The birth of a baby is usually a joyous occasion. It certainly was for the king and queen of England one day in the sixteenth century. When their son was born, the entire country celebrated with feasts and jubilant dancing and singing. From the moment Edward, the Prince of Wales, entered the world, his life was a privileged and sheltered one.
But on that very same day, shouts of a different sort were heard in another part of London. These were not cries of joy but rather shouts of anger. For on that day, Tom Canty was born into a very poor family dominated by his boorish father, John.
The Cantys lived in a squalid part of London, in a section known as Offal Court. Their home consisted of just one room with piles of straw and old blankets thrown about for beds. During the day Tom and his older twin sisters were sent out to the streets to beg. If Tom returned home empty-handed, his father would beat him and then send him to bed with nothing to eat.
Yet Tom was not unhappy. He was still a young boy who did not yet know how bad his circumstances were. And he had a mother and sisters who loved him dearly, and tried to take care of him despite the abuses of his father.
Tom also had a friend in Offal Court. Kind Father Andrew told Tom tales about magical things—giants, fairies, enchanted castles. Stories of kings living in splendor distracted Tom from his own life as he imagined how wonderful it might be to live in luxury.
Father Andrew also taught Tom how to read and write. From the priest, Tom even learned Latin, a language not normally spoken by those living in the city’s slums. People in Offal Court soon began to look up to Tom Canty, who was quite poor but acted instead as if he were a wise and wealthy nobleman.
Still Tom’s gifts and many admirers did not stop his father’s cruel treatment of him. In fact, it made it worse. Tom was forced to bring home double what his sisters did. And if he did not meet his father’s demands, the boy faced severe punishment.
One day Tom was out begging on one of London’s busiest streets when his father unexpectedly appeared.
"Empty your pockets!" John Canty growled.
"But, Father, it’s only mid-morning," Tom stammered, for he had collected nothing so far.
"Are you trying to deceive me? You think you’re so clever, don’t you?" Tom’s father pushed him roughly.
Something snapped inside poor Tom. Tired of his father’s abuse, and longing for something more, Tom turned around and raced away, fleeing both Offal Court and his angry father.
Before long Tom realized that he had reached the city’s edge—the farthest he had ever traveled from home. Beautiful buildings with wide gardens appeared before him. Tom stared in amazement at the magnificent structures he had imagined so many times while listening to Father Andrew. Now here they were, for real!
Suddenly he froze. Even a poor beggar like Tom could recognize a king’s home. Outside an enormous palace, colossal granite lions guarded each side of a stone gateway. Tom stared in wonder. Might he catch a glimpse of a prince—a real prince?
It was as if heaven had heard his silent prayers. A moment later, through the bars of a gate that led into a courtyard, he spied a boy practicing swordsmanship. The lad, about his age, was dressed in bejeweled silks and a feathered, crimson cap.
"A prince! A living prince!" Tom thought, leaning in closer.
"Step away at once, dirty beggar!" a soldier shouted. He hauled Tom away from the gate and sent him sprawling on the ground.
Passersby stopped and jeered at the lad.
Then a different voice rang out. "How dare you treat him like that!" cried the boy from the courtyard.
The people who had gathered around Tom suddenly lowered their heads and bowed.
"Long live Edward, the Prince of Wales!" they shouted.
"Open the gates and let him through!" ordered the prince.
The soldiers quickly obeyed, and before Tom knew it, he was standing before Prince Edward.
Edward dismissed all the servants. "You look hungry and tired," he said to Tom. Then he led him to his private chambers in the palace.
"What is your name?" asked Edward.
"Tom Canty," Tom replied. Quickly he added, "Sir—I mean, Your Highness!"
"Where do you reside, Tom Canty?"
Tom noticed that Edward was rolling something like a large coin around in his hand.
"Offal Court," Tom said. Then, for the next few minutes, Tom answered questions about his family.
When Edward heard about John Canty, the prince nodded knowingly. "I believe our fathers are alike. Mine does not hit me, but his tongue can be cruel."
"My mother is good to me," Tom went on.
"You speak well, Tom Canty," the prince observed.
"Father Andrew taught me, sir. I can speak Latin too," Tom said proudly.
"Latin is easier than Greek," said Edward with sigh. "I must spend four hours a day mastering a language I do not wish to learn."
"Then why do you do it?" asked Tom.
Edward answered with a question of his own: "What do you do all day?"
Tom told Edward of how he and his friends raced one another and watched puppet shows. Sometimes they swam in the river or just played along its muddy banks.
Edward listened wistfully. "You have so much freedom," he murmured. He thought for a moment. "I wonder what it would be like to dress in a poor boy’s clothes . . . "
"Excuse me?" Tom said.
"I’d like to experience those things you’ve described," Edward went on. "Just once, I’d like to play in the mud along the river."
Tom blinked in surprise as Edward asked him to exchange clothing. But he quickly agreed to the unusual request, and soon they stood together in front of the mirror.
"Do you see what I see?" whispered the prince.
Tom could only nod, for not only were the two boys similar in age and height, they were almost identical in looks.
"Let me fix that for you, sir," said Tom, adjusting the ragged cap sitting on the prince’s head.
"What happened to your hand?" Edward pointed to a bruise on Tom’s hand.
"It must have happened when I fell," Tom replied.
"That guard behaved most shamefully!" declared Edward. "Now—I command you to stay here until I return!" Then he threw open the door and strode out. As Edward passed a suit of armor, Tom saw him drop something into its open palm.
Edward reached the courtyard gate, where he shook his fist at the guard who had treated Tom roughly. "You! Unbar the gate!"
The soldier stared in disbelief at the boy wearing rags. But he opened the gate—and grabbed Edward roughly as the prince strode through.
"Remove your hands!" Edward shouted. "I am the prince!"
The soldier scoffed. "The prince? You’re a dirty beggar! Get out of here!"
With that, the soldier tossed Edward, the Prince of Wales, onto the roadway.