Fecklenburg nods, sagely. 'A question many, surely, have asked, my lord', he says with a knowing wink to his compatriot Count Geyr von Voeltickler, Minister for Finance and Other Tedious Things. 'But', continues the chamberlain, 'your presence is required, sire!'
'Bah!' says the Prince shutting the door behind him; shutting it, in fact, in the face of an elaborately dressed lady. 'Who the devil is that woman who keeps following me around, Fecklenburg?'
'As I've said several times before, my lord', replies the chamberlain, 'that is your wife, the Princess Caroline'.
Rupprecht pulls a face. 'Why did she marry me?'
Voeltickler interjects. 'She is a perceptive, educated, intelligent woman. So I really have no idea, sire'.
'Did I agree to marry her?' says the Prince.
Fecklenburg nods. 'You did, my lord. You seemed quite enthusiastic about it at the time'.
'Was she enthusiastic?'
'As enthusiastic as could be expected, my lord. It was thought best not to tell her that she was marrying you until the actual wedding itself. She thought she was going on holiday to Rome'.
'But she went through with it'.
'Yes, my lord. She had a commendable sense of duty. And also, of course, a blindfold'.
'Did I find her attractive?'
'I think at the time, my lord, you commented unfavourably on how skinny she was'.
The prince nods vigorously. 'Well, it's true: you've just seen her - if she turned sideways she 'd be invisible'.
'Actually, my lord', says Voeltickler, 'she's rather plumper now than she was then'.
'Really?' scoffs Rupprecht incredulously. 'I find that hard to believe. Putting on a pound or two really hasn't made much difference at all!'
'It's eighteen stone, my lord' replies the chamberlain. 'She has put on eighteen stones'.
Voeltickler nods. 'She has, I believe, tripled her weight'.
Rupprecht snorts. 'Well, I still think she'd be improved with a bit more on her'.
'And also a little curly pink tail, no doubt', says Fecklenburg under his breath. More loudly, the chamberlain says: 'It is time, sire, to inspect the new grenadier companies! They are waiting for you in the town square!'
 |
| 'The Prince is always keen to improve himself by inviting guests that will stretch his intellect'. |
'But why must I do this? I have a busy afternoon!' whines the Prince.
'My lord', replies Fecklenburg, a little sharply, 'events in the wider world are moving on! Our allies are in disarray. Having suffered so recently yet another defeat, the army of Wurstburp has withdrawn from the war! The forces of Nabstria, too, have quit the field and sustain forces only in the ongoing siege of Fenwick's Fort Pippin!'
 |
| 'Converged grenadiers'. |
'Ours are the only forces of the Spasmodic Sanction still ready to fight' Voeltickler adds. 'And thanks to the lamentable military farce that has been the Wurstburp campaign, we are losing the war!'
Rupprecht scowls. Fecklenburg continues to hammer the point home. 'So we must reinforce General Barry-Eylund's troops, and commit him to lightning attacks upon the armies of Fenwick and Rotenburg! Only through immediate action can we change our fortunes! Even now, the general plans to bring the Fenwickians to battle. He has chosen a position near the small village of Wuppenhas at which to concentrate his forces.'
 |
| 'The grenadiers parade with their regiments'. |
Rupprecht sighs. 'Very well, very well. I'll go down and take the salute, and wave off these new troops. Barry-Eylund had better win after my heroic efforts'.
'Victory, surely, is inevitable!' Fecklenburg says stoutly. 'Surely no country in Europe is led so wisely; nor has such an effective army; nor is blessed with such a weighty queen!'
Rupprecht nods vigorously. 'Yes, Fecklenburg, you're right! Call my sedan chair! Make ready my pigs! It is time to mix with my people in a regally distant way!'
 |
| 'The troops march off to join the main army'. |
Later that morning, the three meet again in the council chambers.
'It's done!' says Rupprecht. 'Now, can I go? I've got another afternoon of peasant shoots planned'.
Voeltickler frowns. 'Surely, sir, it's a "pheasant shoot"'?
Rupprecht shakes his head. 'No, no. I'm sure it's a "peasant shoot". The Bishop of Schrote is a great enthusiast and he told me just how relaxing it was. And, you know, he wasn't wrong'.
Fecklenburg looks in alarm at the prince. 'The Bishop shoots pheasants, sir. Pheasants. The game birds. Game. Birds'.
Rupprecht looks like he is about to remonstrate, but then stops himself. His brow furrows; then, he breaks into a beaming smile. 'Well, well, well. You know - on reflection, that might indeed be what he said. Pheasants. Game birds. Not peasants. Well, that would explain a few of the difficulties that I've experienced on my shoots here'.
His two advisers look at one another, concerned. 'Difficulties? Will we need to visit the village and ... smooth things over?' enquires Fecklenburg.
Rupprecht nods, looking a little sheepish. 'Yes. Smooth things over. But, before you smooth the things over, you'll probably have to bury them first'.
Fecklenburg nods wearily. 'So I'm going to need to mend some fences?'
'Yes, mend some fences'.
'I'll talk to the locals', says the councillor.
'No', replies the prince. 'I mean literally, there are fences that will need mending - some of the peasants tried really hard to escape'.
'Very well'.
'And also, there might be some houses that need mending'.
'I'll send some carpenters'.
'By "mending", really I mean "unburning"'.
Fecklenburg gulps. 'But you didn't hurt anyone else, sir - no old folk, women or children?'
Rupprecht looks insulted. 'God's freshly laundered underwear, Fecklenburg, no - I'm not a monster - I didn't hurt any of them'.
Fecklenburg considers this for a moment, beginning to get the feeling that a definite specificity in language might be required to untangle this incident. 'So you didn't "hurt" them, sir. But are there any other things that you might have done to them?'
'No, no, no, no, no!' says the prince. He then pauses, and fishes a large key out of his pocket. 'But you might send someone to the palace cellars and unlock the door. It's not impossible that some locals might have become ... lost ... and wandered in there'.
'Lost?' says the chamberlain.
'Yes', says Rupprecht. 'Oh, you'd better have these as well', he says fishing out a collection of smaller keys, 'in case anyone happened to have mistakenly chained or shackled themselves'.
'Chained ... or shackled?' says Fecklenburg, exchanging worried glances with Voeltickler, who begins to move discreetly towards the door.
'Yes, you know, just to be on the safe side'.
'But', says the chamberlain, 'broadly, if there were old people, women and children in the cellars, nothing would have been done to them?'
'Oh no, no, no. They are with my pigs. There's nothing my pigs like better than some company: some bedtime songs and nursery rhymes'.
'So, to be clear, the children are unhurt?'
'Absolutely. Some of the smaller, tenderer ones I might have ... encouraged into the pig pens, of course'.
'Tenderer? Pig pens? Voeltickler, you need to get to the cellars quickly - take a horse!'
The prince continues. 'It's not ... it's not impossible that some of those children might have come to be covered in garlic butter'.
'Voeltickler!' shouts Fecklenburg, 'you're going to need a faster horse!'
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