Justice of the Root

by Abby Gordon

  “Good heavens,” breathed the queen. “That’s dreadful.”

  “And Frisia shot at you, Da,” Griffin spoke up with a hint of rage.

  “Good God,” exclaimed both king and duke.

  Moaning softly, the queen closed her eyes and shook her head.

  “In the shoulder,” Berwyn clarified, shifting his left arm slightly. “I’ll recover from the bullet.” His mouth twisted slightly. “If not entirely from my wife’s scold about my reflexes.”

  Slight smiles appeared on the other faces.

  “So, you do not trust Heir Hitler when he speaks, Corwen?” the king questioned carefully.

  “I do not, sir,” the baron replied. “I believe he may destroy Europe.”

  “And that is why you delayed requesting a meeting so long? I would have thought that a reason for a sooner audience. Perhaps even as soon as the Duke of Windsor quit Britain.”

  The king saw that his unspoken rebuke was understood in the man’s eyes and slight nod.

  “There was considerable work to be done, sir. The supreme priority was to protect the royal family. My first act was to place trusted Roses in royal households. Griffin has been in your household since last March. Eoin in Gloucester’s since April. There are several others of course, always wearing their badges. Then I, along with Flanders, Normandy and Gascony, worked to get Roses in position to confirm anything we could.”

  “Within or without normal channels?” wondered the king, appreciating more of the Root’s care in protecting the royal family as well as ensuring he presented facts, not wild dreams of evil.

  “Both, sir. Quite honestly, sir, there are few in high positions who want to believe what we tell them. Yesterday, Gascony and Normandy were met with disbelief and scorn and dismissed from the French leaders. Flanders was received by his queen who was quite skeptical.”

  “The king might believe you, but he isn’t in a position to force the government to act on it,” Gloucester reminded him.

  “Understood, sir,” Corwen agreed, with a nod. “But and this is another departure in tradition for us, the king would be in a position to better know whom within the government we could give the material to.”

  “Prime minister,” the king said promptly.

  “I respect Chamberlain, sir,” Corwen said slowly. “However, I’m not sure he would believe it. Nor do I think he would act on it.”

  “You underestimate him,” the king said stoutly. “He would indeed be reluctant to believe it, but he’s not a fool. Anyone reading a paper can see what’s happening.”

  “Not the public, sir,” Griffin contradicted quietly. “Most in Britain have their eyes closed. We are not ready for war. Many are still grieving from the last. We are not even close to seeing that another could happen. It would take months at the least for people to accept it.”

  “True,” sighed the king. “God, what a horrible business.”

  “You’ll need to tell Chamberlain,” Gloucester told his brother. “And a few key others. Some to delay a start of war through whatever means possible and others to start preparing.”

  Sending his brother a baleful look, the king pinched the top of his nose, then nodded.

  “Chamberlain. He will hate what he is told but I believe he will do everything possible to delay a war. Whatever he must do.”

  “Who else?” the queen frowned, head tilted as if she was mentally running through a list of candidates.

  “I know neither of you like him,” Gloucester began, his upper body turned toward the king and queen. “But Churchill.”

  “He supported David,” the queen immediately countered.

  “Churchill is a royalist,” Gloucester answered just as swiftly. “He was supporting the king because he didn’t want the Crown damaged. He’s been going on about Germany for years now.”

  “You think he’ll be quiet about this?” the king frowned.

  “With the knowledge he’s right?” replied his brother, raising an eyebrow and nodding. “Like Chamberlain, he is devoted to Britain. They will both do whatever necessary to delay war and prepare the country.”

  “That’s two,” the king murmured. “Who else?”

  “Those two gentlemen should be sufficient,” Corwen spoke thoughtfully. “At least until things are further along. They have opposing stances already, but I believe you are quite correct, sir. They would put aside their differences for Britain. In fact,” he flashed a grin at the royal trio. “It might be better if they continue their current opposition. To suddenly change would arouse suspicion.”

