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MEANTIME Miles was growing sufficiently tired of confinment and
inaction. But now his trial came on, to his great gratification, and
he thought he could welcome any sentence provided a further
imprisonment should not be a part of it. But he was mistaken about
that. He was in a fine fury when he found himself described as a
'sturdy vagabond' and sentenced to sit two hours in the pillory for
bearing that character and for assaulting the master of Hendon Hall.
His pretensions as to brothership with his prosecutor, and rightful
heirship to the Hendon honors and estates, were left contemptuously
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, and got an
occasional cuff, besides, for his unreverent conduct.
The king could not pierce through the rabble that swarmed
behind; so he was obliged to follow in the rear, remote from his
good friend and servant. The king had been nearly condemned to the
stocks himself, for being in such bad company, but had been let off
with a lecture and a warning, in consideration of his youth. When
the crowd at last halted, he flitted feverishly from point to point
around its outer rim, hunting a place to get through; and at last,
after a deal of difficulty and delay, succeeded. There sat his poor
henchman in the degrading stocks, the sport and butt of a dirty mob-
he, the body servant of the king of England! Edward had heard the
sentence pronounced, but he had not realized the half that it meant.
His anger began to rise as the sense of this new indignity which had
been put upon him sank home; it jumped to summer heat the next moment,
when he saw an egg sail through the air and crush itself against
Hendon's cheek, and heard the crowd roar its enjoyment of the episode.
He sprang across the open circle and confronted the officer in charge,
crying:
'For shame! This is my servant- set him free! I am the-'
'Oh, peace!' exclaimed Hendon, in a panic, 'thou'lt destroy
thyself. Mind him not, officer, he is mad.'
'Give thyself no trouble as to the matter of minding him, good
man, I have small mind to mind him; but as to teaching him somewhat,
to that I am well inclined.' He turned to a subordinate and said,
'Give the little fool a taste or two of the lash, to mend his
manners.'
'Half a dozen will better serve his turn,' suggested Sir Hugh, who
had ridden up a moment before to take a passing glance at the
proceedings.
The king was seized. He did not even struggle, so paralyzed was he
with the mere thought of the monstrous outrage that was proposed to be
inflicted upon his sacred person. History was already defiled with the
record of the scourging of an English king with whips- it was an
intolerable reflection that he must furnish a duplicate of that
shameful page. He was in the toils, there was no help for him; he must
either take this punishment or beg for its remission. Hard conditions;
he would take the stripes- a king might do that, but a king could
not beg.
But meantime, Miles Hendon was resolving the difficulty. 'Let
the child go,' said he; 'ye heartless dogs, do ye not see how young
and frail he is? Let him go- I will take his lashes.'
'Marry, a good thought- and thanks for it,' said Sir Hugh, his
face lighting with a sardonic satisfaction. 'Let the little beggar go,
and give this fellow a dozen in his place- an honest dozen, well
laid on.' The king was in the act of entering a fierce protest, but
Sir Hugh silenced him with the potent remark, 'Yes, speak up, do,
and free thy mind- only, mark ye, that for each word you utter he
shall get six strokes the more.'
Hendon was removed from the stocks, and his back laid bare; and
while the lash was applied the poor little king turned away his face
and allowed unroyal tears to channel his cheeks unchecked. 'Ah,
brave good heart,' he said to himself, 'this loyal deed shall never
perish out of my memory. I will not forget it- and neither shall
they!' he added, with passion. While he mused, his appreciation of
Hendon's magnanimous conduct grew to greater and still greater
dimensions in his mind, and so also did his gratefulness for it.
Presently he said to himself, 'Who saves his prince from wounds and
possible death- and this he did for me- performs high service; but
it is little- it is nothing! -oh, less than nothing!- when 'tis
weighed against the act of him who saves his prince from SHAME!'
Hendon made no outcry under the scourge, but bore the heavy
blows with soldierly fortitude. This, together with his redeeming
the boy by taking his stripes for him, compelled the respect of even
that forlorn and degraded mob that was gathered there; and its gibes
and hootings died away, and no sound remained but the sound of the
falling blows. The stillness that pervaded the place when Hendon found
himself once more in the stocks, was in strong contrast with the
insulting clamour which had prevailed there so little a while before.
The king came softly to Hendon's side, and whispered in his ear:
'Kings cannot ennoble thee, thou good, great soul, for One who
is higher than kings hath done that for thee; but a king can confirm
thy nobility to men.' He picked up the scourge from the ground,
touched Hendon's bleeding shoulders lightly with it, and whispered,
'Edward of England dubs thee earl!'
Hendon was touched. The water welled to his eyes, yet at the
same time the grisly humor of the situation and circumstances so
undermined his gravity that it was all he could do to keep some sign
of his inward mirth from showing outside. To be suddenly hoisted,
naked and gory, from the common stocks to the Alpine altitude and
splendor of an earldom, seemed to him the last possibility in the line
of the grotesque. He said to himself, 'Now am I finely tinseled,
indeed! The specter-knight of the Kingdom of Dreams and Shadows is
become a specter-earl!- a dizzy flight for a callow wing! An this go
on, I shall presently be hung like a very May-pole with fantastic
gauds and make-believe honors. But I shall value them, all valueless
as they are, for the love that doth bestow them. Better these poor
mock dignities of mine, that come unasked from a clean hand and a
right spirit, than real ones bought by servility from grudging and
interested power.'
The dreaded Sir Hugh wheeled his horse about, and, as he spurred
away, the living wall divided silently to let him pass, and as
silently closed together again. And so remained; nobody went so far as
to venture a remark in favor of the prisoner, or in compliment to him;
but no matter, the absence of abuse was a sufficient homage in itself.
A late comer who was not posted as to the present circumstances, and
who delivered a sneer at the 'impostor' and was in the act of
following it with a dead cat, was promptly knocked down and kicked
out, without any words, and then the deep quiet resumed sway once
more.
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