The Prince and the Pauper

  CHAPTER XII. The Prince and his Deliverer.

  As soon as Miles Hendon and the little prince were clear of the mob,they struck down through back lanes and alleys toward the river. ?Theirway was unobstructed until they approached London Bridge; then theyploughed into the multitude again, Hendon keeping a fast grip uponthe Prince's--no, the King's--wrist. ?The tremendous news was alreadyabroad, and the boy learned it from a thousand voices at once--"The Kingis dead!" ?The tidings struck a chill to the heart of the poor littlewaif, and sent a shudder through his frame. ?He realised the greatnessof his loss, and was filled with a bitter grief; for the grim tyrant whohad been such a terror to others had always been gentle with him. ?Thetears sprang to his eyes and blurred all objects. ?For an instanthe felt himself the most forlorn, outcast, and forsaken of God'screatures--then another cry shook the night with its far-reachingthunders: ?"Long live King Edward the Sixth!" and this made his eyeskindle, and thrilled him with pride to his fingers' ends. "Ah," hethought, "how grand and strange it seems--_I am King_!"

  Our friends threaded their way slowly through the throngs upon thebridge. ?This structure, which had stood for six hundred years, andhad been a noisy and populous thoroughfare all that time, was a curiousaffair, for a closely packed rank of stores and shops, with familyquarters overhead, stretched along both sides of it, from one bank ofthe river to the other. ?The Bridge was a sort of town to itself; ithad its inn, its beer-houses, its bakeries, its haberdasheries, its foodmarkets, its manufacturing industries, and even its church. ?Itlooked upon the two neighbours which it linked together--Londonand Southwark--as being well enough as suburbs, but not otherwiseparticularly important. ?It was a close corporation, so to speak; it wasa narrow town, of a single street a fifth of a mile long, itspopulation was but a village population and everybody in it knew allhis fellow-townsmen intimately, and had known their fathers and mothersbefore them--and all their little family affairs into the bargain. ?Ithad its aristocracy, of course--its fine old families of butchers, andbakers, and what-not, who had occupied the same old premises for fiveor six hundred years, and knew the great history of the Bridge frombeginning to end, and all its strange legends; and who always talkedbridgy talk, and thought bridgy thoughts, and lied in a long, level,direct, substantial bridgy way. ?It was just the sort of population tobe narrow and ignorant and self-conceited. Children were born on theBridge, were reared there, grew to old age, and finally died withoutever having set a foot upon any part of the world but London Bridgealone. ?Such people would naturally imagine that the mighty andinterminable procession which moved through its street night and day,with its confused roar of shouts and cries, its neighings and bellowingand bleatings and its muffled thunder-tramp, was the one great thing inthis world, and themselves somehow the proprietors of it. ?And so theywere, in effect--at least they could exhibit it from their windows, anddid--for a consideration--whenever a returning king or hero gave it afleeting splendour, for there was no place like it for affording a long,straight, uninterrupted view of marching columns.

  Men born and reared upon the Bridge found life unendurably dull andinane elsewhere. ?History tells of one of these who left the Bridge atthe age of seventy-one and retired to the country. ?But he could onlyfret and toss in his bed; he could not go to sleep, the deep stillnesswas so painful, so awful, so oppressive. ?When he was worn out with it,at last, he fled back to his old home, a lean and haggard spectre, andfell peacefully to rest and pleasant dreams under the lulling music ofthe lashing waters and the boom and crash and thunder of London Bridge.

  In the times of which we are writing, the Bridge furnished 'objectlessons' in English history for its children--namely, the livid anddecaying heads of renowned men impaled upon iron spikes atop of itsgateways. ?But we digress.

  Hendon's lodgings were in the little inn on the Bridge. ?As he nearedthe door with his small friend, a rough voice said--

  "So, thou'rt come at last! ?Thou'lt not escape again, I warrant thee;and if pounding thy bones to a pudding can teach thee somewhat, thou'ltnot keep us waiting another time, mayhap,"--and John Canty put out hishand to seize the boy.

  Miles Hendon stepped in the way and said--

  "Not too fast, friend. ?Thou art needlessly rough, methinks. ?What isthe lad to thee?"

  "If it be any business of thine to make and meddle in others' affairs,he is my son."

  "'Tis a lie!" cried the little King, hotly.

  "Boldly said, and I believe thee, whether thy small headpiece be soundor cracked, my boy. ?But whether this scurvy ruffian be thy fatheror no, 'tis all one, he shall not have thee to beat thee and abuse,according to his threat, so thou prefer to bide with me."

  "I do, I do--I know him not, I loathe him, and will die before I will gowith him."

  "Then 'tis settled, and there is nought more to say."

