“Arise, Sir Knight!” Said the old King after tapping each of the prime minister’s shoulders with a sword. It seemed as if the entire court was squeezed into the audience chamber in order to watch the prime minister’s elevation in status.
“So now we have to address that commoner as ‘Sir’ from now on?” Whispered one courtier to another who simply nodded his affirmation to the question.
Present among the onlookers was the mother of le premier ministre who looked as if she might be as ancient as His Majesty himself. Even to his enemies, it was a touching moment when the old lady kissed her son on the cheek and he in return kissed her hand. Scattered applause rippled through the room. While Princess Pirouette was conspicuous in her absence, GarGar was there, looking unperturbed, even pleased by the day’s events.
As a child, Monsieur le premier ministre had known poverty and hunger. The son of itinerate farm workers, he’d never known a home of his own. Dressed in tattered rags, his only playmates had been the livestock that he encountered along the way. It was a poignant story. Sadly, it is a story that continues to this present day.