9

Toward daylight of the same morning, Tom Canty woke up from a heavy sleep and opened his eyes in the dark. He lay silent a few moments, then suddenly he burst out in a loud voice—

“I see it all, I see it all! I am indeed awake at last! Ho, Nan! Bet! I have to tell you the wildest dream that I ever had! … Ho, Nan, I say! Bet!”

Somebody appeared at his side, and a voice said—

“Do you have any commands, your majesty?”

“Commands? … O, no, I know your voice! Tell me—who am I?”

“Yesterday you were the Prince of Wales; today you are Edward, King of England.”

Tom buried his head among his pillows, and said—

“It was no dream! Go, dear sir—leave me to my sorrows.”

Tom slept again, and had this pleasant dream. He saw the Offal Court once again, and his mother, who hugged him, and then said in a loud voice—

“It’s late—may it please your Majesty to rise?”

That was not what he was expecting. The dream had snapped and he once again was awake.

He opened his eyes—the First Lord of the Bedchamber was kneeling by his couch. The poor boy recognised that he was still a captive and a king. The room was filled with servants in purple mantles—the mourning colour—and with noble servants of the monarch. Tom sat up in bed and looked around.

They began to dress him, and one server after another knelt and offered to the little King his condolences upon his heavy loss. In the beginning of the dressing, a shirt was taken up by the Chief Equerry in Waiting, who passed it to the First Lord of the Buckhounds, who passed it to the Second Gentleman of the Bedchamber, who passed it to the Head Ranger of Windsor Forest, who passed it to the Third Groom of the Stole, who passed it to the Chancellor Royal of the Duchy of Lancaster, who passed it to the Master of the Wardrobe, who passed it to Norroy King-at-Arms, who passed it to the Constable of the Tower, who passed it to the Chief Steward of the Household, who passed it to the Hereditary Grand Diaperer, who passed it to the Lord High Admiral of England, who passed it to the Archbishop of Canterbury, who passed it to the First Lord of the Bedchamber, who took put it on Tom. To Tom, all of this reminded him of passing buckets at a fire.

Each garment in its turn; Tom grew very weary of the ceremony; so weary that he felt gratefulness when he at last saw his long silken hose—the last piece of clothing—begin the journey down the line. But when The First Lord of the Bedchamber received the hose and was about to encase Tom’s legs in them, he suddenly hurried back and gave it to the Archbishop of Canterbury with an astounded look. He whispered, “See, my lord!” pointing to a something connected with the hose. The Archbishop paled, then flushed, and passed the hose to the Lord High Admiral, whispering, “See, my lord!” The Admiral passed the hose to the Hereditary Grand Diaperer. The hose was going back along the line, to the Chief Steward of the Household, the Constable of the Tower, Norroy King-at-Arms, the Master of the Wardrobe, the Chancellor Royal of the Duchy of Lancaster, the Third Groom of the Stole, the Head Ranger of Windsor Forest, the Second Gentleman of the Bedchamber, the First Lord of the Buckhounds,—accompanied always with that frightened “See! see!”—till they finally reached the hands of the Chief Equerry in Waiting, who gazed a moment, then whispered, “Body of my life, a tag gone from a truss-point!—to the Tower with the Head Keeper of the King’s Hose!”—after which he leaned upon the shoulder of the First Lord of the Buckhounds to regather his strength while a fresh hose were brought.

Then one servant poured water, another helped Tom with the washing, and another stood by with a towel, and eventually Tom was ready for the services of the Hairdresser. When that was done, he moved toward his breakfast-room. After breakfast, he moved to the throne-room, where he was to transact business of state. His ‘uncle,’ Lord Hertford, stood by the throne, to help him. A secretary began to read about the expenses of the late King, which had been 28,000 pounds during the last six months—a sum so big that Tom Canty could hardly realise it, he was still more astonished by the fact that 20,000 pounds of this money was still unpaid; and they had not paid his twelve hundred servants. Tom said—“It is necessary that we take a smaller house and do without the servants, we don’t need them. I remember me in a small house near the fish-market—”

A heavy hand on Tom’s arm stopped his foolish words; but no face showed that this strange speech had been heard.

The work went on. Petitions were read, and proclamations, and all kinds of long papers about the public business; and at last Tom’s head nodded a few times; and the business of the kingdom stopped and there was silence around the sleeping child.

In the morning, Tom had a few moments to himself, and then a slim boy of about twelve years of age came into his apartment. He dropped on one knee in front of Tom. Tom sat still for a moment. Then he said—

“Rise, boy. Who are you? What do you want?”

The boy rose, and said—

“You must remember me, my lord. I am your whipping-boy.”

“My WHIPPING-boy?”

“I am Humphrey—Humphrey Marlow, your Grace.”

