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Chapter 28


Chapter XXVIII. The sacrifice.

Meantime Miles was growing sufficiently tired of confinement 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
stocks 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 honours 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 irreverent 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 realised 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 paralysed 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
whilst 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.  Whilst 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 humour 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 splendour of an Earldom, seemed to him the last
possibility in the line of the grotesque.  He said to himself,
"Now am I finely tinselled, indeed!  The spectre-knight of the
Kingdom of Dreams and Shadows is become a spectre-earl--a dizzy
flight for a callow wing!  An' this go on, I shall presently be
hung like a very maypole with fantastic gauds and make-believe
honours.  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 favour 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.


Mark Twain