  "We will see, as to that!" exclaimed John Canty, striding past Hendon toget at the boy; "by force shall he--"

  "If thou do but touch him, thou animated offal, I will spit thee like agoose!" said Hendon, barring the way and laying his hand upon his swordhilt. ?Canty drew back. ?"Now mark ye," continued Hendon, "I took thislad under my protection when a mob of such as thou would have mishandledhim, mayhap killed him; dost imagine I will desert him now to a worserfate?--for whether thou art his father or no--and sooth to say, I thinkit is a lie--a decent swift death were better for such a lad than lifein such brute hands as thine. ?So go thy ways, and set quick about it,for I like not much bandying of words, being not over-patient in mynature."

  John Canty moved off, muttering threats and curses, and was swallowedfrom sight in the crowd. ?Hendon ascended three flights of stairs to hisroom, with his charge, after ordering a meal to be sent thither. ?Itwas a poor apartment, with a shabby bed and some odds and ends of oldfurniture in it, and was vaguely lighted by a couple of sickly candles.The little King dragged himself to the bed and lay down upon it, almostexhausted with hunger and fatigue. ?He had been on his feet a goodpart of a day and a night (for it was now two or three o'clock in themorning), and had eaten nothing meantime. ?He murmured drowsily--

  "Prithee call me when the table is spread," and sank into a deep sleepimmediately.

  A smile twinkled in Hendon's eye, and he said to himself--

  "By the mass, the little beggar takes to one's quarters and usurps one'sbed with as natural and easy a grace as if he owned them--with nevera by-your-leave or so-please-it-you, or anything of the sort. ?In hisdiseased ravings he called himself the Prince of Wales, and bravely dothhe keep up the character. ?Poor little friendless rat, doubtless hismind has been disordered with ill-usage. ?Well, I will be his friend;I have saved him, and it draweth me strongly to him; already I love thebold-tongued little rascal. ?How soldier-like he faced the smutty rabbleand flung back his high defiance! ?And what a comely, sweet and gentleface he hath, now that sleep hath conjured away its troubles and itsgriefs. I will teach him; I will cure his malady; yea, I will be hiselder brother, and care for him and watch over him; and whoso wouldshame him or do him hurt may order his shroud, for though I be burnt forit he shall need it!"

  He bent over the boy and contemplated him with kind and pityinginterest, tapping the young cheek tenderly and smoothing back thetangled curls with his great brown hand. ?A slight shiver passed overthe boy's form. Hendon muttered--

  "See, now, how like a man it was to let him lie here uncovered and fillhis body with deadly rheums. ?Now what shall I do? 'twill wake him totake him up and put him within the bed, and he sorely needeth sleep."

  He looked about for extra covering, but finding none, doffed his doubletand wrapped the lad in it, saying, "I am used to nipping air and scantapparel, 'tis little I shall mind the cold!"--then walked up and downthe room, to keep his blood in motion, soliloquising as before.

  "His injured mind persuades him he is Prince of Wales; 'twill be odd tohave a Prince of Wales still with us, now that he that _was_ the princeis prince no more, but king--for this poor mind is set upon the onefantasy, and will not re
ason out that now it should cast by the princeand call itself the king. . . If my father liveth still, after theseseven years that I have heard nought from home in my foreign dungeon, hewill welcome the poor lad and give him generous shelter for my sake; sowill my good elder brother, Arthur; my other brother, Hugh--but I willcrack his crown an _he_ interfere, the fox-hearted, ill-conditionedanimal! Yes, thither will we fare--and straightway, too."

  A servant entered with a smoking meal, disposed it upon a small dealtable, placed the chairs, and took his departure, leaving such cheaplodgers as these to wait upon themselves. ?The door slammed after him,and the noise woke the boy, who sprang to a sitting posture, and shota glad glance about him; then a grieved look came into his face and hemurmured to himself, with a deep sigh, "Alack, it was but a dream, woeis me!" ?Next he noticed Miles Hendon's doublet--glanced from that toHendon, comprehended the sacrifice that had been made for him, and said,gently--

  "Thou art good to me, yes, thou art very good to me. ?Take it and put iton--I shall not need it more."

  Then he got up and walked to the washstand in the corner and stoodthere, waiting. ?Hendon said in a cheery voice--

  "We'll have a right hearty sup and bite, now, for everything is savouryand smoking hot, and that and thy nap together will make thee a littleman again, never fear!"

  The boy made no answer, but bent a steady look, that was filled withgrave surprise, and also somewhat touched with impatience, upon the tallknight of the sword. ?Hendon was puzzled, and said--

  "What's amiss?"

  "Good sir, I would wash me."

  "Oh, is that all? ?Ask no permission of Miles Hendon for aught thoucravest. ?Make thyself perfectly free here, and welcome, with all thatare his belongings."

  Still the boy stood, and moved not; more, he tapped the floor once ortwice with his small impatient foot. ?Hendon was wholly perplexed. ?Saidhe--

  "Bless us, what is it?"

