7

We left John Canty dragging the prince into Offal Court. The Prince continued to struggle for freedom, until John Canty raised his stick in a sudden fury over the Prince’s head. A man ran up to them and tried to stop the man’s arm, and the blow fell on his head: there was a groan, and the man fell.

Presently the Prince found himself in John Canty’s room. Two ragged girls and a woman sat near the wall in one corner. From another corner came an old woman with malignant eyes. John Canty said to her—

“He is saying funny things! Beat them out of him, and let your hand be as heavy as you wish. Now, boy, say that again. What is your name? Who are you?”

The prince looked into the man’s face and said—

“You cannot command me to speak. I tell you now, as I told you before, I am Edward, Prince of Wales.”

The old woman looked in stupid amazement at the prince and her ruffian son, and laughed at that. But the effect on Tom Canty’s mother and sisters was different. They ran toward him, exclaiming—

“Oh, poor Tom, poor boy!”

The mother fell on her knees before the prince, put her hands on his shoulders, and looked into his face through tears. Then she said—“Oh, my poor boy! This is all your foolish reading! Your are breaking your mother’s heart.”

The prince looked into her face, and said gently—

“Your son is well, and has not gone mad. Let me to the palace where he is, and the King my father will send him back to you.”

“The King your father! Oh, my child! Call back your poor memory. Look at me. Am I not your mother?”

The Prince shook his head and said—

“God knows I have never seen your face before.”

The woman started crying.

“Let the show go on!” shouted Canty and laughed. The girls protected their brother; and Nan said—

“Let him sleep, father, please.”

“Please, father,” said Bet;“he is more tired than usual. Tomorrow he will be himself again, and will not come home empty-handed.”

These words brought the father’s mind to business. He turned angrily on the prince, and said—

“Show what you have gathered with begging.”

The prince said—

“I tell you again I am the King’s son.”

A blow on the Prince’s shoulder from Canty sent him to the old woman. Between them they beat the boy, and then gave the girls and their mother a beating.

“Now,” said Canty, “to bed, all of you. The entertainment has made me tired.”

The light was put out, and everyone went to sleep. As soon as the father and his mother were asleep, the young girls crept to where the Prince lay, and covered him from the cold with straw and rags; and their mother crept to him also, and stroked his hair, and cried over him, whispering words of comfort and compassion.

He was touched by her brave defence of him; and he thanked her in very noble words, and begged her to go to her sleep. And he added that his father, the King, would not let her loyal kindness go unrewarded. This made her cry again. She hugged him, and then went back to her bed.

As she lay thinking, she began thinking that there was something about this boy that was not like Tom Canty, mad or not. She could not describe it, but yet her sharp mother-instinct seemed to detect it. What if the boy was really not her son, after all? Oh, absurd! She almost smiled at the idea. Still, she couldn’t ignore it. At last she decided that she had to come up with a test that would prove, clearly and without question, whether this boy was her son. She thought about it for a while, and then came up with a plan. She said to herself, “Since he was little, he would never suddenly wake up from loud noises or bad dreams, but he always would lift his arm and bring it to his face. Not as the others would do it, with the palm inward, but always with the palm turned outward. I have seen it a hundred times, and it has always been the same. Yes, I shall try it!”

She crept to the sleeping boy’s side, with the candle in her hand. She bent over him, and then suddenly flashed the light in his face and struck the floor by his ear with her hand.

The boy’s eyes opened, and he looked around him—but he did not raise his hand.

The poor woman was speechless with surprise and grief; but she hid her emotions, and helped the boy to fall asleep again. Then she thought over the result of her experiment. She tried to believe that her Tom’s madness changed his habit; but she could not do it.“No,” she said, “his hands are not mad; they could not unlearn a habit. Oh, this is a heavy day for me!”

Still, she could not bring herself to accept it; she wanted to try doing it again—the failure must have been only an accident. So she did it again, two times. And the result was the same every time. At last, she went to bed, saying, “But I cannot give him up—oh no, I cannot, I cannot—he must be my boy!”

An hour or so later, they heard noise and shouting. Then there was a knock at the door; John Canty woke up and said—

“Who knocks? What do you want?”

A voice answered—

“Do you know whom you struck with your stick?”

“No.”

“You must save your neck, you must escape. The man is dying at this moment. It is the priest, Father Andrew!”

“God!” exclaimed Canty. He commanded, “Up you all!”

