“No, I also wanted to hear your views on today’s events.”
“Mmm. Well, I thought your speech was very good. At least, as much of it as you were allowed to present. In fact, I think you had most of them on your side. That is, until some troublemakers managed to derail it. And the same goes for the street crowds. A few agitators can turn the whole thing into a disaster.”
“We will not use the word ‘disaster’,” Adrian said, looking away from the Commander.
“Very well then. The fiasco, catastrophe, debacle. Or do you prefer to call it a blip? A hiccup? But I’m not a senior officer. If you’d called Captain Roberts and asked his opinion he might have had the words you were hoping for. He’s more practised at that than I am. Which still begs the question: why me, Your Highness?”
“Oh, must I speak plainly? I like you, Jasmina. Today’s… fiasco has left me exceedingly depressed, and you are a tonic. I could have asked Dickie to come – ordered him. But I prefer female company. You’re smart, attractive, and driven. I like those qualities.” The Prince gestured to the still-empty space on the sofa next to him.
Indrani complied with a stiff posture, keeping her eyes to the floor.
The Prince rested his hand on her knee. “And call me Adrian.”
There was a slight lurch as the ship moved.
Indrani stood up. “Please excuse me… Adrian. We’re leaving port, and I really should be on the bridge. I’m neglecting my duty.”
“Surely someone else could deputise for you,” the Prince said, looking slightly dejected.
“I’m afraid not. I haven’t arranged a replacement.”
“Someone else must be able to cover for you. What happens if there’s an emergency?”
“Well, I’m afraid this isn’t an emergency. So sorry Your High– Adr– I… really must go now and… batten down the hatches.”
The Prince stood, grabbing her gently by the elbow. “We shall continue this later then.” He took her right hand and kissed it.
She forced a smile while backing away to the door. With her left hand on the handle, she regained her composure and saluted him stiffly, and left.
***
When the HMS Dominance was once again safe in England at Portsmouth Harbour, the Prince was bundled into a limousine and driven away. His entourage encountered only the usual traffic of commuters and freight haulage. The Prince allowed himself to relax, falling asleep in the supple leather seat.
The return trip from Scotland had been uneventful, the Prince having not left his cabin except briefly when two ratings, one male and one female, appeared at his door. They said Commander Indrani had ordered them to assist the Prince with his unpacking. The unattractiveness of the female seaman made the presence of her male chaperone unnecessary, so the Prince had little reason to remain. The Captain invited the Prince for drinks in his quarters while the seamen worked, which invitation Adrian had accepted, though making poor company.
Several times during the journey Adrian had requested Commander Indrani’s presence in his cabin, and each time some plausible excuse was offered – whether real or contrived the Prince could not tell.
He had grown increasingly irritable with each refusal, shouting down any who requested anything of him – a decision, an opinion, an order, a meal choice, an autograph – and sending them packing.
There also began – unknown to the reclusive Prince – animosity between the English and Scottish crew members. Word of a meeting between a few of the ship’s Scots had spread, and speculation as to the matter of the meeting ran wild. Some said that the Scots contingent were planning to jump ship, others that they intended mutiny. As rumours worked their way around the ship, fights broke out. A number were confined to the brig – more Scots than English.
But now, the Prince slept a fitful sleep.
He opened his bleary eyes, frequently looking out the windows as if expecting to see an angry mob on the motorway. Traffic was in evidence, though only in the opposing direction – the police had cleared the northbound lanes for a mile before and behind the Prince’s escort.
When they slid off the motorway and onto the streets of London, everything still looked normal enough to the Prince. There were signs here and there of business continuing as usual, though again the roads which formed the Prince’s route were stripped of most of their usual activity by the police. He passed unheralded, few spectators in evidence.
The largest numbers of people were gathered at the most common tourist spots, the front gates of Buckingham Palace in particular. Prince Adrian’s car entered via the Royal Mews, past signs proclaiming to tourists that they were closed today.
