King Henry's Choice

by Emily-Jane Hills Orford

  “No. I’m fine. Thanks. Can’t handle the drink as I once could.”

  Placing his glass on the table as well, Henry reconciled himself to the need to remain sober. At least for now. “I know what you mean. Now what brings you to Edinburgh? I know how much you dislike the big city, so it must be serious.” He waved for Ian to be seated and lowered himself into a chair.

  “It is.” Ian leaned forward in his chair and rubbed his hands together. “I fear the English have infiltrated our land, Your Majesty. And they’re raising havoc amongst our highland chiefs, causing mischief and making every clan fear the other clan has joined ranks with the English.”

  Henry rubbed his forehead. He needed another glass of whisky. He didn’t need another problem. Especially with the English queen almost on his doorstep. “How did this start, Ian? And what proof do you have?”

  Ian stood up and made his way to the reading table beneath a long row of bookshelves. Henry followed him, concern evident as he took great care in this room to make sure everything was where he could find it. The table, often covered with books and maps, was the one Henry used frequently when studying documents, reading up on historical details, and laying out plans. It was usually a mess. One end had been carefully cleared, the books and documents neatly organized at the opposite end. At least, he hoped they were organized. He had been deep into his plans for the expansion of Scotland’s National Gallery of Art when fatigue drove him to bed the previous night. He restrained his concern, focusing on the item displayed across the cleared portion of the table.

  “This,” Ian unbound the cloth to reveal the long sword. The hilt gave it away. “It’s an English sword.” Ian stated the obvious. The guard had an intricate design, woven in metal, depicting the statant guardant lion in the center, wearing the St. Edward’s Crown, the crown jewel of England, named after Edward the Confessor. It was supported by a similarly crowned English lion. The Tudor rose was evident in the foliage at the base of the guard beneath the lions and all was surrounded by the Garter circlet. On the pommel, in fine letters, was the Latin phrase, the English chivalrous Order of the Garter’s motto, Honi soit qui mal y pense”.

  “Shame on him who thinks evil,” Henry spoke softly, translating the Latin words into English. “Definitely English. Where did you find this?”

  Ian held up his hand to ward off further questions. “Wait. I will explain. But there is more.” He removed the cloth on another item. At first glance it had the appearance of a sheath for a smaller sword or even a knife. Ian slid his finger into the opening at one end and carefully slipped out a piece of paper. He unrolled it on the desk and motioned for Henry to look closely.

  “It’s in code,” Henry studied it closely. “I think I recognize the code. Bertie, I mean the Prince of Wales, and I developed this code as children. We used to have great fun sending secret messages to each other.” He studied the message, muttering under his breath as he tried to unravel its secrets. “I think I have it. It reads: The prince is the key. Watch. Wait. When family goes to Balmoral,” he pointed at an abstract symbol, a box, with two towers, one on either end. “Look, our own secret sign for the castle.” He continued to read his translation. “Take the infant, Prince Edward, Crown Prince of Scotland, and his mother.” He stepped back, a look of fear, mixed with shock and anger marking his facial expression. “They plan to kidnap my son. And he’s using my code, our secret code, to pass on the message. To whom? And did he not think I might see the message and be able to decipher it?”

  “We can’t let it happen,” Ian rolled the parchment and returned it to the sheath for safekeeping. “Lock up these things.” He gave the king a stern look of warning. “You may need them later.”

  Henry nodded. Before he could remove the evidence of England’s betrayal, the doors burst open behind them and the Prince of Wales pranced in.

  “Bertie!” Henry exclaimed as he marched to greet his cousin, masking his concern about the prince arriving at the moment when Henry was learning of yet another ploy by the English against the Scots. In spite of his unease at being caught unravelling an English plot, Henry cared for his cousin and he couldn’t help but notice Bertie’s appearance. The Prince of Wales had aged considerably since Henry had last seen him. Too much booze and women, he supposed. He was only about ten years older than Henry, but he appeared to be twice his age.

