He hid himself as well as he could in the back of the cart, not wanting to be seen by passing strangers. Feeling relatively more comfortable as they moved away from the city and there were few enough people around. Trying to curl up on the cold wooden floor, his bike jolting almost on top of him, roughly tied to the inside of the cart. He stared at the back of the boy, sitting disdainfully behind the rear of the horse.

After many painful miles they came to a stop and he immediately grabbed his shorts which were still tied to the handlebars. A surge of relief at finally having something to wear, and luckily it was still a hot day. It was only then he noticed a pair of outriders, they must have been some distance each side during the journey. Going into an inn the prince did not say much except a few words to his men who fetched food for Simon and when they had finished ordered him back into the cart.

“We have to make distance today. We’ll get to Chipnam then two days to London. No need to say too much, just enjoy the scenery.” Simon had never had less inclination to enjoy the scenery.

Being jolted bruised and battered in every way possible and nearly thrown off the cart twice, just saving himself by grabbing onto a bar at the side, he was relieved to reach the town and the prince ordered rooms for them. The innkeeper obsequiously thanked him for his custom but Simon noticed no money changed hands.

“How do you pay for all this? They just give you everything you ask for.”

“Don’t worry. The higher you are the less need to carry. These are servile creatures, ever so grateful to come within touching distance of royalty. But actually they do make money from it. When the townsfolk start gossiping about my visit travellers will want to stay at the inn that housed me. So he’ll get plenty of custom.”

Simon was less convinced of their being two sides to the bargain as the journey went on. The passed the ancient castle at Wallingford and some monastic ruins and crossing the river found an inn where the innkeeper seemed intolerant of young people.

“Who do you people think you are?” he asked Simon once the prince was sitting separately with his soldiers. Simon tried not to shiver in the last light of evening. “It is getting past the tenth hour.”

“We are travelling to court,” said Simon, hoping to appear important.

“Travelling to court?” sneered the man. “You high and important people forget one thing. I have to get up in the morning, clear the fire, make breakfast for all my guests, clean the place, get food in, do all the chores and everything else. While you people come along like swans in a pond. Should remember there are some practical people in the world while you do all your travelling to court.”

His wife appeared behind. “Is he off in his mood again? Just ignore him.” The man snuffled off.

Simon related the story to Rupert who was outraged.

“He said that? He’ll hang from his own doorpost. That’ll set an example for the peasants.”

Simon stared at him appalled. The two soldiers also looked alarmed. He glared at them. “Go on.”

They stood nervously. The woman came over. “I’m so sorry. My husband is a fool. He doesn’t know. Please.” Sinking to her knees she started to cry but Rupert was unmoved.

Simon tried to intervene. He remembered a story from school. “He’s only an innkeeper. Is it really worth the waste of a good rope?”

Rupert thought that funny. Ordering another mug of beer he immediately forgot what he was doing and the soldiers guiltily sat down again.

They left Wallingford early for the long final day’s journey. Some people of the town applauded as they passed and Simon could see they were grateful for him saving the innkeeper’s life. Rupert turned his head to the back of the cart.

“See how these townsfolk look up to royalty. They worship the ground under my horse’s feet. Let me tell you how to behave at court. You will be a prince yourself, no one here would ever believe it.”

He rattled on about Viscounts and Duchesses and Latin titles and pronouns till Simon’s head was buzzing.

"So, Your Highness, when I am married I will be Prince. I can expect all courtiers above the rank of Viscount to call me Your Highness except members of the Royal Family who will call me Simon. While courtiers below the rank of Lord will call you His Highness and those above call you Sir. How do I address the head servants in the scullery and other places?"

"Ah, you never speak to those people directly. You may speak to the junior servants but when you want the stewards you should speak either to a lower rank or send your orders via an officer of the Chief Steward. But if you accidentally meet one of them and have to speak to them you should only ever do it in Latin."

"Right. You haven't got a dictionary by any chance?"

"A what?"

"Oh. I see. No matter, it's just a book that lists English words and their equivalent in Latin side by side."

"Like a crib text, you mean? The sort they use in schools."

"I guess so. It might help me if I don't speak the language very well."

"It probably won't help you much. Unless you're intent on reciting the works of Ovid. That's all we ever did in school, apart from fighting and playing tricks on the monks."

Something clicked in Simon's head. He remembered the Latin inscription at the inn. Pax intrantibus salus exeuntibus. Rupert had said, peace in our times, but Simon having seen the same inscription at a pub they secretly went to on a school trip knew it was peace to those who arrive, health to those who depart. Had Rupert never been taught by monks or had he not been to school? Maybe both on reflection. He was hard to fathom. He must be no more than seventeen at the outmost yet his behaviour seemed as commanding as a trained leader. Only expected perhaps of one who was born to be king. Other times he was as easily provoked and self righteous as any teenager. He thought about the innkeeper and the villagers and wondered how dangerous the boy could be if he got into a foul mood.

