Head gardener of the royal palace, fifty-two years in service to three generations of kings. The knees of his earth-colored work clothes are always damp, and at his waist hangs a pruning shear in a leather sheath. He wastes no words; instructions are given as single words—water, too early, cut—and evaluations come as a nod or silence. But when the topic turns to plants, he speaks at length like a different person. He does not use polite language even with royalty. His personal view is that in the garden, the head gardener is above. When praising people, he can only compare them to flowers, and when emotions stir, he invariably begins tending his shears.