Five minutes later the Canty family were in the street and running for their lives. John Canty held the prince by the hand, and said in a low voice—

“Do not say our name, you mad fool. I will choose me a new name.”

He said to the rest of the family—

“If we are separated, let’s meet at London Bridge.”

At this moment they turned the corner and found themselves in a crowd of singing, dancing, and shouting people. All of them were going to Guildhall. John Canty and his family were separated from each other in a moment. The prince wasted no time, and disappeared in the crowd.

He had to find his way to the palace and make himself known. Soon he approached the gate of Guildhall, and proclaimed his rights. The crowd enjoyed this episode greatly. Presently they began to taunt him and mock at him. Tears sprang to his eyes, but he stood his ground and behaved royally. Other taunts followed, and he exclaimed—

“I tell you again, you dogs, I am the Prince of Wales! I am alone and have no friend, but nobody will drive me from my ground!”

“You are a brave boy, and you have a friend, me, Miles Hendon.”

The speaker was tall and muscular. His clothes were of rich material, but worn out; the plume in his hat was broken; the sword at his side was rusty. The speech of this fantastic figure was received with laughter.

Someone put a hand on the prince’s shoulder, and at once the stranger’s long sword was out and the man was thrown to the ground. The next moment some voices shouted, “Kill the dog! Kill him!” and the crowd was all around the stranger. He fought like a madman. But more people came. His end was near. Suddenly a bugle was heard, a voice shouted, “Way for the King’s messenger!” Everybody ran to Guildhall. The stranger took the prince in his arms, and ran away as fast as he could.

8

After Miles Hendon and the prince escaped from the crowd, they ran to the river and soon approached London Bridge. Hendon held the Prince’s—no, the King’s—hand. The news was already known—“The King is dead!” Edward realized how much he loved his father, and felt bitter grief; for the tyrant who had been such a terror to others had always been gentle with him. There were tears in his eyes. Presently they heard:“Long live King Edward the Sixth!” He felt proud.“Ah, how great and strange it seems—I AM KING!” he thought.

Our friends made their way through the crowd on the bridge. The Bridge was a sort of town in itself; it had its inn, its beer-houses, its bakeries, its food markets, and even its church.

Hendon had a room in an inn on the Bridge. As he came up to the door with his small friend, a voice said—

“So, you’ve come at last! You’ll not escape again, I’ll give you a big beating now,”—and John Canty put his hand on the boy.

Miles Hendon said—

“What is the boy to you?”

“He is my son.”

“It is a lie!” cried the little King.

“I believe you, my boy. But whether this ruffian is your father or not, I shall not allow him to beat and abuse you.”

“I hate him, and will die before I go with him.”

“You shall die!” exclaimed John Canty.

“If you touch him, I will kill you!” said Hendon, putting his hand on his sword.“I took this boy under my protection and I shall not allow anyone to hurt him,” continued Hendon.

John Canty walked away, muttering curses. Hendon went up to his room with the boy and ordered supper. It was a poor apartment with some old furniture. The little King dragged himself to the bed and lay down on it. He had been on his feet most of the day. He murmured—

“Please call me when supper is ready,” and went to sleep.

Hendon smiled and said to himself—

“The little beggar uses your room and bed as if he owned them. He called himself the Prince of Wales, and behaved like one. Poor little boy! Well, I will be his friend; I have saved him, I like him. How brave he was! And what a gentle face he has. I will teach him; I will be his elder brother and take care of him. If my father is alive after these seven years that I have not been home, he will be glad to have the poor boy.”

A servant entered with a smoking meal, and left it on the table. The door slammed after him, and the noise woke the boy, who sat up on the bed and looked around him. A sad look came into his face and he said to himself, with a deep sigh, “It was but a dream!”

He got up and walked to the washstand in the corner and stood there, waiting. Hendon said in a cheery voice—

“We’ll have a good meal, now, for everything is tasty and hot, and that will make you feel better!”

The boy didn’t answer, but looked at the knight with impatience. Hendon was surprised, and said—

“Is something wrong?”

“Good sir, I would wash me.”

“Oh, is that all? You don’t have to ask permission. You can do as you wish.”

Still the boy didn’t move. He even tapped the floor once or twice with his small foot. Hendon didn’t know what to do. He said—

“Bless us, what is it?”

“Pour the water, and don’t talk so much!”

Hendon, laughing to himself, thought this was quite admirable, and did what was asked of him. He then stood by, until the command, “Come—the towel!” woke him up. He gave the boy the towel without comment. He then washed his own face, while his adopted child seated himself at the table. After the wash, Hendon drew back the other chair and was about to sit down at table, when the boy said—

“You cannot! Will you sit in the presence of the King?”