  Henry and Bertie weren’t first cousins by any means, but as with all royal houses, there was a direct line of ancestry which conveniently connected one royal to another. Henry was a Stuart, a direct descendant of Mary Queen of Scots through her daughter, Queen Mary Elizabeth, who took the throne of Scotland after her brother, James, chose the English crown over the Scottish one. King James VI of Scotland became King James I of England, originally planning to amalgamate Scotland to England. The Scottish people would have none of it, the depth of animosity between the two peoples going too deep and too far back in time. The newly recognized Princess Mary Elizabeth claimed the Scottish throne and it was her ancestors who continued to rule Scotland and make it a strong nation, independent and free. Henry continued the progress his great ancestor started.

  Queen Victoria, a distant descendant of King James I, continued to barter with her northern neighbors in the hopes to complete the amalgamation her ancestor failed to do. She attempted controlling Henry, even though the marriage to Isabel had failed. Henry cared for his English cousins, but he was determined to keep the border between the two countries strong and well fortified. His people were Scottish, not some amalgamated conglomerate under the iron rule of the English. He was determined to keep it this way.

  He enjoyed the family connection. How could he not? He was an only child and the appearance of the English royal family in the Scottish court at least once a year was a grand event. He and Bertie were more than just cousins. They were friends. Good friends. During those summers of his youth, growing up, getting into mischief together, Henry had idolized Bertie. And the others, too: Alfred, Arthur, and Leopold. He had been closer in age to Arthur, but all the young princes idolized the Prince of Wales, Albert Edward, whom everyone within the royal circle called Bertie.

  The princes had bonded well. But not the girls. They had always been too prissy for Henry’s liking. Though he suspected the queen hoped for a match between him and one of her brood. “We must join the two countries,” she frequently said. The closest to joining he could abide was marrying Isabel. And, it was a rash act of madness, if he had to be honest with himself. Every time Victoria visited, which she always did on her way to Balmoral, she only had time for Isabel. According to his ears within his court, all the two did was plot. Henry was determined to prevent the amalgamation of Scotland and England. Victoria was determined to make sure the two countries did blend and co-exist as one.

  “Finally. I am here at last.” The Prince of Wales always loved a bit of drama. It was not unusual for him to storm into a room unannounced and catch the people within unawares. “You have no idea how difficult it is to spend an entire day with my mother.” After sharing a jubilant embrace with his cousin, the prince noticed Ian standing by the table, trying to quickly wrap the evidence he had been showing Henry only minutes before. Walking around Henry, Bertie made his way to the table, ignoring Ian’s tip of head, acknowledging his rank and privilege. “What have we here?” He stopped and his face paled with concern and then changed abruptly to beat red with anger. “What’s this? You have one of my men’s swords!”

  “So, you admit it’s yours?” It was as much a statement as a question, but Henry was studying his cousin closely while at the same time trying to guard his tongue.

  “Of course, it’s one of mine. Now the question is, what are you two doing with it?” he snapped.

  Henry nodded to Ian, allowing him to explain. “It was taken from a dead soldier, your highness. A dead English soldier. One of many who have been invading our highlands and causing mischief amongst our people.”

  “Impossible!” the prince sputtered. “
Why would one of my men be fighting in the highlands?”

  “We have a right to know, Bertie.” Henry crossed his arms in front of his chest and all but glared at his cousin with determined fierceness. “Would you care to enlighten us, Cousin?”

  “There must be a mistake.” The man was a bundle of nervous energy. “Someone is trying to set me up and make me look bad. I am convinced of it.”

  “And using our own secret code to give orders?” Henry couldn’t resist.

  “Secret code?” Bertie started fidgeting, his hands wringing each other with ferocity as he shuffled from one foot to the other. “What do you mean, secret code?”

  “The one we devised and used as children, Bertie,” Henry insisted. Bertie was guilty of something. It was obvious. But what? It remained to be determined. He removed the coded message from its protective sheath and, unraveling it, handed it to Bertie. “It’s giving orders to kidnap my son, Bertie. Why?”

