The deformed clasped his lean fingers across his knees and rocked to and fro in an ecstasy of pleasure.
"King Robert the Bad will have great need of it. Your father's arms shall ache with swinging. Why, my own head would drop to-morrow like a wind-fallen apple if I had not taken fool's leave to the heights and the hollows."
The girl drew back a little, still clinging to the sword.
"Are you blood-guilty?" she asked, sternly.
The fool laughed shrilly to see the executioner's daughter shrink from blood-guiltiness.
"Not I. I am but Diogenes, the Court Fool. I have been Prince Robert's plaything over yonder in Naples since the dawn of his evil spring. When his father's death brought him over-seas to Sicily, I must needs come too, for my wry wit diverts him and my wry body sets off his comeliness. I plumed myself on my favor, but I was bottle-brave last night, and I blundered. In my cups I aped the King's airs and graces to a covey of court strumpets till their sleek sides creaked with laughter. 'Thus does King Robert carry himself,' jigged I, 'and thus does he kiss a lady's hand--fa, la, la!' Oh, it was rare."
Even as he spoke Diogenes renewed his antics, skipping on the grass to mimic how the King skipped on the palace floor, and with his lean claws he blew kisses. Perpetua thought him more repulsive in his mirth than in his rage. But suddenly his mirth dropped and his voice fell to a whisper.
"And then the King caught me at my capers and his heart swelled like a wet sponge. He swore a great oath that my fool's head should be the first to fall under his tyranny."
The girl crossed herself in horror as she questioned.
"Surely, he would not kill a fool for his folly?"
The fool shrugged his shoulders; fear and malignity tugged at the muscles of his cheeks and made them twitch.
"The King's soul is as red as hell; sin scarlet through and through; warp and woof, there is no white thread of heaven in him. Shall I number you the beads in his chaplet of vices? The seven deadly devils wanton in his heart; his spirit is of an incredible lewdness; he is prouder than the Pope, more cruel than a mousing cat--all which I complacently forgave him till he touched at my top-knot, but now I hate him."