King Henry's Choice

by Emily-Jane Hills Orford

  “And their ability to appear out of nowhere,” Henry added. “There’s English forces marching across the island as we speak. Set to destroy this castle and me along with it.”

  “And to steal Scotland from the Scottish,” Cecil added. “If this isn’t stopped, then Scotland of the future definitely won’t be the same. In Edward’s twenty-first century, this upcoming battle ensured English victory and his Scotland of the twenty-first century didn’t exist at all.”

  “But how do I stop a power with weapons beyond my understanding?” Henry took a seat opposite Cecil. He placed his elbows on his knees and leaned forward to rest his head in his hands.

  “Come with me to the future, Henry. The battle you fight now has its origins in the twenty-fifth century. In order to win this battle, you’ll have to fight it in another time.” Cecil wasn’t sure if his suggestions were making an impact. Henry continued to sit silently pondering his choices. “Your descendant, Queen Mary Elizabeth II, awaits you and all the time travelers of your family. Only you and your time traveling family can change things in the future to make things better for Scotland, both in the future and in the past. Together, you’ll find a way and make a difference. Queen Mary Elizabeth II, the queen of my era, is as strong, as determined and as powerful as her namesake.”

  “But you said Scotland doesn’t exist in the twenty-first century?” Henry countered, looking confused. “And, if it doesn’t exist in the twenty-first century, how can it possibly exist in the twenty-fifth century?”

  “We Scots are not so easy to wipe out, Your Majesty,” Cecil replied. “There has always been a ready and waiting underground army and a king or queen ready to take the helm. It hasn’t been easy. Especially lately with this newly perfected time travel implant. One I invented, I might add. Invented for the sole purpose of making sure Scotland never does become the vassal of England.”

  “Father.” The boy was standing next to Henry, patting his arm. “Father. What Cecil says is true. The history books I have to study in the twenty-first century record stories of an unspeakable force which almost annihilates the Scottish population, allowing the English free rein to move in and take over. The war has already lasted more than a year in your time. Our time.” He quickly corrected himself. “And you, our people, don’t seem to be making any headway. Am I correct?”

  Henry nodded sadly, taking his son’s hands in his. Following a deep, prolonged sigh, he spoke. “Edward. Cecil. I have to admit I wondered at the power and the strange abilities of the English invaders. But if this force we’re fighting is from the twenty-fifth century, why didn’t they just wipe us out when the war began. Or before that? Centuries before when Queen Mary Elizabeth took the crown of Scotland from her brother?”

  “There were powers at war in the twenty-fifth century which slowed their progress in your time and in earlier times,” Cecil explained. “And, they were advised to keep things low key so as not to raise suspicions from people like you who moved through time. They’re starting to get frantic, though. And through their impatience to succeed, dire consequences will be felt in your country. They’re making mistakes. Deadly mistakes. Dangerous mistakes. In our country. You must act fast. You must make your decision now. There’s no time to waste.”

  “Frantic about what?” Henry snapped. He wasn’t one to snap. He seldom lost his temper, but his frustration had reached an all time peak and he wanted answers. He wanted to understand. He hated not understanding what was going on around him.

  His friend, Walter Scott, author par excellence, had warned him over and over again. “Scotland was a prize the English wanted to win, for no particular purpose than to win the prize.” Walter had written several treatises singing the praises of his country: “its beauty unmatched anywhere in the world and a strong people who dedicated their lives to protecting and preserving this beauty.” Henry particularly loved the man’s writing. A phrase which immediately came to mind, one he had memorized for its eloquent beauty for times such as this, “O, what a tangled web we weave when first we practise to deceive!” Granted these words were written in an earlier time frame when Walter penned his poem, “Marion” in 1808. Walter was only a friend to Henry when the king jumped back in time for a visit and some literary consolation. Henry loved his literature and he loved the writings of Walter Scott. How apropos was this one simple line from the poem, especially given the circumstances, given his current predicament.

  “Let’s go, but Edward must return to the twenty-first century and his grandmothers.” Henry was insistent. He wanted his son safe. Regardless of the outcome, the future of Scotland was in Edward’s hands as much as it was in his.

