"Well, I will tell you. It was like this. Malaria had gripped those good rich lands, and not a soul would reclaim them for fear of disease. The Great King ordered his people to recultivate the plain. But so many died of fever that they murmured against the order. Thereupon he called to them and told them that they were soldiers and would they run from an enemy? 'Never,' they said, 'if he led them,' 'Do you not see, then,' said the King, 'that fever is our enemy now that I have driven off the infidel: you must fight it and die for your country if needs be.' 'We will! obey,' said the old chief who had led the deputation, 'but only if you lead us.' Whereupon? the King laughed and bade them follow him, and there and then he pitched his tent in the filthiest part of the marsh and began to dig a channel for the waters with his own hands. In that way the marsh was soon drained and dry, and such a man was the first Kradenda." "That is a good story," said Norman, "and well and concisely told. But tell me now about the garden and the summer-houses and the fountain." "What of them?" said the guide. "The summer-houses are crumbling, the garden is a wilderness and the fountains play no more." "Weird talk from a beggar," thought Norman. "But who built them?" he inquired aloud. "They are quite beautiful." "They were built by King Basilandron: he was quite beautiful, too." "I have never heard of him, though my landlady, who is a wise woman, has told me much of the history of your charming country." "Ah, we do not talk much of him in Alsander. Here is his name, cut in the wood." He showed Norman an inscription on the side of a little summer-house with wooden tracery and a faded blue paint, which ran: ΒΑΣΙΛΑΝΔΡΩΝ. "But why is it in Greek letters?" inquired Norman. "He would have everything in Greek. He it was who called the river Ianthe. It was known as Vorka before." "You know the history of Alsander well," said Norman, more and more astonished at the language and erudition of his guide. "I love Alsander," said the old man. "I know all the stones of this castle and all the stories of Alsander's past." "Then tell me the story of King Basilandron," said Norman, "for I have never heard it. And after that I shall ask you to tell me the story of your life: for rags do not make you a beggar." "Neither does my erudition prove me to be a prince in disguise," said the old fellow with a smile. "But I would rather even tell you the story of my life, tragic as it is, than tell you the story of King Basilandron, which is the tragedy of a nation, and one that those who love Alsander do not care to tell. "Tell me first the story of Basilandron and then the story of your life."