  “Excellent point,” agreed the king. “Anything else?”

  “Sir,” the Baron glanced at his son, then back at the king. “We were wondering if you, her majesty and the Duke would be interested in visiting our London center. Much of the exterior is the way it was during Owain and Anna’s time, although we have made modern upgrades to the interior for training and accommodations.”

  The king’s expression brightened considerably after the dark subject.

  “Really? What a treat,” he smiled.

  “Sounds like a splendid idea,” agreed Gloucester.

  “I’m sure your schedule is quite full,” the Baron said. “But as soon as it can be arranged?”

  “There have to be some privileges of being king such as ignoring the calendar,” the king frowned, sending a brief glare at the open book.

  “If a visit were a few days from now,” Berwyn spoke up. “My wife could be here. She has another journal finished.”

  “Really?” Now the queen was quite pleased.

  “Ma would never forgive us if she didn’t get to meet you, your Majesty,” Griffin smiled at the woman.

  “Please tell her I look forward to meeting such a scribe,” the queen told him with a delighted expression.

  Griffin nodded and the king smiled, studying his schedule at the end of the week. A meeting with Chamberlain. Perfect. “Well, then shall we make it this Friday before tea?”

  “As you wish, sir,” Corwen agreed.

  “Chamberlain and the others may want to be present if we’ve already told them,” Gloucester warned.

  “They would be welcome as well if his Majesty wishes them present,” Corwen nodded.

  “Excellent,” the king smiled with satisfaction. Chamberlain will be suspicious at first and Churchill will be thrilled and, but there’s no way around that. “Let’s keep it to Chamberlain and Churchill. That should be sufficient to give them something else to consider.”

  “And possibly silence Winston?” Gloucester asked slyly.

  “He will be fascinated by the historical aspects,” the queen observed.

  “Indeed,” her brother-in-law agreed. “Everything he thinks he knows has an underlying history. He’ll wonder at what he does know.”

  “Good,” the king grunted. “I felt that way when I read the Elizabeth letter,” he smiled at the three Roses of England.

  Chapter Two

  Buckingham Palace, Three days later

  Recognizing the man getting out of the car ahead of him, the Prime Minister scowled as his own driver stopped under the portico. The door was opened, and the footman snapped to attention. Stepping out of the car, Chamberlain settled his hat on his head and strode forward to where Sir Winston Churchill waited. Leaning on his ever-present cane, Churchill seemed as surprised to see the other man. Small consolation, Chamberlain thought as an equerry approached them.

  “Minister, sir, if you’ll both follow me.”

  With brisk nods, the pair were guided by their escort. Chamberlain knew the way. He was fairly certain Churchill didn’t, and hoped this wasn’t some surprise coup arranged by someone. No, the king would never go along with something as underhanded as that. But what the devil could this be about with Churchill? Walking through the home of the king was both humbling – considering whose home it was, plus all the art – and inspiring – he was following in the footsteps of great men who had lead Britain through good times and bad. Men who, while they
’d all had their own political and private motivations, had all been convinced that Britain was supreme, that Britain could overcome anything. A glance at the man on his right surprised him – Churchill was gazing about in wonder.

  Born at Blenheim and he has this reaction? Must be because of the monarchy. If nothing else, Churchill does love this country. Perhaps more than he loves listening to his own voice? Well, if he’s here with me, I at least know he’s not plotting behind my back again.

  Outside the usual audience room stood two brown suited men with scarlet roses. The younger man’s rose was on his right shoulder and was a bit larger than the other man who wore his affixed to the knot of his tie.

  “Prime Minister, Sir Churchill,” the younger greeted them as the older opened the door and announced them.

  “Bit out of uniform for a footman,” Churchill observed.

  The man merely smiled and gestured for them to enter. The equerry stayed in the hall, but the younger man followed them. At the deviation, Chamberlain frowned as he moved further into the room. His puzzlement increased as the king was not alone. Flanking the king as he sat at his desk were the queen and Duke of Gloucester. Having been seated across the desk and standing at his and Churchill’s entrances were two men Chamberlain recognized – Baron Corwen and his son Lord Berwyn, whose arm was in a sling.