  Cecil and Edward both shook their heads. “Edward must come, too,” Cecil stated firmly. “His presence is crucial to this mission’s success.”

  “But why?”

  “Because of what he knows.” Cecil was brief. “And his implant is working differently from yours. It protects him from memory loss. You have managed to overcome the memory loss drugs we administered to aid you in forgetting what you saw in the twenty-fifth century. To a point. You don’t remember everything, but enough to put the pieces together. Edward has a much stronger mind than that. And it works with the implant. Or, I should say the implant works with his mind, making it more resilient and resistant to memory-loss drugs.”

  “And this helps how?” Henry quirked an eyebrow, his lack of conviction obvious. “And how does it protect my son? Without him, Scotland has no future. You do realize that?”

  “I do,” Cecil nodded his head. “In more ways than you realize. Which is why I understand the importance of Edward accompanying us on this mission.”

  “Father,” Edward spoke up before Henry could say more. “It’s important. I know what the history books say. You don’t as it hasn’t happened yet. I know I can help. I’ve already done some jumps with both grandmothers. I have been to the Holyrood House Facility of the twenty-fifth century. I have not forgotten any of it, in spite of the drugs injected into my system. I have met Queen Mary Elizabeth II. And I have snooped the English royal court of the time period in question. I know what I’m doing. And I have a pretty good idea what needs doing.”

  Henry was stunned. He quirked an eyebrow and studied his son intently. What happened to the little boy whose twelfth birthday he had celebrated in the future? Even though, in this time, he wouldn’t be twelve yet. Here he was, just twelve, ready to do battle. Not just in Henry’s time, but well into the future as well.

  “Very well,” he spoke with harbored reluctance. “What do we need to bring in terms of weapons?”

  “Whatever your preference.” Cecil stood and walked closer to the fire, rubbing his hands together to store its warmth. “Edward has his bow and arrow.” The boy held up the bow his father had given him on his birthday. “I believe your preference is the sword, or dirk as the old Scots called it.”

  “And a pistol.” Henry patted his side where the pistol was inserted ready to be retrieved at a moment’s notice. “Anything else? Won’t our weapons seem pitiful when pitted against the weapons of your century?”

  “True enough,” Cecil swiveled around to face the king. “But you will be provided with what you need when we meet the queen. And, too much confidence in modern weaponry can be a hindrance.”

  “Too much confidence at any time or place can be one’s downfall,” Henry agreed. “Very well. Let’s be on our way.”

  Cecil held up his hands. “Not so fast. We have a journey to make first. To the past. To understand the powers we’re up against. These English warriors of the twenty-fifth century made their first appearance, that we know of, when Queen Mary Elizabeth, as a princess, first appeared in the sixteenth century. Right about the time of Queen Mary’s execution at Fotheringay. It’s time we revisited history and followed their path of destruction to the future.”

  Thirty-Two

  Fotheringay Castle, England, February, Year of Our Lord 1587

  Queen Mary knelt at a stark wooden pr
ie-dieu, the small altar which provided a private sanctuary in her restricted living quarters. It was a typical piece of furniture found in the homes of the noble and privileged in this era. She knelt and prayed as she had done earlier, before the princess and Marie de Guise had made their visit. The queen was unaware of those who hovered nearby. They were almost invisible, oblivious to the others in the room. Her daughter stood at the door, the one she had relinquished at birth. The others were descendants by many generations, one being her many great grandson, King Henry. He stood in the shadowed corner with young Prince Edward and Cecil. Or, at least, it was the impression she chose to convey.

  “Ladies, you may enter now,” she gave a command as she pushed herself off the kneeler and stood, facing the doorway where Mary Elizabeth stood. Her eyes never reached the far corner where three figures hid in the shadows. Henry, Edward and Cecil had stood quietly, concealed, as they watched the proceedings. They watched intently the exchange between mother and daughter, who were meeting for the first time, meeting just before the scheduled execution. Tomorrow. Early morning. Mary Queen of Scots would die at the order of her cousin, Queen Elizabeth I of England. Always the English pitted against the Scots. Would it never end?