The situation was delicate. What should he do?—pretend he knew this boy? No, that would not do. An idea occurred to him: accidents like this might often happen, now business would often call Hertford and St. John from his side, so perhaps it would be well to find a way out himself. Yes, he would practise on this boy. So he said—

“Now I seem to remember you, but I am not sure—”

“Oh, my poor master!” exclaimed the whipping-boy, with feeling; adding to himself, “It is as they said—his mind is gone! But they say you must not show that something is wrong with him.”

“What is your business?” said Tom.

“Two days ago, when your Majesty made three mistakes in your Greek—in the morning lessons,—do you remember it?”

“Y-e-s, I think I do. Yes, I do—go on.”

“The teacher promised that he would whip me for it—”

“Whip YOU!” said astonished Tom.“Why should he whip you for my mistakes?”

“Ah, your Grace forgets again. He always whips me when you fail in your lessons.”

“True—I forgot. Explain.”

“Your Majesty, nobody may whip the Prince of Wales; when he fails, I am whipped, for that it is my livelihood.”

“And have you been beaten according to the promise?”

“No, your Majesty, I am to be punished today, and perhaps it may be annulled, as it is the season of mourning—”

“Oh yes, I shall do it.”

“Oh, thanks, my good lord!” cried the boy, dropping upon his knee again.“Maybe I am asking too much, but—”

Tom encouraged him to speak.

“Then will I speak it out, for it lies heavy on my heart. As you are no more Prince of Wales but King, you can order as you wish. You will no longer study, but burn your books and think of other matters. Then I am ruined, and my orphan sisters with me!”

“Ruined? How?”

“My back is my bread. If you stop learning, you’ll need no whipping-boy. Do not send me away!”

Tom was touched with this distress. He said—

“Your position shall be for ever.” Then he struck the boy a light blow on the shoulder with his sword, exclaiming, “Rise, Humphrey Marlow, Whipping-Boy to the Royal House of England! I will study so badly that they must pay you more, so much work you will have.”

The grateful Humphrey exclaimed—

“Thanks, my most noble master, now I shall be happy all my days!”

Tom realised that here was a boy who could be useful to him. He encouraged Humphrey to talk. He believed that he was helping Tom to remember. As soon as he finished talking of what had happened in the royal school-room and in all the palace, he noticed that Tom was able to ‘remember’ everything quite clearly. At the end of an hour Tom found he had received a lot of information about people and matters of the Court; so he decided to speak to the boy every day.

Humphrey had hardly left when my Lord Hertford arrived. He instructed Tom as to the matters already known to him from Humphrey. It turned out that Tom needed very little help.

Seeing the royal memory so much better, Lord Hertford tried testing it. The results were happy, here and there, in the things Humphrey had spoken about. The lord was greatly encouraged. So encouraged was he, that he said with hope in his voice—

“Now I am sure that if your Majesty tried, you could remember where the Great Seal is. May I ask your Grace to make an effort?”

Tom did not know what the Great Seal was. After a moment he looked up and asked—“What was it like, my lord?”

The lord was distressed and muttered to himself, “Alas, his mind is gone again!“—then he turned the talk to other matters.

10

The next day the foreign ambassadors came, and Tom received them. Tom said the words which Hertford put into his mouth from time to time, and tried hard to do his best, but he was too new to such things and too ill at ease. He looked like a king, but he was not able to feel like one. He was glad when the ceremony was ended.

The larger part of his day was ‘wasted’—as he called it in his own mind—in royal ceremonies. However, he had an hour with his whipping-boy which he enjoyed and found useful.

The third day of Tom Canty in the palace came and went much as the others, but now he felt less ill at ease than at first; he was getting a little used to his new position. On the fourth day Tom felt like a prisoner again.

In the morning he was in a large hall, talking with Lord Hertford and waiting for a visit of great officials and courtiers. Tom came up to a window and saw a shouting crowd.

“I wish I knew what it is about!” he exclaimed.

“You are the King!” said Lord Hertford. “Shall I find out?”

“O yes!” exclaimed Tom, adding to himself, “Being a king is not so bad—it has its compensations.”

The lord called a page, and sent him to the gate with the order to find out what it was all about.

A few moments later the page returned, to say that the crowd were following a man, a woman, and a girl to execution for crimes.

Death—and a violent death—for these poor people! Tom felt sorry for them. His feelings made him forget, for the moment, that he was a false king, and before he knew it, he had given the command—

“Bring them here!”

Then he blushed, and was about to take his words back, but saw that his order was no surprise for the lord and did not say anything. The page left the hall.

Soon the doors opened; one high title after another was announced, the lords followed, and the hall was quickly filled with nobles. But Tom hardly noticed them, so interested he was in that other matter.

In a while some soldiers and the prisoners entered with the sheriff. Tom looked at the prisoners with curiosity. He seemed to remember the man.“I think I have seen this man… but when or where I don’t remember,” Tom thought. Just then the man looked quickly up and quickly dropped his face again, but Tom recognised him. He said to himself:“This is the stranger that saved Giles Witt out of the Thames, and saved his life, on the first day of the New Year. I have not forgotten the day.”