The limousine came to rest within the Palace walls. A greeting party of several Secret Service bodyguards in their usual dark suits, together with Blair Lindsey and Mitchell, waited to receive him.
Lindsey stood with his leather notebook in one hand and gestured toward the door with the other. “Your High–”
Mitchell spoke over Lindsey. “It’s good to see you, Your Highness. I trust the sea was smooth.”
“His Majesty–” Lindsey said, stopping. He began again. “Your father’s been waiting for your arrival. He’s very keen to see you.” He continued holding his hand out toward the door. “If you please?”
The Prince straightened his tie and hair, breathed deeply, and proceeded on the indicated route. “It’s good to be back in civilisation. I’ve had quite enough of those barbarians in the North.”
“Oh yes sir, it’s much better here. You’re among friends now,” Mitchell said.
They moved through the Palace’s corridors and rooms, emerging in its park-sized garden, at the far end of which the King waited.
By the time they reached him, the Prince was sweating, quaking, and breathing deliberately.
“Welcome back, son,” the King said. “I’m glad you’ve returned safely.”
The Prince said nothing.
“Hmm.” Alfred looked from Adrian to his aides and attendants. “Leave us.”
The advisors, dressers, journalists, photographers, ministers, hangers-on began to make their way toward the Palace. “Not you, Blair.”
Lindsey took a nearby chair and readied his notebook.
“Now, Adrian. How are you?”
Adrian clenched his teeth, looking away.
“Your mission did not proceed as expected, did it?”
“Oh, Father, it was an utter disaster. Those horrid Scots! They wouldn’t listen to a word I said. And I had such a good speech.” He clenched his jaw, taking a few ragged breaths. “It seemed to be going so well, and then…”
“You simply left,” Alfred said. “The job was not done!”
“Of course not! But why did you ever send me into that maelstrom? I was afraid for my life. Rather than rallying them to the New Order, I somehow incited them to demand independence.”
The King clasped his hands behind his back and turned away from his son, studying the colours of the roses in full bloom in the flower bed. “I should never have sent you there. Scotland is perhaps a lost cause. The intractability of the Scots is something we should have foreseen. Let us put it behind us. It’ll become clear later what we must do about them. How do you feel things are going here in the capitol?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Adrian said with a sigh. “I saw the news. You seem to have people on your side. No riots, at least. I certainly know where I’d rather be.”
“Personally,” the King said, “I’d rather be at Balmoral.”
“Yes, well, at least Balmoral isn’t full of Scots.” The Prince removed a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow.
“Quite. Despite being in the heart of Scotland.” The King broke a budding rose off its stalk and buttonholed it onto his lapel. “And how do you feel about Brussels?”
“Ah,” the Prince said, stopping breathing. He gazed at the back of his father’s thick silver hair and inhaled deeply. “A-ha. Yes. Well, compared to the Scots the Belgians are a breath of fre
sh air.”
“Oh, you wouldn’t have dealings with any actual Belgians at the European Parliament. Or not very many.”
“Mmm.” The Prince’s brow furrowed as he frowned. “Thank goodness for that. Wait– what?”
The King chuckled.
“Then you’re not asking me my opinion of Brussels merely out of personal interest.”
Alfred turned to face his son. “It would be prudent if we were to justify ourselves before the EU. I am not going to be able to form any foreign policy until our neighbours begin to recognise us as a legitimate government.”
“So you want me to do in Brussels what I did in Edinburgh? Are you potty? I mean, do you think that would be wise, Father?”
“Yes. I realise it may sound strange, but I believe your failure in Scotland was not your fault. With the European Parliament you will have a much more balanced gathering to deal with. I haven’t identified any specific opposition internationally, except perhaps from our American cousins. The EU won’t have the same axe to grind as the Scots do.”
“I appreciate what you say, Father, but if I maintain that I failed in Scotland, then it was my failure. At least it’s an achievement of sorts.”
