I have three feet, but no arms and no legs. What am I?

A guardian of some renown, I perch like a spear. I sit beneath the crown, and strike any who draw near. I am a brethren with a spine, and may let you enter my hall. Against giants I hold the line, but not those who are small.

In Victorian times, men used to lay their cloak over me, so women could step down from carriages without ruining their shoes or dress. What am I, that, when stepped in, will make a mess?

Boil 'em, mash 'em, stick 'em in a stew!

I’m small and round with a heart of stone. On tables I gather, in groves I’m grown. Squish me to gather my liquid gold. A sign of peace from scripts of old.