He went up to the bed. The king opened his eyes, and the soul
of perfect health shone out of them. Nor was Curdie amazed in his
delight.
'Is it not time to rise, Curdie?' said the king.
'It is, Your Majesty. Today we must be doing,' answered Curdie.
'What must we be doing today, Curdie?'
'Fighting, sire.'
'Then fetch me my armour - that of plated steel, in the chest
there. You will find the underclothing with it.'
As he spoke, he reached out his hand for his sword, which hung in
the bed before him, drew it, and examined the blade.
'A little rusty!' he said, 'but the edge is there. We shall polish
it ourselves today - not on the wheel. Curdie, my son, I wake from
a troubled dream. A glorious torture has ended it, and I live. I
know now well how things are, but you shall explain them to me as
I get on my armour. No, I need no bath. I am clean. Call the
colonel of the guard.'
In complete steel the old man stepped into the chamber. He knew it
not, but the old princess had passed through his room in the night.
'Why, Sir Bronzebeard!' said the king, 'you are dressed before me!
You need no valet, old man, when there is battle in the wind!'
'Battle, sire!' returned the colonel. 'Where then are our
soldiers?'
'Why, there and here,' answered the king, pointing to the colonel
first, and then to himself.
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