“Do not concern yourself with your achievements.” The King put a hand on his son’s shoulder. “They’ll come.” He let his hand drop back to his side. “We might have to send you to Brussels by air. You can’t sail into the capital of a united Europe in a warship, can you?”
The Prince looked at the roses, then up at the sky. “I’ll do my best,” he said throatily.
The King gave his son a casual naval salute. Adrian hesitated a moment, forcing a weak smile, before returning the salute stiffly and properly. He turned and left.
Alfred watched his son cross the vast ornamental lawn. He glanced at Lindsey. “And don’t you say anything.”
“I wasn’t going to, Your Majesty.”
4 - Defiance
If the Prime Minister was under any stress, he did not show it. “If my opposition colleague were not so besotted with his interpretation of the statistics, he might be able to see the more reasonable conclusion: the British people support the King.”
Chuckles of laughter emanated from the opposition benches, as well as from some of Hollings’s own party. There were murmurs of “Tell that to the Scots” and similar sentiments.
“Especially in England – though His Majesty is gaining support in Wales as well.” The opposition made less noise this time. The Prime Minister stretched his hands out, palms down, to quell the remaining murmur. “In any case, it’s not for us to debate. Arguing over whether the King has domestic support might be to imply that we don’t support him.”
The leader of the opposition stood up. “Yes, and we all know how treason is dealt with,” he said with a mocking sneer.
“Indeed we do,” Hollings said, as he locked eyes with the leader of the opposition, taking advantage of the sudden silence that had fallen over the House of Commons. “Indeed we do,” he said, more slowly.
“Now, no one can argue that – internationally at least – the King’s actions haven’t gained Britain a measure of respect.”
“With respect, Prime Minister,” the Speaker said, “Mr Hutton, this question has become something of a digression. May we have the next question please?”
“Thank you Mrs Overhill.”
“You’re welcome, Prime Minister.” The baroness cleared her throat. “The Right Honourable Philip Kedleston,” she said, gesturing to a gentleman on one of the benches. “Proceed.”
“Thank you, Mrs Speaker,” Kedleston said as he stood to his feet. “Would the Prime Minister care to enlighten us in precise terms as to the government’s – I mean, the New Order’s – foreign policy? What are we to expect in terms of Britain’s relationship with the rest of the world?”
“His Majesty and I have spoken together at some length about foreign policy,” Hollings said, standing as tall and confident as if he were going to tell of his own triumphs. “The King plans to bolster foreign relations by a policy of openness, honesty, and fair treatment. He means to build on our relationships with the G20 nations, but not to ignore the needs of the lesser developed countries. Our Commonwealth allies especially will be treated with an open and even hand.”
“All right,” Kedleston said, smiling benignly as if to a child, “but what, if anything, does that actually mean? In what way will our Commonwealth allies be treated ‘with an open hand’? To some people, an ‘open hand’ means a slap is coming.”
Hollings did not acknowledge the ripple of derisive laughter, but raised his voice to be heard over it. “It means that, as best we can, we’ll seek to ensure that we share the fruits of our endeavours with them wherever possible. The King isn’t forgetting that the world is much more than just the G20. If America gets a cold, yes we feel it, but our less developed Commonwealth colleagues feel it even more. His Majesty wants us to do our best to soften the blow of any negative international ripples, and to amplify the benefits of renewed economic vigour for those countries that are our former colonies, and for which His Majesty feels some responsibility.”
Kedleston took an opening. “So His Majesty means to favour the Commonwealth and sideline the G20?”
“He certainly does not mean to sideline the G20, nor to unfairly favour the Commonwealth. Our relationships with the United States, the European Union, and all other nations are extremely important and will continue to be cherished. But His Majesty recognises his responsibility… our responsibility.”
“The chair recognises,” Baroness Overhill said, “the Right Honourable Heston Penworth.”