  "Prithee pour the water, and make not so many words!"

  Hendon, suppressing a horse-laugh, and saying to himself, "By all thesaints, but this is admirable!" stepped briskly forward and did thesmall insolent's bidding; then stood by, in a sort of stupefaction,until the command, "Come--the towel!" woke him sharply up. ?He took up atowel, from under the boy's nose, and handed it to him without comment.?He now proceeded to comfort his own face with a wash, and while he wasat it his adopted child seated himself at the table and prepared to fallto. Hendon despatched his ablutions with alacrity, then drew back theother chair and was about to place himself at table, when the boy said,indignantly--

  "Forbear! ?Wouldst sit in the presence of the King?"

  This blow staggered Hendon to his foundations. ?He muttered to himself,"Lo, the poor thing's madness is up with the time! ?It hath changedwith the great change that is come to the realm, and now in fancy ishe _king_! Good lack, I must humour the conceit, too--there is no otherway--faith, he would order me to the Tower, else!"

  And pleased with this jest, he removed the chair from the table,took his stand behind the King, and proceeded to wait upon him in thecourtliest way he was capable of.

  While the King ate, the rigour of his royal dignity relaxed a little,and with his growing contentment came a desire to talk. He said--"Ithink thou callest thyself Miles Hendon, if I heard thee aright?"

  "Yes, Sire," Miles replied; then observed to himself, "If I _must_humour the poor lad's madness, I must 'Sire' him, I must 'Majesty' him,I must not go by halves, I must stick at nothing that belongeth to thepart I play, else shall I play it ill and work evil to this charitableand kindly cause."

  The King warmed his heart with a second glass of wine, and said--"Iwould know thee--tell me thy story. ?Thou hast a gallant way with thee,and a noble--art nobly born?"

  "We are of the tail of the nobility, good your Majesty. ?My father isa baronet--one of the smaller lords by knight service {2}--Sir RichardHendon of Hendon Hall, by Monk's Holm in Kent."

  "The name has escaped my memory. ?Go on--tell me thy story."

  "'Tis not much, your Majesty, yet perchance it may beguile a shorthalf-hour for want of a better. ?My father, Sir Richard, is very rich,and of a most generous nature. ?My mother died whilst I was yet aboy. ?I have two brothers: ?Arthur, my elder, with a soul like tohis father's; and Hugh, younger than I, a mean spirit, covetous,treacherous, vicious, underhanded--a reptile. ?Such was he from thecradle; such was he ten years past, when I last saw him--a ripe rascalat nineteen, I being twenty then, and Arthur twenty-two. ?There isnone other of us but the Lady Edith, my cousin--she was sixteenthen--beautiful, gentle, good, the daughter of an earl, the last of herrace, heiress of a great fortune and a lapsed title. ?My father was herguardian. ?I loved her and she loved me; but she was betrothed to Arthurfrom the cradle, and Sir Richard would not suffer the contract to bebroken. ?Arthur loved another maid, and bade us be of good cheer andhold fast to the hope that delay and luck together would some day givesuccess to our several causes. ?Hugh loved the Lady Edith's fortune,though in truth he said it was herself he loved--but then 'twas his way,alway, to say the one thing and mean the other. ?But he lost his artsupon the girl; he could deceive my father, but none else. ?My fatherloved him best of us all, and trusted and believed him; for he was theyoungest child, and others hated him--these qualities being in allages sufficient to win a parent's dearest love; and he had a smoothpersuasive tongue, with an admirable gift of lying--and these bequalities which do mightily assist a blind affection to cozen itself.?I was wild--in troth I might go yet farther and say _very_ wild, though'twas a wildness of an innocent sort, since it hurt none but me, broughtshame to none, nor loss, nor had in it any taint of crime or baseness,or what might not beseem mine honourable degree.

  "Yet did my brother Hugh turn these faults to good account--he seeingthat our brother Arthur's health was but indifferent, and hoping theworst might work him profit were I swept out of the path--so--but 'twerea long tale, good my liege, and little worth the telling. ?Briefly,then, this brother did deftly magnify my faults and make themcrimes; ending his base work with finding a silken ladder in mineapartments--conveyed thither by his own means--and did convince myfather by this, and suborned evidence of servants and other lyingknaves, that I was minded to carry off my Edith and marry with her inrank defiance of his will.

  "Three years of banishment from home and England might make a soldierand a man of me, my father said, and teach me some degree of wisdom.?I fought out my long probation in the continental wars, tastingsumptuously of hard knocks, privation, and adventure; but in my lastbattle I was taken captive, and during the seven years that have waxedand waned since then, a foreign dungeon hath harboured me. ?Through witand courage I won to the free air at last, and fled hither straight; andam but just arrived, right poor in purse and raiment, and poorer stillin knowledge of what these dull seven years have wrought at Hendon Hall,its people and belongings. ?So please you, sir, my meagre tale is told."

