14

Miles was growing tired of confinement.  But now his trial was about to happen, and he thought he would welcome any sentence, except for imprisonment.  But he was wrong.  He was sentenced to sit two hours in the stocks for assaulting the master of Hendon Hall.  His claims to being a Hendon were left unnoticed, as being not even worth examination.

He raged and threatened on his way to punishment, but it did no good; he was snatched roughly along by the officers.

The King followed behind his good friend and servant.  He had been nearly condemned to the stocks himself for being in such bad company, but they only gave him a lecture and a warning, because of how young he was.

When he finally made it to the stocks, he saw his poor henchman in them, surrounded by a crowd.  But he was the servant of a King! Edward’s anger began to rise. He ran up to the officer in charge, crying—

“For shame!  This is my servant—set him free!  I am the—”

“Oh, quiet!” exclaimed Hendon, in a panic, “Mind him not, officer, he is mad.”

“Don’t worry, good man, I will teach him.”  He turned to a subordinate and said, “Give the little fool a taste or two of the lash, to mend his manners.”

“Better give him half a dozen,” suggested Sir Hugh, who had ridden up, a moment before, to take a glance at the proceedings.

The King was seized.  He did not even struggle, so paralysed was he with the mere thought of what was happening.

Miles Hendon resolved the difficulty. “Let the child go,” said he; “you heartless dogs, can you not see how young and frail he is?  Let him go—I will take his lashes.”

“A good thought–and thanks for it,” said Sir Hugh, his face lighting with satisfaction. “Let the little beggar go, and give this fellow a dozen in his place.”

The King was about to protest, but Sir Hugh silenced him, “Yes, speak up—only, for each word you say he shall get six more strokes.”

Hendon was removed from the stocks, and his back laid bare; and whilst they beat him with the lash, the poor little King turned away his face and allowed tears to flow. He said to himself, “This loyal deed shall never perish out of my memory. I will not forget it—and neither will they!”

Hendon bore the heavy blows with fortitude.  This, together with him taking the lash for the boy, made the crowd silent.  When they were finished and Hendon was put back in stocks, Sir Hugh turned his horse around, and rode away. The crowd silently let him pass. Nobody went so far as to say anything of the prisoner.  A late comer who did not see anything that happened, and who delivered a sneer at the ‘impostor,’ was promptly knocked down and kicked out, without any words, and then the quiet resumed once more.

15

When Hendon’s punishment was finished, he was released and ordered to quit the region and never come back. They gave him back his sword, as well as his mule and his donkey. He and the King rode off.

Hendon was soon absorbed in thought. What should he do?  Whither should he go? Must he find help? Or must he forget his inheritance and remain an impostor.  Where could he hope to find help?

Then, he had a thought. He remembered what old Andrews had said about the young King’s goodness. Why not go and try beg for justice?  Yes, he would go for the capital. Maybe his father’s old friend Sir Humphrey Marlow would help him— ‘good old Sir Humphrey, Head Lieutenant of the late King’s kitchen, or stables, or something’—Miles could not remember.  Now that he had something to do, his spirits were lifted and he raised his head and looked around him.  He was surprised to see how far he had come; the village was away behind him.  The King was deep in plans as well.

Hendon called out—

“I had forgotten to inquire where we’re going.  Command, my liege!”

“To London!”

Hendon moved on again, satisfied with the answer—but astounded at it too.

The whole journey was made without an adventure. About ten o’clock on the night of the 19th of February they stepped upon London Bridge. Coronation Day was tomorrow, and everyone was celebrating. In a few moments, Hendon and the King were hopelessly separated from each other and lost in the crowd.

16

When we saw Tom Canty last, royalty was just beginning to have a bright side for him. This bright side got brighter and brighter every day. He lost his fears, the whipping-boy helped him a lot, and he behaved like a real king. Now he enjoyed having servants, he enjoyed having dinner, attended by courtiers, he enjoyed his splendid clothes, and ordered more, he found his four hundred servants too few for him. Yet, he remained kind and gentle, pardoned many people who would otherwise be jailed, or hanged, or burned.

Did Tom Canty never worry about the poor prince who had disappeared from the palace? Yes; his first royal days and nights were spent in thoughts about the lost prince. But as time passed, Tom’s mind became more and more busy with new pleasant things around him, and by and by he forgot him.

Tom’s poor mother and sisters travelled the same road out of his mind. At first he wished to see them, but later he feared that they might come some day in their rags and dirt, and would drag him down from the palace to Offal Court.

When Tom Canty woke up one February morning, he found himself once more the chief figure in a new wonderful world.

Later in the morning, Tom Canty, splendidly dressed, rode in a procession of nobles and their vassals; after these came the Lord Mayor and the magnates of the city. People in the streets welcomed the procession.

Tom Canty’s face was flushed with excitement, he felt absolutely happy. At this moment, he saw a pale, astonished face in the crowd. He recognised his mother! In a moment she made her way past the soldiers, and was at his side. She seized his leg and cried, “O my child, my darling!” with joy and love in her face. The same moment an officer snatched her away with a curse, and threw her back into the crowd. When this occurred, Tom Canty said, “I do not know you, woman!” As she turned to look at him, she seemed so wounded, so broken-hearted, that Tom felt shame which tore his pride to pieces.