  The queen had left her prayers and taken a seat by the fire, waving her daughter and her mother to approach. “Come here child. I have waited a lifetime in captivity for this moment.”

  Mary Elizabeth walked forward tentatively, curtsied and then allowed the queen to take her hand before speaking again. “You look just as I once did. So young, so beautiful, so eager and full of life. And to think you almost did not live. You were so tiny when I first held you in Loch Leven Castle. But you were there as well, were you not? You were the young lady who rescued yourself as a tiny baby, am I not right?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” Mary Elizabeth answered with respect.

  “You must call me Mother,” Queen Mary insisted, waving away formalities with a flutter of one hand. “For that is what I am – your mother. And, at least for tonight, we can be mother and daughter. Tomorrow they will execute me for crimes I did not commit.”

  “No.” Mary Elizabeth couldn’t stifle her groan. “I have always wanted to meet my mother. Gran, I mean Grandmother, always told me my mother was dead.”

  “And, I suppose you could say,” Grandmother pointed out. “In the twenty-first century, your mother really was dead and for quite a few centuries at least.”

  Henry had to smile at the confusing connections the three were making, trying to mark one dot to the next from past to present to future and back to the past again. Time travel was such a conundrum of mixed signals and ever-changing events.

  Queen Mary gave her daughter, Mary Elizabeth, a warm, fond smile. “Your grandmother always did have a way of making truths out of non-truths. It does not matter now. What matters is I prepare you as best I can for the life you will lead. You will be queen – a queen like no other, of that I am sure.”

  The conversation continued to skirt the important issues and dwell on trivialities for awhile. Queen Mary put a stop to it when she handed Mary Elizabeth a document and told her to read it in old French and then to translate it into English. She was testing her daughter, but she was also making sure her daughter knew the facts. At least from her perspective.

  “On this day, the 7th day of February, in the year of our Lord 1587,” Mary Elizabeth read out loud the words her mother had transcribed in such neat handwriting. “I commit myself and my faith to the Almighty and the promise of everlasting life. My dear brother, King Henry of France, brother to my sadly deceased first husband, the Dauphin Francis, who was also king before his untimely death. I beseech you to understand and know the truth of what happened. I have been tried and found guilty of treason, but my accusers have made it quite clear my fate is a result of my faith. Lord Kent told me quite bluntly, and I quote him word for word, “Your life would be the death of our religion, your death would be its life.” It makes me feel stronger knowing I have upheld my faith against all odds and the general well-being of my church, the Roman Catholic Church, is dependent, to some degree, on my life.”

  “Enough!” Mary Elizabeth wasn’t allowed to finish. The queen startled everyone. “This letter will be sent to the King of France. There are others. You may read them all and learn from them. There are some in Latin.” The queen then commiserated, partially confessing her faults. “I was too proud, too determined to be the ever dominant and powerful ruler. It is not a position of luxury, my child.” The letter was placed in a casket, a treasure box for private letters, and handed to Mary Elizabeth for safekeeping.

  The casket. Henry jogged his memory. Yes, it was still in the secret hiding place in his chambers. Placed there before his time, by none other than the Mary Elizabeth who received it from her mother, Queen Mary. The secret hiding place was behind a large stone which was a part of the fireplace. He must look at it. There must be something in the casket, the treasure box, of significance. Otherwise, why was he hearing about it now? After so many years with no reference being made to it?

  “Take this.” Mary Elizabeth accepted the casket and held it with due reverence, listening intently to her mother’s instructions. “Read it all and keep it safe until the letters are delivered as they should be. And remember to rule with you head and not your heart. Although your heart should reach out to your subjects. At all cost, put them and their well-being before your own.”

  The queen had reluctantly ended the visit. “You must go. I must prepare myself to meet my Creator. And you must be far enough away when the sword falls to ensure no one can imprison you for life as they did to me.” The conversation finished. Mary Elizabeth and Marie de Guise made their exits, hugs and tears quickly exchanged. There was noise from the halls and guards crashed into the queen’s chambers. Only to find her, once again, kneeling at the small altar. They didn’t look in the shadows in the corner. They didn’t see Henry and his companions. Not finding what they expected, the guards left as loudly as they had entered.

