One day when he was alone in his room, a chamberlain came to him and
announced that a clever mountebank had come, who would be sure to amuse
his Majesty and turn his thoughts into a pleasanter channel. The
mountebank was admitted. The emperor watched him perform all his
curious tricks without a smile. But when the man sang of a woman who
had been stolen from her home, and whose friends had freed her by means
of cunning, not strength, he listened with his whole soul in his eyes.
When the song was finished, he signed to the man to approach him, and
asked him if he could bring Oda home to Constantinople.
“Give me,” answered the mountebank, “a goodly ship, well filled with
merchandise, and I promise to bring the lady back to you. You may send
some of your soldiers with me if you like, that they may cut off my
head if I fail to keep my promise.”
Before long the ship was laden and ready for sea. It was a fast sailer,
and there were many able seamen on board, to say nothing of the
soldiers the emperor had sent to see that the player was true to his
bargain.
All went well during the voyage, and the ship at last reached the port
of Bari. The mountebank landed and set to work to find out all that he
could about the royal family. He found that King Rother had gone to
Riffland with his troops, leaving Leupold of Milan regent in his place.
He congratulated himself on his good luck when he heard this, for he
thought his plan would be easier of accomplishment during the king’s
absence. On his return to his ship he made ready to show off his
conjuring tricks on board the vessel. Crowds came, tempted by the
unusual sight. He then brought out his silks and precious stones and
offered them for sale. Amongst his wares was a pebble. The people asked
what good a wretched common pebble could do him.
“This stone,” he said, taking it gently in his hand, “is worth a ton of
gold, for if a queen should touch a lame or impotent man with it, he
would at once become strong and well again.”
“Ah,” sighed one of the lords, “if that were only true! I would give
half my county were it really so, for I have three children, all of
whom have been lame from their birth.”
“They would soon jump about and play like other children,” replied the
mountebank, “if your good queen would only come on board my ship and
try the virtue of the pebble.”
The count hastened to Queen Oda and told her his story, and she, with
her usual kindliness, said how willing she was to cure the children if
she could. She at once set out for the vessel, but no sooner were she
and her ladies on board than the landing plank was slipped, the hawsers
were unloosed, and a fresh wind catching the sails, the ship was soon
out of sight of land.