Yes, this is The Whipping Boy. Let me say first of all, there was very common expression when you (unint.) someone as a whipping boy, that is someone who takes a punishment for something he didn’t do, he’s just the whipping boy.
I didn’t realize there actually had been whipping boys in royal households in the past. And I thought that’s certainly an idea for a story and when it occurred to me at first, I thought it just had the muscle power of picture book story, I couldn’t think it had the importance of a novel which got me into trouble.
But when I let it write itself, out came this short novel. So here she goes. Every so often if I can get some thought on them, I will write little captions and this one is chapter one, in which we observed a hair-raising event, you’ll see.
“The young prince was known here and there and just about everywhere else as Prince Brat, not even black cats would cross his path.” And once I had that line in, I knew I was on my way. One night the king was holding a grand feast, a grand feast. Sneaking around behind the lords and ladies, Prince Brat tied their powdered wigs to the backs of their oak chairs.
Then he hid behind a footman to wait. When the guests stood up to toast the king, their wigs came flying off. The lords clasped their bare heads as if they’d been scalped, the ladies shrieked. Prince Brat, he was never called that to his face of course, tried to keep from laughing.
He had both hands over his mouth, then out it ripped, a cackle of ha-ha-has and ho-has and he-hees. The king spied him and he looked mad enough to spit ink. He gave a furious shout, ‘Fetch the whipping boy!’ Prince Brat knew that he had nothing to fear, he had never been spanked in his life.
He was a prince and it was forbidden to spank, thrash, cut, smack or whip a prince. A common boy was kept in the castle to be punished in his place, the whipping boy. The king’s command traveled like an echo from guard to guard, up the stone stairway to a small chamber in the dreary north tower.
An orphan boy named Jemmy, the son of a rat catcher, roused from his sleep. He’d been dreaming happily of the ragged but carefree life before he’d been plucked from the streets and sewers of the city to serve as royal whipping boy. A guard shook him fully awake.
‘On your feet my boy,’ Jemmy’s eyes blazed up. ‘Ain’t I already been whipped twice today? God, what’s the prince done now?’ ‘Let’s not keep the great folks awaiting lad.’ ‘In the main hall,’ the king said. ‘20 whacks ‘til finally biting back every yelp and cry, the whipping boy received the 20 whacks.
Then the king turned to the prince and let that be a lesson to you. Yes poppa, the prince lowered his head and said
as if to appear humbled and contrite but all the while he was hearing a growing exasperation with his whipping boy. In the tower chamber, the prince fixed him with a scowl.
‘You’re the worst whipping boy I ever had, how come you never bawl?’ ‘Don’t know,’ said Jemmy, with a shrug. ‘A whipping boy is supposed to yell like a struck pig. You dress up
we dress you up fancy and feed you royal, but don’t worry, but it’s no fun if you don’t bawl.’
Jemmy shrugged again, he was determined never to squint a tear for the prince to gloat over. ‘You bellow next time, hear,’ said the prince, ‘or I’ll tell poppa to give you back your rags and kick you back into the streets.’ Jemmy’s spirits soared, much obliged, your royal awfulness he thought.
I’ll take me rags and I’ll be gone in a half blink of an eye.” And that’s the end of the first chapter.