dungeon hath harboured me. Through wit and courage I won to the
free air at last, and fled hither straight; and am but just
arrived, right poor in purse and raiment, and poorer still in
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 a
flashing eye. “But I will right thee–by the cross will I! The
King hath said it.”
Then, fired by the story of Miles’s wrongs, he loosed his tongue
and poured the history of his own recent misfortunes into the ears
of his astonished 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 this out of the airy nothings wherewith it hath wrought
this curious romaunt. Poor ruined little head, it shall not lack
friend or shelter whilst I bide with the living. He shall never
leave my side; he shall be my pet, my little comrade. And he
shall be cured!–ay, made whole and sound–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 saw what was in him,
and I said his name would be heard some day–behold him, 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 my
crown. Such service demandeth rich reward. Name thy desire, and
so it be within the compass of my royal power, it is thine.”
This fantastic suggestion startled Hendon out of his reverie. He
was about to thank the King and put the matter aside with saying
he had only done his duty and desired no reward, but a wiser
thought came into his head, and he asked leave to be silent a few
moments and consider the gracious offer–an idea which the King
gravely approved, remarking that it 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 is the thing to do–by any other means it were impossible to
get at it–and certes, this hour’s experience has taught me
‘twould be most wearing and inconvenient to continue it as it is.
Yes, I will propose it; ’twas a happy accident that I did not
throw the chance away.” Then he dropped upon 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 hold it worthy some reward, I take heart of grace to
make petition to this effect. Near four hundred years ago, as
your grace knoweth, there being ill blood betwixt John, King of
England, and the King of France, it was decreed that two champions
should fight together in the lists, and so settle the dispute by
what is called the arbitrament of God. These two kings, and the
Spanish king, being assembled to witness and judge the conflict,
the French champion appeared; but so redoubtable was he, that our
English knights refused to measure weapons with him. So the
matter, which was a weighty one, was like to go against the
English monarch by default. Now in the Tower lay the Lord de
Courcy, the mightiest arm in England, stripped of his honours and
possessions, and wasting with long captivity. Appeal was made to
him; he gave assent, and came forth arrayed for battle; but no
sooner did the Frenchman glimpse his huge frame and hear his
famous name but he fled away, and the French king’s cause 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
half my kingdom;’ whereat De Courcy, kneeling, as I do now, made
answer, ‘This, then, I ask, my liege; that I and my successors may
have and hold the privilege of remaining covered in the presence