It's people make something what it is, not the name it's called by.
'Now entertain conjecture of a time,
When creeping murmur and the poring dark,
Fills the wide vessel of the universe,
From camp to camp, through the foul womb of night,
The hum of either army stilly sounds,
That the fixed sentinels almost receive,
The secret whispers of each other's watch,
Fire answers fire, and through their paly flames,
Each battle sees the other's umber'd face.’
If you were important enough to lie to, you'd probably be dead already.
You've 30 seconds to tell me who you are and what you want, or I'm leaving.
-We're Wardens in Ordinary attached to St Peter ad Vincula.
St Peter in Chains? That's a chapel at the Tower. Thomas More is buried there.
-Oh, yes. Thomas Cromwell. Anne Boleyn. Lady Jane Grey.
The lopped heads of old England. Traitors all.
-If you know that much, you know it's a Royal Peculiar.
So you answer only to the Crown.