Cockadoodle-Doo, Mr Sultana!. Michael Morpurgo

n a far-off Eastern land, a long, long time ago, there once lived a great and mighty Sultan. He was, without doubt, the richest, laziest, greediest and Sultan there had ever been.

He was so rich his palace was built of nothing but shining marble and glowing gold, so rich that even the buttons on his silken clothes were made of diamonds.

He was so he had to have a special servant to brush his teeth for him, and another one to dress him.

He did nothing for himself, except eat. He was so that every meal – breakfast, lunch and dinner – he’d gobble down a nice plump peacock just to himself, and a great bowl of sweetmeats, too.

And then he’d wash it all down with a jug of honeyed camel’s milk.

It was because he was so very and so very greedy that he was so very, very

He had to sleep in a bed enough for five grown men, and his pantaloons were the most capacious pantaloons ever made for anyone anywhere.

But believe it or not there was something the Sultan cared about even more than his food – his He loved his treasure above anything else in the whole world.

Before he went to sleep every night, he would always open his treasure chest and count out his jewels – emeralds, rubies, diamonds, pearls, sapphires, hundreds and hundreds of them – just to be quite sure they were all still there. Only then could he go to bed happy and sleep soundly.

But outside the walls of his palace, the Sultan’s people lived like slaves, poor, wretched and hungry. They had to work every hour God gave them. And why?

To keep the Sultan rich in jewels. Everything they harvested – their corn, their grapes, their figs, their dates, their pomegranates – ALL had to be given to the Sultan. He allowed them just enough food to keep body and soul together – no more.

ne fine morning, the Sultan was out hunting. He loved to hunt, because all he had to do was sit astride his horse and send the hawks off to do the hunting. There was only one horse in the land strong enough to carry him, a great stout old warhorse. But strong though he was, to be sat on by the great Sultan for hour after hour under the sun, proved too much even for him.

Lathered up and exhausted, the old warhorse staggered suddenly and stumbled, throwing the Sultan to the ground.

It took ten servants to get him to his feet and brush him down. He wasn’t badly hurt, just a bit bumped and bruised, but he was angry; very angry.

He ordered his servants to whip the old horse soundly, so that he wouldn’t do it again. Then they all helped him back up on his horse, which took some time, of course; and off they went back to the palace.

he Sultan didn’t know it, not yet, and no more did anyone else, but he’d left something behind lying in the dirt on the Скачать книгу