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Updated: May 18, 2025
A page, found hidden in a closet, owned that he had seen His Royal Highness pass through a corridor early in the morning. He had been softly singing to himself one of the shepherd's songs. And in this strange way out of the history of Samavia, five hundred years before Marco's day, the young prince had walked singing softly to himself the old song of Samavia's beauty and happiness.
"There grows a man for Samavia," he said to Lazarus, who watched him. "God be thanked!" Lazarus's voice was low and hoarse, and he saluted quite reverently. "Your sir!" he said. "God save the Prince!" "Yes," Loristan answered, after a moment's hesitation, "when he is found." And he went back to his table smiling his beautiful smile.
Wouldn't you?" he demanded hotly of Marco. Marco's blood was also hot, but it was a different kind of blood, and he had talked too much to a very sane man. "No," he said slowly. "What would have been the use? It wouldn't have done Samavia any good, and it wouldn't have done him any good to torture and kill people. Better keep them alive and make them do things for the country.
On his way home, Marco thought of nothing but the story he must tell his father, the story the stranger who had been to Samavia had told The Rat's father. He felt that it must be a true story and not merely an invention. The Forgers of the Sword must be real men, and the hidden subterranean caverns stacked through the centuries with arms must be real, too.
"Before he goes, it would be well for you to implore his pardon." But Mrs. Beedle's point of view was not his. She had recovered some of her breath. "I don't know where Samavia is," she raged, as she struggled to set her dusty, black cap straight. "I'll warrant it's one of these little foreign countries you can scarcely see on the map and not a decent English town in it!
As it turned, it gradually revealed a chasm of darkness dimly lighted, and the priest spoke to Marco. "There are hiding-places like this all through Samavia," he said. "Patience and misery have waited long in them. They are the caverns of the Forgers of the Sword. Come!" Many times since their journey had begun the boys had found their hearts beating with the thrill and excitement of things.
But as they faced each other in their dingy room at the back of the shabby house on the side of the roaring common road as Lazarus stood stock-still behind his father's chair and kept his eyes fixed on the empty coffee cups and the dry bread plate, and everything looked as poor as things always did there was a king of Samavia an Ivor Fedorovitch with the blood of the Lost Prince in his veins alive in some town or city this moment!
He can go as soon as he likes, so long as he pays his rent before he does it. Samavia, indeed! You talk as if he was Buckingham Palace!" When a party composed of two boys attended by a big soldierly man-servant and accompanied by two distinguished-looking, elderly men, of a marked foreign type, appeared on the platform of Charing Cross Station they attracted a good deal of attention.
Marco felt that this was an explanation which betrayed nothing. It was true that no one could open a newspaper at this period without seeing news and stories of Samavia. The Rat saw possible vistas of information opening up before him. "Sit down here," he said, "and tell us what you know about him. Sit down, you fellows."
"I have heard a man who reads and knows things say it. I believe the Lost Prince would have had the same thoughts. If he had, and told them to his son, there has been a line of kings in training for Samavia for five hundred years, and perhaps one is walking about the streets of Vienna, or Budapest, or Paris, or London now, and he'd be ready if the people found out about him and called him."
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