  Both men had scarlet and gold roses on their shoulders. Berwyn’s larger than the man behind them, and Corwen’s the larger again. There were two more seats before the desk.

  “Minister, Churchill,” the king greeted them, gesturing to the chair. “Please, be seated. We have a brief history lesson for you that must remain absolutely secret. And then,” he beamed. “We are going somewhere for tea.”

  “Majesty?” Chamberlain murmured as Churchill, ever aware of protocol, gestured for him to take the more central seat so he would be opposite the king.

  When they were both seated, the young man placed cups of tea before them and withdrew to stand behind Berwyn. Now Chamberlain saw the resemblance – grandfather, father, son.

  “Corwen?” The King nodded at the Baron.

  Churchill was fascinated, his fingers twitched for pen and paper as he listened to the oral history. Secret societies? Opposing each other throughout time and Europe? It seemed preposterous at first, but as he listened to Corwen, bits and pieces fit in with what he knew and filled in gaps he had wondered about. As the baron finished up with what had happened to the Roots and his own Heir a fortnight earlier, Churchill was ready to sound the call to arms and charge across the Channel.

  “We must act,” he insisted, palm flat on the desk in front of him. “Such brutality cannot go without chastisement.”

  “We cannot act,” Chamberlain turned to him, restrained impatience in his expression. “Europe barely survived the first war to encircle the globe. How can we possibly fight another?”

  “Whether we want to fight will not matter,” argued Churchill, barely holding himself back from banging on the desk. Such a thing was not done before the king and other royals. “Herr Hitler is preparing for war and so must we.”

  “That,” the king began, garnering their immediate attention. “Is why you are here. Minister, you must find ways to delay war while we find means to prepare for it. Churchill will continue to be the voice in the wilderness, trying to wake up the country.”

  “Sir, this is most unusual,” Chamberlain replied. “The king’s role is not –”

  Churchill snorted, not at all surprised by the minister’s attitude.

  “My role is to advise and counsel,” the king stated firmly. “Based on what the Roses have learned, there can be little doubt as to the intentions of Hitler and the German leadership. Therefore, British leadership must do what it can to prepare. Prepare our military. Prepare our subjects.”

  “Can we trust their information though?” Chamberlain worried. “They say this and that, but can we believe it before it’s corroborated through official channels? They say they were involved in this or that event in history, but can we believe them?”

  “I believe them,” the queen answered him. “I’ve read the journal compiled by Lady Berwyn and have been able to confirm some of what is there.”

  “Some?” pressed the minister in a manner Churchill considered unseemly. “Only some?”

  Questioning the Queen like this? The man forgets himself at times. Or, perhaps, he is more shaken by the information than he wants to admit. Yes, that might be it. Knowledge of the Order of the Roses and their commitment to their countries is reassuring to me. Yet the information they’ve given to the King would be most unsettling to a man who has committed himself to peace at any costs.

  “Come now,” Churchill protested, daring to lightly tap his cane on the floor. “After so many centuries, that anything could be confirmed is a testament to her Majesty’s efforts.”

  The smile, one of the few he’d received from her, made him smile. The Abdication had made the remaining Royal Family doubt his loyalties. Hopefully, he could bridge the gulf. Especially before hostilities break out. At least I have the King’s blessing in continuing my efforts to rouse the country. And doesn’t that mean a lot!

  Chamberlain nodded to acquiesce the point. With a satisfied smile, the king stood, with the others quickly rising.

  “Excellent.” The king glanced at the youngest man. “Griffin, I believe you’re in charge of this part.”

  “Sir,” Griffin bowed his head slightly and went to the door.

