11

It was time for dinner, but Tom wasn’t worried anymore. The morning’s experiences had built up his confidence; he was feeling more and more comfortable in his new role

The banqueting-room, where the dinner was to take place, was a big apartment, with pillars and pilasters, and pictures on the walls and ceilings. At the door stood tall guards. In a high gallery which runs all around the place was a band of musicians and a company of citizens in beautiful clothes. In the centre of the room, upon a raised platform, was Tom’s table.

When the King was ready for dinner, the ceremony started. The first to come into the room were the Gentlemen, Barons, Earls, Knights of the Garter, all richly dressed; next came the Chancellors, one carrying the royal sceptre, the other the Sword of State; next came the King himself. Everyone in the galleries rose in their places, crying ‘God save the King!’ After that came in a few nobles, and on his right and left marched his guard of honour.

This was all fine and pleasant. Tom walked gracefully, because he was not thinking of how he was doing it. His mind was occupied with the beautiful room and sounds around him. Tom remembered his instructions, and acknowledged the people greeting him with a slight wave of his head, and a“I thank you, my good people.”

He seated himself at table. Everyone that followed him broke up into small groups and stood around the room.

The Yeomen of the Guard entered to the sound of music. They brought a course of dishes. These dishes were received by a gentleman in the same order they were brought, and placed upon the table, while the taster gave to each guard a mouthful of the particular dish he had brought to eat, for fear of any poison.”

Tom made a good dinner, even though he was a bit nervous that hundreds of eyes followed each piece to his mouth. He was careful not to hurry, and equally careful not to do anything for himself, but wait till the proper official knelt down and did it for him. He got through without a mistake—flawless and precious triumph.

12

Miles Hendon hurried along the Bridge. By asking questions, he was able to track them part of the way to the southern bank; then all traces were lost. Still, he continued his efforts as best he could during the rest of the day.

The ruffian that the waiter at the inn on the bridge saw, was following the boy and the King. He said nothing. His left arm was in a sling, and he wore a large green patch over his left eye; he limped slightly, and used a stick as a support. The boy led the King through Southwark. The King was irritated, now, and said he would stop here—it was Hendon’s place to come to him, not his to go to Hendon.

The boy said—

“You’re arguing here, and your friend is lying wounded in the forest.”

The King’s manner changed at once. He cried out—

“Wounded? And who has done it? Lead on! Faster!”

It was some distance to the forest, but they walked fast. By-and-by an open place was reached, where were a ruined farm-house and a barn. The boy entered the barn, the King followed him. No one there! The King asked—“Where is he?”

A mocking laugh was the answer. It was from the ruffian who had been following them. The King said angrily—

“Who are you?”

“Don’t you know your father?” said the man.

“You are not my father. I am the King.”

John Canty replied in a stern voice—

“You are mad, but remember this: I have done a murder, and may not stay at home, and I need you, you’ll beg while I’m hiding. My name is changed, it is Hobbs—John Hobbs; yours is Jack. Where are your mother and sisters? We didn’t meet at the Bridge.”

The King answered—

“My mother is dead; my sisters are in the palace.”

The boy near him laughed, but Canty—or Hobbs, as he now called himself—said—“Hugo, leave him alone; his mind is gone.”

Hobbs and Hugo talked in low voices. The King walked as far as he could from them. He went to the farther end of the barn, where he found some straw. He lay down here, drew straw over himself instead of blankets, and started thinking. He had many bad things happen, but none of them mattered as much as the loss of his father. To the rest of the world the name of Henry VIII brought a shiver; but to this boy it did not. He remembered how they talked, and his eyes filled with tears. As the night fell, the boy fell asleep.

After a long time he woke up and saw a bright fire burning in the middle of the barn; and around it was a company of the scum and ruffians, of both sexes. There were men, longhaired, in fantastic rags; there were ragged boys, there were blind vagabonds, and vagabonds with wooden legs; there were diseased ones; there were girls and women, all of them dirty, loud and cursing; there were three babies; there were even dogs who led the blind.

The gang had just finished eating. One of the blind men got up and sang. Everybody sang with him.

Conversation followed. In the course of it, it appeared that ‘John Hobbs’ was not a new person here, but had trained in the gang for some time. They wondered what he was doing, and when he said he had ‘accidentally’ killed a man, considerable satisfaction was expressed; when he added that the man was a priest, he was roundly applauded. They welcomed him with joy. He was asked why he was away from them for so long. He answered—

“London is better than the country, and safer. These late years, the laws were harsh. Had I not had that accident, I had stayed there.”

He asked how many people were in the gang now. The chief answered—

“Five and twenty. Most are here, the rest are travelling east. We follow at dawn.”

“I do not see the Wen here. Where may he be?”

