“I love the little prince, our good king’s son,” cried Paul with kindling eyes; “I would that I had been called Edward, too.  Mother, why was I not given his name, as I was born on his day, and that of the good St. Edward too?”

The mother fondly caressed the golden curls of the beautiful child as she answered: 

“Ah, my son, we knew not till long afterward that our gracious queen had borne a little son on thy natal day.  Paul is a name which many of our race have borne before, and so we called our child by it.  It is the man that makes the name, not the name the man.”

“I know that, mother; yet I would fain have borne the name of the little prince.  But hark!  I hear the sounds of the horses’ feet.  They are bringing them round to the door.  Sweet mother, lose no time.  Let us mount and depart.  I would fain have been in the gallant band of gentlemen who rode out this morning at dawn to welcome and escort the king and queen; as my father and brothers were.  But let us not delay.  I should be sorely grieved were we to miss seeing the entry into the city.”

Lady Stukely smiled at the impatience of the child, knowing well that many hours must elapse before the royal party would reach the city walls; but she was willing to gratify the ardent desires of her little son, and as she was already dressed for the saddle, she rose and took him by the hand and led him out to the courtyard, where some half dozen of the good knight’s retainers were awaiting their lady and her son.

Stukely Hall was no very large or pretentious place, but it was built in that quadrangular form so common to that age, and accommodated within its walls the dependents and retainers that every man of rank had about him under the old feudal system, which obliged him to bring to his lord’s service on demand a certain following of armed and trained soldiers.

In those days, when every article of common consumption was made at home, the household of even a knight or gentleman of no great wealth or note was no inconsiderable matter, and even the field labourers almost always dwelt within the walls of their lord’s house, eating his bread, and growing old in his service as a matter of course, without thinking of such a thing as change.

So that although the greater part of the retainers had ridden off at dawn with the knight and his sons, there were still a good half-dozen stout fellows ready to escort their lady to the town; and besides these were many menials of lower grade standing about to see the start.  Little Paul, who had grown up amongst them, ran from one to the other, telling them excitedly how he was going to see the prince that day, and eagerly accepting from the hands of his old nurse a beautiful bunch of red roses which she had gathered that morning, in the hope that her darling might have the chance to offer them to queen or prince.

Mother and son each wore the red rose broidered upon their state robes, and the boy had stuck the crimson blossom in his velvet cap.  He was a perfect little picture in his white velvet tunic sloshed with rose colour, his white cloth hosen laced with gold from ankle to thigh, a short cloak flowing jauntily from his shoulders, and his bright golden curls flowing from beneath the crimson and white cap.