Tom addressed himself to the sheriff, saying—

“Sir, what is this man’s crime?”

The officer answered—

“Your Majesty, he has taken the life of a man by poison.”

Tom’s admiration of the prisoner received a shock.

“Has it been proved?” he asked.

“Most clearly, sir.”

Tom said—

“Take him away—he has earned his death. It is a pity, for he looks a brave man.”

The prisoner spoke to the ‘King’ in broken phrases—

“O my lord the King, have pity on me! I am innocent—I haven’t done anything—yet I do not speak of that; order them to hang me!” Tom was surprised. This was not what he had expected.

“Why do you ask for that?”

“Because I am to be BOILED ALIVE!”

The awful surprise of these words almost made Tom jump from his chair. He cried out—

“You shall be hanged, poor man!”

The prisoner bowed his face to the ground and said—

“You are very kind, my lord!”

Tom turned to Lord Hertford and said—“My lord, why was this man to be put to such awful death?”

“It is the law for poisoners, your Grace.”

“O my lord!” cried Tom.“I wish this law to be changed.”

The lord said—

“History will remember your Grace’s kindness.”

Tom said to the sheriff—

“Sir, I wish to look into this matter further. The man has said he is innocent. Tell me what you know.”

“This man entered a house in the village of Islington where one man lay sick—three witnesses say it was at ten o’clock in the morning—the sick man was sleeping—and presently the man left the house and went his way. The sick man died within an hour, torn with spasms.”

“Did anybody see the poison given? Was poison found?”

“No, your Grace.”

“Then how do they know there was poison given at all?”

“Your Majesty, the doctors said that all the symptoms showed it was poison.”

Tom recognised this evidence. Still he offered the prisoner a chance, saying—

“If you can say something in your favour, speak.”

“Nothing will help me, my King. I am innocent, but I cannot prove it. I cannot show that I was not in Islington on that day; I was not TAKING life, I was SAVING it. A boy fell in the Thames—”

“Sheriff, name the day the sick man died!”

“At ten in the morning, the first day of the New Year—”

“Let the prisoner go free—it is the King’s order! It is awful that a man can be hanged on such poor evidence!”

Tom now wished to know what kind of crime the woman and the little girl could commit; so, by his command, they were brought before him.“What have these done?” he asked the sheriff. “Your Majesty, they have to be hanged. They sold themselves to the devil—such is their crime.”

Tom had been taught to hate people who did this. Still, he asked—

“Where was this done and when?”

“On a midnight in December in a ruined church, your Majesty.”

“Who was there present?”

“Only these two, your Grace—and THAT OTHER.”

“How was it known?”

“A witness saw them going there, your Majesty; this looked suspicious, and awful effects proved it was true. They brought about a storm that ruined all the region. Forty witnesses have proved the storm.”

“This is a serious matter.” Tom said, then asked—

“Did the woman also suffer by the storm?” Several old heads among the lords nodded recognising the wisdom of this question. The sheriff answered—

“She did, your Majesty, like all others. Her house was ruined.”

“If she used her power to bring about such trouble on her and her child, then, I think, she is mad; if she is mad, she does not know what she does and cannot be hanged.”

The heads nodded recognising Tom’s wisdom once more.

“How old is the child?” asked Tom.

“Nine years, your Majesty.”

“By the law of England may a child enter into a contract and sell itself, my lord?” asked Tom, turning to Lord Hertford.

“The law does not allow a child to make any important matter.”

This new aspect of the matter made many nobles smile. The woman had stopped crying, and was looking at Tom with a growing hope. Tom noticed this and asked—

“How did they bring about the storm?”

“BY PULLING OFF THEIR STOCKINGS, sir.”

This astonished Tom and he said—

“It is wonderful! Does it always have this awful effect?”

“Always, at least if the woman wants it and says certain words.”

Tom turned to the woman and said—“Show me your power—I wish to see a storm!”

There was a sudden silence in the hall. Seeing a puzzled and astonished look in the woman’s face, Tom added—

“Do not fear—you shall go free—nobody shall touch you. Show me your power.”

“Oh, my lord the King, I do not have it—I have been falsely accused.”

“Have no fears. Make a storm, do this and you will save your life—you shall go out free, with your child.”

The woman protested, with tears, that she had no power to do the miracle, or she would gladly do it to save her child’s life.

Tom insisted—the woman still said she had no such power. Finally he said—

“I think the woman has said true. Any mother in her place having the devil’s power would ruin the whole country to save her child’s life! You are free, woman—you and your child—for I think you are innocent. Now you have nothing to fear, pull off your stockings! make me a storm, you shall be rich!”

The woman pulled off her own stockings and her little girl’s also, but nothing happened. Tom said, disappointed—

“Your power has left you. Go in peace.”

The nobles present in the hall felt admiration of the wisdom of Tom’s questions and his royal manner. They murmured—

“Thank God, he is not mad.”

“This is no madman, but a King. He is so much like his father.”