  “I have been expecting you.” She waved the men forward, away from the shadowed corner. Henry, Edward and Cecil took several steps into the room, Henry at the fore, excited to meet his many great grandmother in person. “There are evil powers at work. Both today and well into the future. I have seen the future try to destroy me and what is mine. It’s all in the casket letters. You know where they are. You must read them. And you must follow the advice I have given, dictated to me from one of my descendants from the future, Queen Mary Elizabeth II. From the twenty-fifth century.” Her eyes caught Henry’s in a chilling look. “Read. Find the evil. And destroy this evil. Your life, King Henry I of Scotland, many great grandson of mine, depends on it.” She obviously knew who they were and why they were here. “As do the lives of your heirs, and all the rulers in Scotland’s future. Now go.”

  Thirty-Three

  Holyrood House, Edinburgh, Winter, Year of Our Lord 1877

  “What are you doing, Father?” Edward’s voice had an edge of concern to it, not something one would expect in someone so young. “We have to move on. We can’t stay here.”

  “I need to retrieve something, Edward. If it’s still where it should be. It’s an important part of our ancestral history.” Henry talked rapidly as he made his way to the fireplace. He found the stone and gripped it firmly, tugging it out of its chasm. “The history of your time traveling ancestors.” He reached inside and pulled out the journals, one by one. “Your Grandmother Marie’s journal.” He handed it to Edward. “Your Grandmother Mary Elizabeth’s journal.” He lay it on top of the other journal the boy held. “And so much more.”

  “Do you have a journal, Father?” Edward asked.

  “Yes.” Henry pulled out a few more journals and some paperwork. He carried it all over to his writing desk. He put down the retrieved documents and pulled a tab on the desk. An opening appeared. He reached inside and pulled out his own journal. It showed the crinkles of time, well used over the years. Sadly,
it was not as concise and full of detail as the others. He would have to remedy his writing habits. He held it up for Edward to see, then tucked it back in the secret compartment of the desk. “It’s safe in there for now.” He walked back to the fireplace and reached his arm into the opening, deeper this time. His fingers fumbled, feeling around until he found it. Queen Mary’s casket, a cache full of letters. He grasped it and juggled it carefully to bring it forward, towards him, and then through the opening.

  “Queen Mary’s casket,” he held it up for Edward to see. “The one she mentioned. The one she gave to Grandmother Mary Elizabeth.”

  “Why is it so important?” Edward was just as curious as his father.

  “I don’t know. But I think we need to find out.” He nodded at the journals still resting in Edward’s hands as well as the one stacked on the desk. “Put the journals and papers back in the secret compartment for now and replace the stone securely. Just in case our little bit of research is interrupted. We don’t want our hiding niche discovered.”

  It only took mere minutes to open the casket. Age and the elements had wreaked a certain amount of havoc on what had once been a fine piece of metalwork. Edward had returned to his side as the lock snapped and Henry lifted the lid. The hinges snapped in the process and the lid disconnected totally. Setting it aside, Henry pondered the contents. It was full of neatly folded sheets of parchment, all securely folded with the official wax seal of Mary Queen of Scots, her handwriting evident on the outer folds, identifying the person for whom the contents were addressed. On top was a letter addressed to her cousin, Henry I, Prince of Joinville, Duke of Guise, Count of Eu. Henry picked it up carefully and held it for Edward to see.

  “He died just over a year after Queen Mary was executed.” Henry placed the letter carefully on the desk. The seal was still in place, but was obviously loosening its hold. “Chances are, even if he had received this letter, there wasn’t anything he could have done with the contents. He was quite the revolutionary himself. Did you know that?” Edward shook his head. “He founded the Catholic League in 1576 to prevent the Huguenot heir, King Henry of Navarre, from succeeding to the French throne and he was a strong adversary of France’s Queen Mother, Catherine de’ Medici. King Henry III had him assassinated.”