were dry, even though he was frowning. He was looking at the sky, the sun.
King Matt the First Page 27