  Opening it, he spoke quietly to whomever waited in the hall. Churchill speculated that it was the other man who wore a scarlet rose. Corwen moved away from the desk and murmured to Gloucester. Chamberlain stepped back, frowning deeply as if trying to make sense of what he’d been told. Daringly, considering what he now knew of the man’s abilities and past, Churchill leaned slightly forward to study the jeweled roses on Berwyn’s shoulder.

  “Fascinating,” he murmured. “How old is it? Do you know?”

  “This was made for the Root of England’s son in the reign of Queen Elizabeth,” Berwyn replied with a smile. “There are also newer ones made after the Restoration as well as the rings for each Protector.”

  “Protector?” The queen echoed, having come closer. “As Alicia was for Lady Anna?”

  “Quite so, ma’am,” Berwyn confirmed with a smile.

  “Then, Lady Anna wore your father’s?” she marveled, glancing at the Baron now talking with her husband and brother-in-law. “That’s the one the Norman Root had made for her?”

  “It is, ma’am,” Berwyn nodded.

  “How extraordinary,” she exclaimed, clearly enjoying having more knowledge about the Order than Churchill did. “The originals are normally kept safe?” she inquired, concern in her eyes. “The ones Lady Anna wore, and she gave her husband? I would think those would be as precious to the Roses as the Crown Jewels are.”

  “They are usually kept in the Baron’s Tower, ma’am.” A smile flirted across his face. “They are worn for certain special occasions. Royal events.”

  She understood immediately. “Such as coronations and funerals?”

  “Quite so, ma’am,” he confirmed. “We wore them last summer.”

  “And yet you are wearing it now,” Churchill observed, whirling his head and staring at Corwen. He’s wearing something worn by someone who served Elizabeth Tudor! As if it were a normal ornament in his ensemble. No, not for him. Not for any of them. The roses they wear are precious to them as the Queen said. Now, I see why the royals are this way. These Roses of Britain are dedicated to the country, the Royal family. Something is about to happen then. Something momentous and I get to witness. How marvelous. “What is this event?”

  Berwyn winked at him. “Ah, now, Sir, let us have at least one complete surprise, please.”

  Griffin turned from the door. “Your Majesty? My lord Root? All is ready.”

  “Excellent,” the king stated, heading for the young man. “I have been looking forward to this all w
eek.” He glanced over his shoulder at Chamberlain and Churchill. “I hope you two can manage a short ride in each other’s company. Else it will complicate all of Griffin’s efforts.”

  A bit nonplussed, Chamberlain glanced at the man not even in a cabinet position and whom had been a thorn in his party’s side for years. Churchill managed to maintain a straight face, barely containing his glee. The minister nodded at the king.

  “I think we can be civil, sir.”

  “Good,” the monarch said decidedly, holding his hand to his wife. “Elizabeth? Harry?”

  Smiling, the queen went to his side with Gloucester a step behind her and they followed Griffin out the door. The baron and his son followed them, breaking protocol. Bewildered now, Churchill fell into step next to Chamberlain. They were again surprised to find three more men waiting for them. As Griffin was, they were in brown suits with roses on their ties.

  “Most unusual,” Churchill muttered as they proceeded down the hall. “Not at all how things are done.”

  “He’s not the Baron of Corwen at the moment, sir,” the man to his right murmured. “He’s the Root of Great Britain. Their priority is the Royal Family. If there is a threat—”

  “We’re in Buckingham Palace,” blustered Chamberlain.

  “That won’t matter to them, will it?” questioned Churchill, further intrigued.

  “There have been serious threats throughout history to the king or queen within the palace,” the Rose to Chamberlain’s left reminded them.

  “Quite true,” agreed Churchill with a nod.

  “The place doesn’t matter at all, sir,” came the confirmation as they went down a flight of stairs. “The Roots will protect the king, then the queen, then the duke first.”

  “Prime Ministers don’t matter then?”

  Churchill chuckled at Chamberlain’s shock at the realization. Being brought down a peg or two is good for a person, Neville. Or so I was told after Gallipoli.