Groups of buildings appeared on all sides as they progressed and they must have rejoined the line of the A4. When they came to Windsor he thought it might be the end of the journey but they tracked north of the Thames and continued for hours more. It had been raining lightly as they drew in towards the large state buildings and the huge palace grounds. He was shivering but had nothing to cover himself. Eventually reaching his destination he was made to stand in front of two hefty guards who stepped out of their sentry boxes at the palace gates. He thought he heard an elephant trumpeting in the distance.

Rupert stayed in his seat behind the horse. "Greetings, guards. It is to be announced that I have arrived back in town with a wife for Her Highness The Beautiful Princess Rose. This is Prince Simon of Bristow. I shall arrange for a flag to be made in his honour."

The elder one sniffed at the sight of the vagabond squirming without clothes. He regarded the dirty boy in front of him with sneery contempt. Many dubious folk had entered the palace gates in Prince Rupert's company and they did not always exit by the same route. If they exited at all, many wondered. So not particularly surprised now the lad was becoming sufficiently bold as to display his strange behaviour to the open world. He cared little. He had a wife and children to feed and they would not be helped by impertinent questions on his part.

He watched the prince trot past with his burden and the pair of retainers on their own horses. Two urchin boys squinting through the bushes goggled as the small procession passed. They would be standing in the sentry box tall and important one day. The fat old soldier and his neat young colleague in the opposite box turned their attention once again to the front approach of the building, standing silent and waiting for the opportunity to defend their masters from assassination attempts and civil war.

Simon was glad when the carriage finished its journey underneath the vast porch of the palace so he would not to have to tread his bare feet on the muddy stones of the open yard. Relieved too that he had come at the end of what seemed to have been a longer and more extended rain shower. Alighting he tested the grey stone floor. Not cold to the touch. Standing unsteadily he once again examined the increasing shabbiness of his body. Having become more accustomed to the strange way the boy had not given him clothes to wear he still felt an exhibit in a zoo. Once again very hungry. While he shivered Rupert discussed with his attendants what to do with him. They were clearly not happy. He could hear bits of their conversation.

"I hardly think the Beautiful Princess Rose will be so glad to know you have arranged a match for her."

"She will be delighted. We were talking about the possibility only the day before I left. She hasn't found another suitor has she?"

"Not much hope. But what about his family? They must be furious."

"He doesn't have any. Appeared as a stranger. Was sentenced to be executed. Probably an escaped convict or something. ..."

They went into a huddle and Simon could not make out the muttering. A few minutes later Rupert came over.

"It's all sorted. You can stay. George will take you for a bath before dinner so you can be presentable to my parents."

Before he could say anything the courtier escorted him through an oak door into a great vestibule from which corridors ran in all directions. They went up a flight of stairs, deep inside the palace. Then down again, past a room where some servants were spitting what looked like an ox. Hunger hit him hard. He had never smelt a whole animal being cooked. Eventually they reached a chamber with a bathtub. The courtier ordered him to take off his clothes.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

"Er, sure, well, actually," began Simon but thinking it would be better simply to say nothing he just took his shorts off and climbed into the water. The courtier kicked them away for a servant to remove. It was not hot but comfortably warm so he ducked underneath and rinsed his hair.

"I don't suppose civilised people had soap in those days," he asked. The man looked at him sniffily and said nothing.

"Oh I suppose I've offended you have I? Did I forget to call you Sir or Your Highness? You're only some flunky. You should be calling me Sir and running around to get anything I want. How about some clothes?"

"The Prince's orders are that you should be washed. A waste of good water if you ask me. Anything else you want you will have to deal with him. Now get out."

Simon stepped onto the floor, cascading water onto the wooden boards. He dried himself with his hands as best he could.

"Now what? Do I get a towel or a bathrobe or what?"

The man handed him the smallest towel he had ever seen. "You get an audience with the Duke. Goodness knows why he would wish to receive you."

The Duke of Kent was at his private table when Simon was ushered in. Simon did his best to conceal himself with the towel. Absently the Duke motioned him to sit down. He wore a long purple and gold silk robe with several garments underneath which made him look well-built. Perched on his head a jewel-encrusted crown. Simon could hardly open his mouth. Tottering to the edge of the table he pulled out a seat. It was cold hard wood and the residual damp from his bath formed a misty patch on the surface making it feel slimy. He thought perhaps it would be an appropriate time to assert himself, but the king muttered something to his wife then turned to speak to him.

"So your Prince Rupert's new pet? I hear he has the idea of marrying you to his sister. He's a strange one, that boy. What's your name?"

"Simon, your Majesty."