“He was killed in a brawl, somewhere about midsummer.”

“Sad to hear that; he was a capable man, and brave.”

The chief sighed; the listeners sighed in sympathy. Even hardened outcasts like these were able to feel a sense of loss. A drink soon restored the mood of the company.

“Have any others of our friends fared hardly?” asked Hobbs.

“Some—yes. Particularly new comers. They begged, and were whipped at the cart’s tail, till the blood ran. It happened two more time, until they were branded on the cheek with a red-hot iron, then sold for slaves; they ran away, were hunted down, and hanged. That’s a brief tale. Others have been doing good. Stand forth, Yokel, Burns, and Hodge!”

Three men stood up and stripped away some of their rags, exposing their backs, criss-crossed with scars left by the lash; one turned up his hair and showed the place where a left ear had once been; another showed a brand on his shoulder—the letter V. One of them said—

“I am Yokel, once a farmer, with loving wife and kids—now I am alone; the wife and kids are gone; maybe they are in heaven, maybe in—in the other place—but God be thanked, they’re not in England anymore!

My good old mother earned bread by nursing the sick; one of these died, the doctors knew not how, so my mother was burnt for a witch. English law!—up, all, with your cups!—now all together and with a cheer!—drink to the merciful English law that saved from the English hell! Thank you, mates, one and all. I begged, from house to house—I and the wife and the kids—but it was crime to be hungry in England—so they stripped us and lashed us. Now my Mary lies there, in the potter’s field, safe from all harms. And the kids starved. Drink, lads—to the poor kids, that never did any creature harm. I begged again, and was sold for a slave. I have run from my master, and when I am found I shall hang!”

A ringing voice came through the air—

“You will not! And this day the end of that law is come!”

All turned, and saw the fantastic figure of the little King approaching. Everyone started asking—

“Who is it? What is it? Who are you?”

The boy stood in the midst of them, and answered—

“I am Edward, King of England.”

A wild burst of laughter followed. The King didn’t like that.

‘John Hobbs’ made several attempts to make himself heard above the crowd, and at last succeeded—saying—

“He is my son, a fool, and stark mad—mind him not—he thinks he is the King.”

“I am the King,” said Edward, turning toward him, “and you have confessed a murder—you will hang for it.”

“Tut-tut!” said the Ruffler, “you are making threats against my people, boy, and you must be careful. Be king, if it pleases your mad humour, but be not harmful in it. Now—all together: ‘Long live Edward, King of England!’”

“LONG LIVE EDWARD, KING OF ENGLAND!”

The response came with such a thunder that the building vibrated. The little King’s face lighted with pleasure for an instant, and he said—

“I thank you, my good people.”

This unexpected result made the company laugh even harder. When everyone quieted down, the Ruffler said, firmly—

“Drop it, boy, it is not wise, nor well. Choose some other title.”

Someone shouted a suggestion—

“Foo-foo the First, King of the Mooncalves!”

More laughter came—

“Bring him forth, and crown him!”

“Robe him!”

“Sceptre him!”

“Throne him!”

Quickly, the boy found himself crowned with a tin basin, robed in a blanket, throned upon a barrel, and sceptred with the tinker’s soldering-iron. Then they flung themselves on their knees around him, while saying—

“Be gracious to us, O sweet King!”

“Pity your slaves, and comfort them with a royal kick!”

“Cheer us and warm us with your gracious rays, O flaming sun of sovereignty!”

“Sanctify the ground with the touch of thy foot, that we may eat the dirt!”

The boy wanted to cry. He thought to himself—“I offered nothing but to do them a kindness—and they use me for it!”

* * *

The gang got up early in the morning and went to a big village. They entered the village from different sides. ‘Jack’ was sent with Hugo. The two walked slowly up and down one street after another, one watching for a chance to steal, and the other watching for a chance to escape.

Hugo’s chance came first. A woman approached who carried a package in a basket. Hugo waited and watched till the woman had passed by, snatched the package, and ran away. The woman noticed somebody snatch the package, though she had not seen who had done it, and shouted loudly. Hugo dropped the package, turned a corner and disappeared. The King was the only one near her, with the package at his feet. The woman seized the King with one hand, snatched up her package with the other, and began to abuse the boy while he struggled to free himself.

The crowd gathered around, threatening the King and abusing him. Just then a man in the crowd said he had seen it all, and the package had been stolen by another boy, who had escaped round the corner. At first the crowd refused to believe him, but the long sword in his hand and the stern, even frightening, expression of his face were good arguments, and the woman let the King go, the crowd looked at the stranger suspiciously, but closed their mouths. The King exclaimed—

“Where have you been so long, Sir Miles?” Some time later the two friends were riding on two old horses that Hendon had bought for himself and his little friend.