ceremony was ended.
The larger part of his day was ‘wasted’–as he termed it, in his
own mind–in labours pertaining to his royal office. Even the two
hours devoted to certain princely pastimes and recreations were
rather a burden to him than otherwise, they were so fettered by
restrictions and ceremonious observances. However, he had a
private hour with his whipping-boy which he counted clear gain,
since he got both entertainment and needful information out of it.
The third day of Tom Canty’s kingship came and went much as the
others had done, but there was a lifting of his cloud in one way–
he felt less uncomfortable than at first; he was getting a little
used to his circumstances and surroundings; his chains still
galled, but not all the time; he found that the presence and
homage of the great afflicted and embarrassed him less and less
sharply with every hour that drifted over his head.
But for one single dread, he could have seen the fourth day
approach without serious distress–the dining in public; it was to
begin that day. There were greater matters in the programme–for
on that day he would have to preside at a council which would take
his views and commands concerning the policy to be pursued toward
various foreign nations scattered far and near over the great
globe; on that day, too, Hertford would be formally chosen to the
grand office of Lord Protector; other things of note were
appointed for that fourth day, also; but to Tom they were all
insignificant compared with the ordeal of dining all by himself
with a multitude of curious eyes fastened upon him and a multitude
of mouths whispering comments upon his performance,–and upon his
mistakes, if he should be so unlucky as to make any.
Still, nothing could stop that fourth day, and so it came. It
found poor Tom low-spirited and absent-minded, and this mood
continued; he could not shake it off. The ordinary duties of the
morning dragged upon his hands, and wearied him. Once more he
felt the sense of captivity heavy upon him.
Late in the forenoon he was in a large audience-chamber,
conversing with the Earl of Hertford and dully awaiting the
striking of the hour appointed for a visit of ceremony from a
considerable number of great officials and courtiers.
After a little while, Tom, who had wandered to a window and become
interested in the life and movement of the great highway beyond
the palace gates–and not idly interested, but longing with all
his heart to take part in person in its stir and freedom–saw the
van of a hooting and shouting mob of disorderly men, women, and
children of the lowest and poorest degree approaching from up the
road.
“I would I knew what ’tis about!” he exclaimed, with all a boy’s
curiosity in such happenings.
“Thou art the King!” solemnly responded the Earl, with a
reverence. “Have I your Grace’s leave to act?”
“O blithely, yes! O gladly, yes!” exclaimed Tom excitedly, adding
to himself with a lively sense of satisfaction, “In truth, being a
king is not all dreariness–it hath its compensations and
conveniences.”
The Earl called a page, and sent him to the captain of the guard
with the order–
“Let the mob be halted, and inquiry made concerning the occasion
of its movement. By the King’s command!”
A few seconds later a long rank of the royal guards, cased in
flashing steel, filed out at the gates and formed across the
highway in front of the multitude. A messenger returned, to
report that the crowd were following a man, a woman, and a young
girl to execution for crimes committed against the peace and
dignity of the realm.
Death–and a violent death–for these poor unfortunates! The
thought wrung Tom’s heart-strings. The spirit of compassion took
control of him, to the exclusion of all other considerations; he
never thought of the offended laws, or of the grief or loss which
these three criminals had inflicted upon their victims; he could
think of nothing but the scaffold and the grisly fate hanging over
the heads of the condemned. His concern made him even forget, for
the moment, that he was but the false shadow of a king, not the