The procession moved on, welcomed by the crowds, but Tom Canty neither saw nor heard anything. Royalty had lost its sweetness. Remorse was eating his heart out. He rode with bowed head, seeing only his mother’s face and that wounded look in it.

“Long live Edward of England!” He hardly heard it, another sound was still nearer, in his heart, those shameful words, “I do not know you, woman!”

Lord Hertford noticed the change. He said—

“Your Grace, it is a bad time for dreaming. The people see your bent head, your sad face, and they take it for a bad omen. Lift up your face, and smile at the people.”

Tom did mechanically as he had been told.

Let us go backward a few hours and look into Westminster Abbey at four o’clock in the morning of the Coronation Day. Although it is still night, we find the galleries already filling up with people who are ready to sit and wait seven or eight hours till the coronation of a King.

At seven o’clock the first nobles are conducted to their places by officials. By this time the officials are busy everywhere, seating the arriving peers and making them comfortable.

About nine, foreign ambassadors march in.

The time passed—one hour, two hours, two hours and a half; then the sounds of artillery told that the King and his procession had arrived at last. All knew that there would be a further delay, for the King must be prepared and robed for the coronation ceremony. Dukes, earls, and barons, whose names had been known for five hundred years, were waiting in their seats, all in the splendor of their stately robes.

There was a waiting pause; then, at a signal Tom Canty, dressed in a long robe of cloth of gold, appeared at a door, and stepped on the platform. Everybody rose, and the ceremony began.

Tom Canty was conducted to the throne. The ancient ceremonies went on and on, while the audience watched. Tom Canty grew pale, and deep grief was in his face.

At last the final act was to begin. The Archbishop of Canterbury lifted up the crown of England from its cushion and held it over the trembling Tom’s head. At the same moment a strange figure appeared in the great central aisle. It was a boy dressed in a cheap suit that was falling to rags. He raised his hand with a power which did not correspond to his poor appearance, and proclaimed—

“I forbid you to set the crown of England on that head. I am the King!”

In a moment several indignant hands were put on the boy; but at the same moment Tom Canty in his royal robes cried out—

“Let him go! He IS the King!”

A sort of panic of astonishment seized all those present, and they rose in their places and looked in bewilderment at one another, like people who wondered whether they were awake or asleep and dreaming. A paralysis fell on everybody, no one moved, no one spoke, no one knew what to do or what to say. And the boy still moved forward, stepped on the platform, and Tom Canty ran to meet him; and fell on his knees before him and said—

“Oh, my lord the King, let poor Tom Canty be first to swear loyalty to you and say, ‘Put on your crown and be our king!’ ”

Lord Hertford looked at the newcomer’s face, and his sternness vanished, and gave place to an expression of surprise. The same happened also to the other great nobles. They looked at each other, the thought in each mind was the same:“How much alike they are!” Lord Hertford thought a moment or two, then he said—

“Sir, I wish to ask some questions which—”

“I will answer them, my lord,” the boy said. The lord asked him many questions about the Court, the late King, the prince, the princesses—the boy answered them correctly. He described the apartments in the palace, the late King’s apartments, and those of the Prince of Wales.

It was strange; it was wonderful; yet they could not believe it. Lord Hertford shook his head and said—

“It is most wonderful, but these are not PROOFS.”

A thought occurred to Lord Hereford, he addressed the ragged candidate with a question—

“Where is the Great Seal? Answer me this question, for only the Prince of Wales CAN know! A throne and a dynasty depend on such a trifle!”

It was a lucky thought, a happy thought. Yes, none but the true prince could solve the mystery of the vanished Great Seal—this little impostor had not been able to do this.

The ragged boy gave a command, as if he was used to doing such things: “My Lord St. John, go to my apartment in the palace, and in an arm-piece of the armour that hangs on the wall you’ll find the Seal!”

Everybody was on his feet now. On the floor and on the platform the conversation was so loud that nobody heard what his neighbour was shouting into his ear, or he was shouting into his neighbour’s ear. Time—nobody knew how much—passed. At last Lord St. John appeared on the platform, and held the Great Seal up in his hand. Then a shout went up—

“Long live the true King!”

For five minutes everybody shouted, and the ragged boy stood, flushed and happy and proud, in the centre of the platform, with the great nobles of the kingdom on their knees around him.

Then all rose, and Tom Canty cried out—“Now, my King, take these robes back, and give poor Tom, your servant, his rags again.” Lord Hertford spoke—

“Let the small imposter be thrown into the Tower.”

But the new King, the true King, said—“No. But for him I would not have got my crown again!”

Tom Canty asked humbly—

“My King, will you excuse me, since I used the Great Seal of England?”

Lord Hertford looked surprised—

“Used it—yet you could not explain where it was?”

“I did not know you wanted THAT. You did not describe it, my lord.”

“Then how did you use it?”

Tom flushed, dropped his eyes and was silent.

“Speak up, good boy, and fear nothing,” said the King.“How did you use the Great Seal of England?”

Tom could hardly speak—

“To crack nuts with!”

These words were followed by a storm of laughter.

Presently the royal robe was removed from Tom’s shoulders to the King’s, whose rags were hidden under it. Then the coronation ceremonies went on, and the crown was set on his head.