  "Thou hast been shamefully abused!" said the little King, with aflashing eye. ?"But I will right thee--by the cross will I! ?The Kinghath said it."

  Then, fired by the story of Miles's wrongs, he loosed his tongue andpoured the history of his own recent misfortunes into the ears of hisastonished listener. ?When he had finished, Miles said to himself--

  "Lo, what an imagination he hath! ?Verily, this is no common mind; else,crazed or sane, it could not weave so straight and gaudy a tale as thisout of the airy nothings wherewith it hath wrought this curious romaunt.Poor ruined little head, it shall not lack friend or shelter whilst Ibide with the living. ?He shall never leave my side; he shall be mypet, my little comrade. ?And he shall be cured!--ay, made whole andsound--then will he make himself a name--and proud shall I be to say,'Yes, he is mine--I took him, a homeless little ragamuffin, but I sawwhat was in him, and I said his name would be heard some day--beholdhim, observe him--was I right?'"

  The King spoke--in a thoughtful, measured voice--

  "Thou didst save me injury and shame, perchance my life, and so m
ycrown. Such service demandeth rich reward. ?Name thy desire, and so itbe within the compass of my royal power, it is thine."

  This fantastic suggestion startled Hendon out of his reverie. ?He wasabout to thank the King and put the matter aside with saying he had onlydone his duty and desired no reward, but a wiser thought came into hishead, and he asked leave to be silent a few moments and consider thegracious offer--an idea which the King gravely approved, remarking thatit was best to be not too hasty with a thing of such great import.

  Miles reflected during some moments, then said to himself, "Yes, that isthe thing to do--by any other means it were impossible to get at it--andcertes, this hour's experience has taught me 'twould be most wearing andinconvenient to continue it as it is. Yes, I will propose it; 'twas ahappy accident that I did not throw the chance away." ?Then he droppedupon one knee and said--

  "My poor service went not beyond the limit of a subject's simple duty,and therefore hath no merit; but since your Majesty is pleased to holdit worthy some reward, I take heart of grace to make petition to thiseffect. ?Near four hundred years ago, as your grace knoweth, there beingill blood betwixt John, King of England, and the King of France, it wasdecreed that two champions should fight together in the lists, and sosettle the dispute by what is called the arbitrament of God. ?These twokings, and the Spanish king, being assembled to witness and judge theconflict, the French champion appeared; but so redoubtable was he, thatour English knights refused to measure weapons with him. ?So the matter,which was a weighty one, was like to go against the English monarch bydefault. ?Now in the Tower lay the Lord de Courcy, the mightiest arm inEngland, stripped of his honours and possessions, and wasting withlong captivity. ?Appeal was made to him; he gave assent, and came fortharrayed for battle; but no sooner did the Frenchman glimpse his hugeframe and hear his famous name but he fled away, and the French king'scause was lost. ?King John restored De Courcy's titles and possessions,and said, 'Name thy wish and thou shalt have it, though it cost me halfmy kingdom;' whereat De Courcy, kneeling, as I do now, made answer,'This, then, I ask, my liege; that I and my successors may have andhold the privilege of remaining covered in the presence of the kings ofEngland, henceforth while the throne shall last.' The boon was granted,as your Majesty knoweth; and there hath been no time, these four hundredyears, that that line has failed of an heir; and so, even unto this day,the head of that ancient house still weareth his hat or helm before theKing's Majesty, without let or hindrance, and this none other may do.{3} Invoking this precedent in aid of my prayer, I beseech the King togrant to me but this one grace and privilege--to my more than sufficientreward--and none other, to wit: ?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, gravely--giving theaccolade with Hendon's sword--"rise, and seat thyself. ?Thy petition isgranted. ?Whilst England remains, and the crown continues, the privilegeshall not lapse."

  His Majesty walked apart, musing, and Hendon dropped into a chair attable, observing to himself, "'Twas a brave thought, and hath wroughtme a mighty deliverance; my legs are grievously wearied. An I had notthought of that, I must have had to stand for weeks, till my poor lad'swits are cured." ?After a little, he went on, "And so I am become aknight of the Kingdom of Dreams and Shadows! A most odd and strangeposition, truly, for one so matter-of-fact as I. ?I will not laugh--no,God forbid, for this thing which is so substanceless to me is _real_ tohim. ?And to me, also, in one way, it is not a falsity, for it reflectswith truth the sweet and generous spirit that is in him." ?Aftera pause: "Ah, what if he should call me by my fine title beforefolk!--there'd be a merry contrast betwixt my glory and my raiment! ?Butno matter, let him call me what he will, so it please him; I shall becontent."