“IN THE NAME OF THE KING
Let none list to this false and foolish matter, upon pain of death, nor discuss the same, nor carry it abroad. In the name of the king!”
The whisperings ceased as suddenly as if the whisperers had been stricken dumb.
Soon there was a general buzz along the corridors, of “The prince! See, the prince comes!”
Poor Tom came slowly walking past the low-bowing groups, trying to bow in return, and meekly gazing upon his strange surroundings with bewildered and pathetic eyes. Great nobles walked upon each side of him, making him lean upon them, and so steady his steps. Behind him followed the court physicians and some servants.
Presently Tom found himself in a noble apartment of the palace, and heard the door close behind him. Around him stood those who had come with him.
Before him, at a little distance, reclined a very large and very fat man, with a wide, pulpy face, and a stern expression. His large head was very gray; and his whiskers, which he wore only around his face, like a frame, were gray also. His clothing was of rich stuff, but old, and slightly frayed in places. One of his swollen legs had a pillow under it, and was wrapped in bandages. There was silence now; and there was no head there but was bent in reverence, except this man’s. This stern-countenanced invalid was the dread Henry VIII. He said—and his face grew gentle as he began to speak:
“How now, my lord Edward, my prince? Hast been minded to cozen me, the good king thy father, who loveth thee, and kindly useth thee, with a sorry jest?”
Poor Tom was listening, as well as his dazed faculties would let him, to the beginning of this speech; but when the words “me the good king” fell upon his ear, his face blanched, and he dropped as instantly upon his knees as if a shot had brought him there. Lifting up his hands, he exclaimed:
“Thou the king? Then am I undone indeed!”
This speech seemed to stun the king. His eyes wandered from face to face aimlessly, then rested, bewildered, upon the boy before him. Then he said in a tone of deep disappointment:
“Alack, I had believed the rumor disproportioned to the truth; but I fear me ’tis not so.” He breathed a heavy sigh, and said in a gentle voice, “Come to thy father, child; thou art not well.”
Tom was assisted to his feet, and approached the Majesty of England, humble and trembling. The king took the frightened face between his hands, and gazed earnestly and lovingly into it awhile, as if seeking some grateful sign of returning reason there, then pressed the curly head against his breast, and patted it tenderly. Presently he said:
“Dost thou know thy father, child? Break not mine old heart; say thou know’st me. Thou dost know me, dost thou not?”
“Yea; thou art my dread lord the king, whom God preserve!”
“True, true—that is well—be comforted, tremble not so; there is none here who would hurt thee; there is none here but loves thee. Thou art better now; thy ill dream passeth—is’t not so? And thou knowest thyself now also—is’t not so? Thou wilt not miscall thyself again, as they say thou didst a little while agone?”
“I pray thee of thy grace believe me, I did but speak the truth, most dread lord; for I am the meanest among thy subjects, being a pauper born, and ’tis by a sore mischance and accident I am here, albeit I was therein nothing blameful. I am but young to die, and thou canst save me with one little word. Oh, speak it, sir!”
“Die? Talk not so, sweet prince—peace, peace, to thy troubled heart—thou shalt not die!”
Tom dropped upon his knees with a glad cry:
“God requite thy mercy, oh my king, and save thee long to bless thy land!” Then springing up, he turned a joyful face toward the two lords in waiting, and exclaimed, “Thou heard’st it! I am not to die: the king hath said it!” There was no movement, save that all bowed with grave respect; but no one spoke. He hesitated, a little confused, then turned timidly toward the king, saying, “I may go now?”
“Go? Surely, if thou desirest. But why not tarry yet a little? Whither wouldst go?”
Tom dropped his eyes, and answered humbly:
“Peradventure I mistook; but I did think me free, and so was I moved to seek again the kennel where I was born and bred to misery, yet which harboreth my mother and my sisters, and so is home to me; whereas these pomps and splendors whereunto I am not used—oh, please you, sir, to let me go!”
The king was silent and thoughtful awhile, and his face betrayed a growing distress and uneasiness. Presently he said, with something of hope in his voice:
“Perchance he is but mad upon this one strain, and hath his wits unmarred as toucheth other matter. God send it may be so! We will make trial.”
Then he asked Tom a question in Latin, and Tom answered him lamely in the same tongue. The king was delighted, and showed it. The lords and doctors manifested their gratification also. The king said:
“’Twas not according to his schooling and ability, but sheweth that his mind is but diseased, not stricken fatally. How say you, sir?”
The physican addressed bowed low, and replied:
“It jumpeth with mine own conviction, sire, that thou hast divined aright.”
The king looked pleased with this encouragement, coming as it did from so excellent authority, and continued with good heart:
“Now mark ye all: we will try him further.”
He put a question to Tom in French. Tom stood silent a moment, embarrassed by having so many eyes centered upon him, then said diffidently:
“I have no knowledge of this tongue, so please your majesty.”
The king fell back upon his couch. The attendants flew to his assistance; but he put them aside, and said:
“Trouble me not—it is nothing but a scurvy faintness. Raise me! there, ’tis sufficient. Come hither, child; there, rest thy poor troubled head upon thy father’s heart, and be at peace. Thou’lt soon be well; ’tis but a passing fantasy. Fear thou not; thou’lt soon be well.” Then he turned toward the company; his gentle manner changed, and baleful lightnings began to play from his eyes. He said:
“List ye all! This my son is mad; but it is not permanent. Overstudy hath done this, and somewhat too much of confinement. Away with his books and teachers! see ye to it. Pleasure him with sports, beguile him in wholesome ways, so that his health come again.” He raised himself higher still, and went on with energy. “He is mad; but he is my son, and England’s heir; and, mad or sane, still shall he reign! And hear ye further, and proclaim it: whoso speaketh of this his distemper worketh against the peace and order of these realms, and shall to the gallows! … Give me to drink—I burn: This sorrow sappeth my strength.… There, take away the cup.… Support me. There, that is well. Mad, is he? Were he a thousand times mad, yet is he Prince of Wales, and I the king will confirm it. This very morrow shall he be installed in his princely dignity in due and ancient form. Take instant order for it, my Lord Hertford.”
One of the nobles knelt at the royal couch, and said:
“The king’s majesty knoweth that the Hereditary Great Marshal of England lieth attainted in the Tower. It were not meet that one attainted—”
“Peace! Insult not mine ears with his hated name. Is this man to live forever? Am I to be balked of my will? Is the