  The prince visibly blanched, his guilt written all over his face. He stuttered as sweat built up on his brow and started trickling down his cheeks. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped it viciously away. He was about to crumble the paper, but Henry was too quick. He snatched it out of Bertie’s hand before damage could be done to the evidence.

  “I don’t know what to say, Henry.” Bertie cleared his throat and coughed into the handkerchief he continued to hold. “Mother made me do it.” His eyes darted around the room, refusing to latch onto Henry’s.

  “Hmm!” Henry exclaimed. “Quite possible. She still has you under her thumb, doesn’t she?” Bertie squirmed at the accusation. He was sensitive to the fact he was only the Prince of Wales with no rights or privileges or power, other than his royal title. Henry handed the message to Ian who efficiently returned it to the sheath.

  The following silence was eerie.

  Unsettling.

  Henry watched. And waited.

  Bertie broke the silence with another nervous cough. “Yes. Well. It’s how it is, my friend.”

  “Friend?” Henry snorted. “Is this how you treat your friends? By kidnapping their children?”

  “My mother…”

  “Yes, I know.” Henry waved his hand as if to silence the man and his excuses. “We all know about your mother.”

  “She is probably in your wife’s chambers now, plotting her next move.”

  It may have been a ploy to remove Henry from the study. Or it may have been an attempt to make amends. Henry glanced at Ian. “Stay here, Ian. Guard the evidence.”

  Ian nodded and Henry made a quick exit, heading for his wife’s rooms. He made it to the main hall, just as the black-clad queen from south of the border made her entrance. Henry took several deep breaths, straightened his shoulders and posed as the welcoming royal host. He walked forward to greet her with outstretched hands. She stopped halfway across the room and stomped her cane with decided force. “Where is she?” Her eyes glazed Henry’s. “Where is your wife? She couldn’t be bothered to come greet her cousin?”

  Henry was obviously inconsequential. He bowed his head solicitously, greeting in a barely civil voice, “Greetings, Cousin.”

  The queen flashed him an icy glare. “Well?” She stomped her cane again.

  “Still resting, Your Majesty.” Although a king of equal rank as his southern neighbor, Henry greeted Victoria with the formal recognition of her position.

  She responded in kind, though not as warm as one would expect from a visiting monarch. “Your Majesty. My cousin gave birth over a month ago. I birthed many children and was always up and about within a day or two. No excuse for this. Take me to her.” Noticing the hesitance, she punctuated her demand. “Now!”

  “Yes, Ma’am.” Henry bowed slightly and started to lead the way.

  “No, not you, Henry.” She let out a deep sigh signifying her frustration. “Must I explain everything. Bertie.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Go play with my boy. This man will escort me.” She pointed her cane at George who was hovering in the shadows.

  “Yes, Cousin.” He nodded to George to carry on, fully intent on following close behind. At least, after he finished interrogating Bertie.

  Henry watched the retreating figure of the English queen as she sashayed down the hall, her long black gown trailing behind her like a wisp of foreboding. He shook his head. First his wife’s attempt at making demands for their son; then Ian’s revelation the English were causing mischief in the highlands and threatening to kidnap his son. Oh yes, and the dream which wasn’t a dream. Or was it? There was the scar and its unknown origins. Something about an implant. He shook his head to try and clear his thoughts and instantly regretted the sudden movement as the room started to spin.

  “Are you all right, Your Majesty?” One of the guards stationed by the main door appeared before Henry.

  The room settled to a normal keel as Henry acknowledged his reassurances with a warm smile. “Thank you, young man. You are observant. I am fine, now. Just fine.” He marched off to rejoin Bertie in the study. He had questions to ask his cousin. Lots of questions.

  He walked into the study, closing the door quietly behind him. Bertie was sitting facing the hearth, an empty glass in one hand and a freshly lit cigar in the other. He had found Henry’s stash of goodies and helped himself. Both Ian and the evidence were gone.