Penworth rose. “Thank you, Mrs Speaker. I wonder if the Prime Minister could inform us as to the ongoing role of the armed forces in British life. Given their intrusion into the very House of Lords, and the, shall we say, comfortable relationship they currently enjoy with His Majesty, are we to consider ourselves under martial law? In what ways are we liberated, and in what ways are we limited by the seemingly expanded military presence in our own country?”
The Prime Minister stood. “I want to reassure the Honourable members of Parliament, the British public, and the rest of the world, that we are in no sense under martial law. The army is not only the King’s. It belongs to all of Britain. The Navy is there to protect Britain’s interests at sea. The Royal Marines are ready to move decisively against Britain’s enemies in whatever arduous conditions they are found. And the Royal Air Force provides support for all the other forces, as well as long-range intelligence gathering that benefits you, me, Britain, and her allies. But it just happens at the present time that His Majesty needs a closer relationship with the military than would traditionally be the case. Bear in mind however, he and his family have always been ranked in the highest echelons of the armed services, so the situation is virtually unchanged.” Hollings was again raising his voice to compete with the protests of his audience. “And the increased visibility of the army at the present is simply to keep peace and make everyone feel safer during the transition to the New Order. These are… interesting times, to be sure; I, for one, am greatly relieved by the presence of our armed forces to ensure that the transition is safe and as easy as possible for all of us.”
The House of Commons became ever more animated as ministers argued with one another while Hollings was speaking.
“We will have order!” The speaker banged her gavel so hard that the head broke off and disappeared. She shouted, invoking the aid of the public address system. “Shut up everyone!” The noise subsided. “You may continue, Prime Minister.”
“I assure you that no British subjects’ freedoms are being compromised–”
“Ours are!” shouted Penworth. “The army stormed into Parliament and curtailed our activities significantly. If they can do that to us then–”
“I, for one,” the Prime Minister said at his maximum volume, moderating his tone as he spoke, “am happy to relinquish some of those freedoms. As member
s of parliament we have all taken an implied oath of loyalty to our sovereign – and those in the armed forces have sworn an explicit oath. I suggest,” he continued, his voice turning magisterial, “that all of you – all of us – remember the loyalty we owe His Majesty.” He paused for a moment. “Remember it, think on it, and act on it.” He smiled, and looked at baroness Overhill. “May I have the next question please, Mrs Speaker?”
She did not speak, but merely gestured toward the minister whose turn it was.
“Thank you,” the minister said, “Mrs Speaker, Prime Minister. Please clarify, Prime Minister, what Britain’s new relationship with the EU is to be.”
“At present it’s unchanged, nor does His Majesty intend to change it.”
***
“Yes, ‘vapid’, I think you called it.” The Prime Minister’s ears turned red. He shifted position in his seat, sinking a little further into the luxurious soft leather upholstery of the King’s tasteful and expensive sofa.
In the far corner of the King’s office sat Lindsey, taking notes in his book.
Even from his seated position on the matching chair opposite Hollings, King Alfred looked down on the Prime Minister. Due to the monarch’s impressive physical stature, no modifications needed to be made to the furnishings in order that he be raised above his guests. “No, Quincy, the distinction is in the noun versus the adjective. I called it ‘claptrap’. I described it as ‘vapid’. And so it continues. Could you not have said something a little more substantial to the Commons? The answers to the questions you were asked are not secrets. There’s no need to hide behind your rhetoric to avoid losing votes. After all, I’m the responsible party if they don’t like the policies, not you.”
“With respect sir, that’s a bit unfair. I wasn’t trying so much to describe your policy as to give an impression of its effect.”
“Quincy, I don’t require you to attempt to justify yourself. I only require you to answer questions properly, speak clearly, and stop attempting to weave and to dodge in that terribly political way. Do we understand one another?”
“With respect, sir–”
“Do you understand?”
The Prime Minister pulled at his collar with one finger as beads of sweat formed on his forehead. “Of course, sir.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to have your head chopped off–” The King grinned.