"Simon, eh. And who sold you?"

"Sold me?"

"Who did that young rascal buy you from? Or did he pick you up in the street? You don't sound like an urchin but you clearly are."

"Um, no. He rescued me. I mean, I was tried unfairly. I had no defence lawyer and was not permitted to say anything to the judge. It was all ..."

"Are you trying to say there is something wrong with our courts?"

"Oh no, Your Majesty. Well, no, but in this one instance, I mean, some cities in the further provinces are perhaps not as enlightened as the capital."

"Well said, my boy. They are a load of ruffians out there. Wouldn't go near them myself. Hang you as soon as look at you. Yes, we'll find you some quarters here and get you married as soon as possible. Keep her quiet for a week or two anyway. You look like the lasting type."

Simon wondered whether the Beautiful Princess Rose might have previously been married. Or how many times, even. Was there some catch he had not quite managed to work out. He could hardly ask this august man who dressed so preposterously. Made a mental note to speak to Rupert about it. He squirmed to work out when might be an appropriate time to ask about getting some clothes himself.

The king, or duke, whoever he was, was talking to his wife again. Simon coughed. "Er, your Majesty?"

He looked round. "Oh, are you still here? Sir George, where are you."

The courtier rushed back into the room and bowed obsequiously. "Your Majesty?"

"Take this creature away. Duchess Ferdinand does not care for the look of it."

Simon was ushered out of his seat. Sir George motioned him to walk backwards to the door, that he might not turn his back on the duke and duchess. As they passed through the double doors Prince Rupert was waiting in the corridor.

"How did you get on with my parents?" he asked.

"Perfectly terrible. I don't think they like me at all."

"Don't worry. They're always like that. They don't seem to approve of the company I keep."

"It's a bit cold out here," said Simon, still wondering whether this might be taken as a decent hint.

"Don't worry. It'll be warmer in the banqueting hall."

"The banqueting hall?" Simon had alarming visions of being paraded in front of a hundred faces.

"Sure. Why, are you not hungry?"

"Well, yes, for sure, but ..."

"Come on then. They're all waiting for you."

Before Simon could say anything he found himself walking along another corridor until they reached a set of doors which reverberated to the sound of dozens of voices. The smell of cooking nearly overwhelming him as they went in. Everyone looked round. They stood when they saw the prince. Silencing the hubbub he spoke to them all in a loud voice.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to our home the Prince Simon of Bristow. He is to be married to the Beautiful Princess Rose as soon as the arrangements can be carried out."

Simon heard a few people make comments but did not manage to catch the actual words. He was placed between two well-dressed men, one aged around forty and nearly bald and the other in his twenties.

"Greetings," said the older man. "I presume you must be from the provinces."

"Yes. Actually I'm from Bristow."

"Do they all go around without clothes there?" asked the younger. "Forgive me, sir. My name's Antonio. And that's Paul."

"How do you do, sirs. I'm Simon. And no, they do wear clothes, but fewer with increasing rank."

The diners sitting nearby were impressed and sent a mutter round the room. As the waiters came round with soup they insisted that Simon be served first. When everyone was ready to start they waited for him to sample it. It was cold and tasted somewhere between boiled mustard and Parmesan cheese.

"Delicious," declared Simon. Everyone laughed and tried not to grimace as they forced the horrible liquid down their throats. Simon was too hungry to care so he downed it with gusto.

"You seem to get used to the ways of this court pretty quickly," said Paul.

"Oh, it's pretty easy," said Simon. "I seem to have learnt something useful from seven years at Yate Academy."

One of the men opposite spluttered and dropped his spoon onto the plate causing soup to splash over the table. "Pardon me," he said, wiping his face with a cloth. "Tell me, sir, what did you think of the inns on the journey to London?"

Simon told them about his journey, not omitting the story of how he saved the innkeeper's life. They all agreed that Prince Rupert was a vexatious young man. Taking care not to dwell on the point as he was sitting on the next table and word might be passed down by informers. Simon told him about his plans for the new life in the capital, and inevitably the subject turned to his forthcoming marriage.

"I'm really looking forward to," he said. "I think I've really landed on my feet for once."

Paul looked nervous and Antonio hid his face. "You'll do well," said the man opposite. "She'll be a demanding match no doubt. But you're a fine young man. Don't forget though, it is the Prince who decides on your career for you. Don't go thinking that because you were the most important man in Bristow it'll be the same for you in London. Things have been run differently here since the war finished."

Simon tried to work out which war he was referring to and failed. Spain, Portugal, Holland all ran through his head. "I'm sure London will take a lot of getting used to. You will have to help teach me who's who and what I have to be careful of. But Prince Rupert has been a good teacher. What is it about the Beautiful Princess Rose anyway? Is there some secret I should know?"