  Bertie perked up when he heard the door open. “He just left. Took the evidence with him.” The prince placed the cigar between his lips and took another deep puff, before taking it out and placing it in the ashtray on the table next to him. He set down the empty glass and rose to greet his cousin. “I am sorry, Cousin. I had no idea.”

  Henry studied Bertie. The man seemed sincere enough. But was he? Someone had shared their secret code. It had to be Bertie because it certainly wasn’t Henry. After a lengthy silence, he nodded, deciding to accept his cousin at his word. For now. He would keep him under close surveillance though. Both Bertie and his mother. Not to mention Henry’s own wife and her lackey of devoted followers.

  The two men embraced fondly, patting each other on the back. Henry pulled away first, choosing a topic other than spies and plots. “Sorry to hear about Leopold’s illness. I had hoped he would join you this time.” The youngest English prince had always been sickly, but his illnesses were complicated by an inherited disease. Hemophilia. A curse of royalty. Too much inbreeding, Henry believed, but no one accepted his theory. “We write, you know. Good lad. Smart. Very much like his father, don’t you think?”

  “Yes. He is smart, isn’t he?” Bertie was rather ruffled at the reference to his younger brother. He was never comfortable with others receiving the praise he felt he deserved.

  “Anyone else come with you?” Henry asked.

  “Later,” was the curt answer. “They’ll join as at Balmoral.”

  “Splendid.”

  Bertie retrieved his cigar and held it up in acknowledgement. “Fine cigar, Henry. Very fine indeed.”

  “It’s my latest shipment of those Jamaican cigars you enjoyed the last time you were here.” Scotland had long been a powerful force on the oceans, colonizing islands and continents around the world. England and Scotland each had their domains, a rivalry which didn’t go unnoticed. Scotland had long since colonized Jamaica, encouraging the agricultural potentials of the island, particularly its ability to easily grow tobacco. They developed a fine cigar, one rivalling the Cuban cigar. Cuba, after all, was an English colony.

  “Splendid!” Bertie beamed, placing it between his lips again and closing his eyes as he enjoyed the experience. The men took seats facing each other. “Where’s Uncle Harry?” Bertie asked. “I haven’t seen him in quite some time.”

  Uncle Harry was the name used to address the king when he jumped through time and visited himself and his family in the past. Like his ancestor a few centuries earlier, Queen Mary Elizabeth, King Henry’s memories of his first adventure traveling through time was unnerving. He had been shocked and, as a young lad at the time, hadn’
t fully comprehended what was happening and why.

  The king hesitated ever so slightly before answering. It was not a question he expected to hear. Not from his cousin. Bertie was many things, but he seldom remembered people, especially those he saw so infrequently. He pulled himself together, shifting his gaze restlessly. Taking a deep breath, silent, contained, he forced a smile.

  “He travels a lot.” Henry sat back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other to portray a posture of relaxation. “He was just here last month, Bertie. You missed him. Next time I see him, I’ll be sure to mention you were asking after him.”

  “You do that.” Bertie allowed the cigar to dangle between his lips as he talked. He stretched out his legs and leaned his head back to study his cousin closely. “You know, Henry. Funny thing is. I’ve studied our family trees. And I can’t find any trace of your Uncle Harry.”

  The king froze. Briefly. Every so slightly. He quickly composed himself. “Really? It’s strange.”

  “How is it he’s related?” The prince removed the cigar and knocked it in the tray, as he waited Henry’s response.

  “I never said he was related.” Henry took his time to explain. “He’s an uncle by name, only because he’s always been such a close family friend. No blood relation.”

  “Ah! But it doesn’t explain why he looks so much like you and his mannerisms are so similar. Are you sure you’re not related?”

  Henry all but beamed. “Quite sure.”

  A knock on the door interrupted their conversation. “Enter.” Henry gave the command.

  George poked his head inside. “I have seen Her Majesty the English queen to Her Majesty’s private chambers, Your Majesty.”