The Constable of the Tower by W. Harrison Ainsworth

This tremendous son of Anak was quite as noticeable in his way as his pigmy companion—more so, perhaps. His features were broad and good-humored, and mightily pleased the king, who could not help regarding him with a certain degree of wondering admiration. Clad in the scarlet cassock of a warder, with the rose and crown embroidered on the front and back, the giant carried a partisan almost as long as the spear of Goliath of Gath.

“Marry, that should be one of the three giants of the Tower of whom I have heard tell,” observed Edward to Sir John Gage, halting as he spoke; “but who is the pigmy upon his shoulders?”

“Hath not your Highness heard of Xit, the famous dwarf of the Tower?” cried the mannikin, anticipating the constable’s reply. “I am he. And it rejoices me thus to be able to wish your Majesty a long and prosperous reign. Long live the noble king Edward!” he exclaimed, at the top of his shrill voice, waving his cap to the crowd, who loudly repeated the cry. “This overgrown fellow, an please your Majesty, is Og—not Og, King of Basan,—but Og of the Tower,” he continued, patting the giant’s head, which was almost on a level with his own; “and yonder, on either side of the gate of the Coal-Harbour Tower, stand his two brothers, Gog and Magog. There is not much difference of size amongst them, but, if anything, Og, though the eldest, is the lesser of the three; howbeit he is the broadest across the shoulders.”

“If Nature hath given thee but a small frame, she appears to have furnished thee with a glib tongue, sirrah,” replied the king, laughing.

“I complain not of Nature, my gracious liege,” rejoined Xit. “True ’tis she hath stinted me of my fair proportions, but if she hath denied me lofty stature, she hath given me in revenge more brains than she hath lodged in the thick skull of this mighty Anakim.”

“Peace, thou saucy jackanapes, or I will dash thee to the ground,” cried Og, angry at the laughter of the bystanders.

“That shouldst thou not wert thou as powerful as thy namesake of Basan,” cried Xit, clinging with great tenacity to his locks. “I descend not from my station unless at his Highness’s bidding. Remove me an thou dar’st!”

“Set him down before me,” said Edward, much diverted by the scene, “and take heed thou dost not harm him.”

“Hear’st thou not his Majesty’s command, base giant?” cried Xit, pulling him by the ear. “Place me on the ground gently and gracefully.”

Thus enjoined, Og stepped forward, and bent down in order to allow Xit to spring from his shoulder.

But though the giant stooped his huge frame as much as he conveniently could, Xit had still rather a high jump to make, and his foot unluckily catching in the puffed out wing of Og’s cassock, he alighted upon his head, amid the irrepressible laughter of the beholders.

Luckily, the dwarf’s head was tolerably thick, so no great damage was done him, neither was he much disconcerted. Picking himself quickly up, he rated Og for his clumsiness, sharply reproved the bystanders for their unseemly merriment, which caused them to laugh the more, and then made a profound, and, as he conceived, courtier-like obeisance to the king.

“What office dost thou fill in the Tower, sirrah, if there be an office small enough to fit thee?” inquired Edward.

“Any office would fit me, an please your Majesty, since my capacity is equal to the greatest,” answered Xit, readily; “but desert, as I need not remind so wise a prince, doth not always meet reward. At this moment I am out of office, or rather, I should say, I have been unaccountably overlooked. Honors and posts have fallen on taller men’s heads, but not on mine, which they would have suited equally well—mayhap better.”

“Your Majesty’s august father always kept a fool—nay, three—to make him merry with quip and quirk,” remarked Sir Thomas Seymour. “Will Somers, Sexton, and Patch, are out of date; but this conceited dandiprat might fill the place of one of them, and serve to divert your Grace.”

“By the rood! I like your notion well, gentle uncle,” rejoined Edward, with boyish delight. “Thou shalt be my fool, sirrah, if thou wilt,” he added to Xit.