"Nothing at all," said Antonio smoothly. "Look now, here comes the ox."

After the beast Simon had smelt in the kitchen earlier had been served and eaten Rupert stood and gave a speech in a voice that came across clearly. He welcomed Simon to the court and made him stand on the table so everyone could see him. The banqueters, who by this time were becoming quite drunk, cheered him. The prince met him after the meal.

"You seem to have made quite an impression. No one from Bristow has been to court before. Now I have a job for you. There are a number of people outside the main gate, where we came in. Apparently they have come to catch a sight of you. If we go out now you can address them before dark."

Simon, by now quite drunk, felt a rush of bravado at the prospect of facing a crowd of Londoners after his good reception at the banquet. It was once again warm outside, the last traces of the rain having cleared along with the breeze. In the summer twilight he could see the crowd beyond the gate. A path of smooth flagstones led through the massive courtyard in front of the palace where he had arrived earlier in the day. Two attendants walked in front of him, sweeping it clear of stones to protect the bare soles his feet. Prince Rupert and a number of courtiers walked behind, together with an imposing man in flowing robes who had been pointed out to him earlier as the Archbishop of Canterbury. Reaching the gates he half expected flashing cameras and television reporters but remembered where he was, seeing a crowd of ill-dressed townsfolk not really any different to those who had attended his execution. The two sentries occupied the boxes by the gates, he recognised them from when he had arrived. Time by now to change the guard, he wondered if there would be a ceremony. One of them a cocky-looking fellow about twenty-five years old. The other must be about fifty. He stood stiff and straight, as if waiting for an enemy who could strike at any time. Simon thought he preferred the younger one. Perhaps he could sneak unnoticed into the inn some time and have a chat with him. Find out about how this place really worked. He looked out at the crowd who hushed, straining to hear him speak.

Not having prepared for the occasion he looked at the expectant faces, wondering what they might be expecting to hear. He tried to think of someone skilled in public speaking and called to mind Brother Zaccharius. He remembered the words of the address he had made to the monks. Adjusting his towel he breathed deeply and spoke to the crowd in a loud voice.

"Men of London. You are a wise brotherhood and given to the ways of the Lord. I have travelled far and now give you this message. Though our task be difficult and the road steep and narrow we face it with strength and resolve knowing we are all together and the Lord stands over us. And though our time on earth may be shorter than that of others this gives us no cause for regret. Indeed, rejoice. For you are doing the will of God and will be amply rewarded. You are the delight of Jesus Christ and I am proud to be among you."

The crowd looked puzzled as he finished then broke into rapturous applause, chanting "Prince Simon, Prince Simon." He backed off a few steps from the gate then waved and turned towards the palace.

"Well done, my boy," said the Archbishop. "You really captured their mood. I was most impressed. Tell me," he said as they approached the palace. "Have you ever given a sermon? You would be most apt to deliver the Lammas Day address in Westminster Abbey."

Simon thought he saw Prince Rupert's countenance darken. But ignoring it, "Yes, of course, Your Highness. It would give me the greatest pleasure. If you think it would be suitable, sir."

"Suitable? It would be marvellous. I shall inform the Duke immediately."

Once inside the palace the Archbishop and most of the retainers left for the ballroom where a play was about to start. Simon turned to Rupert.

"This is so cool. I can't believe it's all turned out so well."

"Don't use that word. You've come here for a specific purpose, not to read blasted sermons. The Devil have that Archbishop. I'll be in trouble with the Princess now."

"Oh, sorry. I didn't mean ..."

"You never do, do you. It all just happens for you." He turned to one of the courtiers. "Ralph, will you take Prince Simon to his chambers. Ensure he does not get out and cause any trouble. I don't want him meeting anyone, understand?"

The young servant nodded. He led Simon to a room deep within the palace. Simon remembered part of the route from earlier.

"Wait there," he said. "I shall find you a nightshirt."

Simon felt odd having to get dressed to go to bed, the heavy fabric clinging uncomfortably against his skin. He was about to ask for a toothbrush but checked himself. When the page had gone he brushed his teeth as best he could with the edge of the gown. Then peeped around the corridors as far as he dared. Seemingly rooms in all directions. In one dim corner he saw the entrance to a room containing a mirror. He started to walk up. A movement made him jump back. Hiding against the corner of the wall he saw someone walk up to the mirror. She had a heavy veil. As she lifted it a little he caught a glimpse of the most radiant features. Then she let it drop. He thought he heard her sigh. Then saying to herself, "Oh, what shall I do. I shall never find a husband. Not me. I must be cursed to be so afflicted. Oh, mother and father. What have you brought into the world?"

Simon could not stay any longer. Rushing back to his room just in time as footsteps came past and receded down the corridor. He got into bed and despite the whirl in his head managed to fall asleep immediately.