Hendon muttered to himself, “The poor boy is mad. I will not argue with him. He thinks he is KING. A King can order me to the Tower!”

He was pleased with the joke, stood behind the King, and attended on him like a courtier.

While the King ate, he asked Hendon to tell him about himself.

“Yes, your majesty,” Miles replied; then said to himself, “If I don’t argue with him, I must say ‘your majesty’ to him.”

“My father is a baronet, Sir Richard Hendon of Hendon Hall, in Kent. He is very rich. My mother died when I was a boy. I have two brothers: Arthur, my elder, a noble man; and Hugh, mean and treacherous. Such was he all his life; such was he ten years ago, when I last saw him. He was nineteen, I was twenty then, and Arthur twenty-two. We had a cousin, Lady Edith—she was sixteen then—beautiful, gentle, good, the daughter of an earl, an heiress of a great fortune. My father was her guardian. I loved her and she loved me; but Sir Richard wanted Arthur to marry her. Arthur loved another girl. And Hugh loved Lady Edith’s fortune, though he said he loved her. But he always said one thing and meant the other. My father loved him best of us all, and believed him; for he was the youngest child, and others hated him; and he could tell lies well. He wanted me out of the way. He told a lot of lies about me, and my father believed him. He ordered me to leave home and England for three years, that might be a good lesson to me.

“I fought in the continental wars, but in my last battle I was taken prisoner and spent seven years in prison. At last I escaped, and I have just arrived. I do not know what has happened at Hendon Hall.”

“You have been abused!” said the little King, “But I will help you! The King has said it.”

He then told Hendon about his own troubles. When he had finished, Miles said to himself—

“What an imagination he has! Poor boy, I shall take care of him. And he’ll get over it.”

The King spoke—

“You saved me, saved my life, and with it my crown. Such service demands rich reward. Say what you wish, and if it’ll be within my royal power, it will be yours.”

This fantastic suggestion startled Hendon. He was about to thank the King and say that hedesired no reward, but then he thought of something better. He asked to consider the gracious offer for a few minutes—an idea of which the King gravely approved.

Miles thought about it for a bit, then said to himself, “Yes, that is the thing to do—by any other means it were impossible to get at it. I will propose it.” Then he dropped upon one knee and said—

“If your Majesty thinks my service is worthy of some reward, I ask of this. Near four hundred years ago, as your grace knows, there was a conflict between John, King of England, and the King of France. It was decided that two champions should fight together to settle the dispute. These two kings, and the Spanish king, assembled to witness and judge the fight. The French champion appeared; but so scary was he, that our English knights refused to fight him. In the Tower at the moment lay the Lord de Courcy, the mightiest arm in England. He agreed to fight, but when he arrived to battle, the Frenchman saw him once and ran away in terror.

King John restored De Courcy’s titles and possessions, and said, ‘Name what you want, and you shall have it.’ De Courcy, kneeling, as I do now, answered, ‘I ask of this, your majesty; that I and my successors may have and hold the privilege of remaining covered in the presence of the kings of England, while the throne shall last.’ The wish was granted, and to this day the head of that ancient house still wearshis hat or helm before the King’s Majesty.

I ask the King to grant to me but this privilege—that I and my heirs, for ever, may sit in the presence of the Majesty of England!”

“Rise, Sir Miles Hendon, Knight,” said the King, “rise, and seat yourself. Your petition is granted. Whilst England remains, and the crown continues, the privilege shall last.”

Hendon dropped into a chair at table, thinking to himself, “It was a brave thought; my legs are very tired. Had I not thought of that, I must have had to stand for weeks, till my poor boy’s mind was cured.”

In the morning Hendon got up, the King woke, too.

“I have some business in the city, but will soon return; sleep again,” said Hendon.

He returned forty minutes later, with a boy’s second-hand suit of cheap material but tidy.

He looked at the bed—the boy was gone! At that moment a servant entered with the breakfast.

“Where is the boy?” shouted Hendon.

The trembling man gave him the information.

“You were hardly gone, when a boy came and asked your friend to come to you at once—and so—”

“You’re a fool! Was that boy alone?”

“Yes, alone.”

“Are you sure? Think, man.”

After a moment the servant said—

“When he came, nobody came with him; but now I remember that a ruffian-looking man followed them as they walked away over there.”