“Sir, as I said before, that’s not the way to do it,” repeated Chaucer, this time more insistently. “No, the best way to get through to a loving parent is through their children.”
Thus prompted, George II now said, “Unless you help us, you will never see your children again.”
George II had again put on a cold expression that Charlie still interpreted as bitter menace.
“Perhaps we should have returned to an earlier century,” said Edward I trying to be helpful, “when niceties for getting at information went by the board.”
George II was further ahead than Edward I in this game of dare.
“This modern man is not some little sap,” he said to Edward I. “Despite being our prisoner ready to do anything to get his kids back, he sent you on a wild goose chase to tempt us, to tease us, to warm us up into wanting and being ready to get modern gold—the readies—for us to live outside. That showed courage and foresight.”
Charlie now concluded that, unlike straight-arrow Edward I, George II represented a crabbed fist in a worn glove. Charlie knew moreover that niceties also evaporated when modern governments wanted to extract information from enemy agents whom they held in their power through extraordinary rendition. But he wisely said nothing until prompted by Geoffrey Chaucer again.
Chaucer began by saying, “Today’s wealth is not in material things. It’s in energy. Power does come from action—as it did in the battles of Crecy and Agincourt, even Blenheim and Waterloo. But where you, sir, had the longbow and later the cannon, the moderns have atoms in motion, creative technology and expertise in communication.”
Before Geoffrey Chaucer’s argument got lost in word spinning, Charlie knew he had to take over to drum the message more clearly to these behind-the-times monarchs. He said quietly, “Since modern wealth is essentially motion, it does not lend itself to amassing financial resources in a bank, or withholding your assets—keeping them away from the plebs and the peasants.” He continued, “You see I do know the modern jargon—even the politically incorrect terms.”
Resuming his argument, Charlie then said, “The new wealth can only come into being and be sustained through use. And it enriches whoever has the brains to use it.”
Charlie wondered if the two kings might sense the implied insult of his last sentence. He was still pondering why George II knew some of this but Edward I did not and why George II wanted to keep it that way. But Charlie also knew the kings were agog with the prospect of riches after death and that he had to keep them mesmerised.
"The entrepreneurs of the new forms of wealth—those industrial leaders identified with it from the early twentieth century onwards—they were—if not the true kings of that period—nevertheless the warlords, the overseers. They certainly understood that they could make profit for themselves only in as much as they made their resources—their creations, their appliance of science—available to us, the common people.
“In the twentieth century, they did this by spreading electricity, automobiles, telephones and radio, and, later, TV, across states. In this way, industrial bosses and capitalist entrepreneurs gave people some of the power inherent in electricity, the internal combustion engine—that’s what makes cars and autos work—and airplanes and communication through the air waves. In the twenty-first century, the Internet and the worldwide web have taken over.”
Charlie knew what the kings really wanted to know was what was in all this for them. It was up to him to come up with the goods. At least he knew what to say next.
“Of course modern bosses and investors don’t spread all this energy around out of the goodness of their hearts—although some do become benefactors in later life. No. They do it to make money. And to achieve this, they have to persuade average people to use the new forms of energy that they have created and controlled.”
Edward I was getting restless. He was out of his depth in this talk about modern trading practices. Charlie thought he might explode, so frustrated was he. But instead, Edward turned to Charlie and sneered, “I don’t think I should like America.”
Charlie noticed that George II was smirking—daring him to try his luck with the little riposte he had taught his children. Charlie was not going to be cowed by either of these spirit kings. Facing George II directly, he replied to Edward I with, “I suppose that’s because we have no ruins, no curiosities.”
Charlie wondered what Edward I would dredge up from what must surely be a limited range of knowledge.
“No ruins?” began Edward I. “You have your abstract expressionist paintings—no representation and all splatter and gore. No curiosities? You have your pop art. Your Andy Warhol depiction of endless Campbell’s Soup cans and sexually provocative film stars recreated in varied but always lurid psychedelic colours ad nauseam: people turned into consumer items.”
Charlie was astonished by Edward I’s insight into popular culture. He seized the initiative.
“Yes. It’s rather like you kings and queens being endlessly paraded in tourist shops as consumer items on coffee mugs, fridge magnets—even on stuffed dolls.”
Charlie was not a native New Yorker from the city of the Museum of Modern Art for nothing. He had dared extend Edward I’s provocative putdown and the magnificent Edward I could not match his grease-lightning riposte. Once again, the king glowered so much that his face looked as if he would explode. Instead, when the glowering moment passed, Edward’s face turned even paler than before.
As both kings’ expressions became more welcoming, Chaucer resumed Charlie’s argument.
“Sir, you have to get the wealth hidden in, or defined by, these new forms of energy,” Chaucer explained.
“Like driving cars or flying planes?” asked Edward I.
“Possibly,” answered Chaucer non-committedly.
He then pointed to the ledgers and printouts in the office. He held up various plastic cards in a fan shape just as if they were regular playing cards of kings, queens and knaves. Then pointing around the office with his improvised fan, he concluded, “Better turn all these things into money.”
“Mr Chaucer provides us with a route,” said George II, as if he had known it all along. “And this wretched man before us lives and breathes outside Westminster Abbey in the vibrant confused world of everyday life. And so does our colleague, Mr Chaucer, when he goes outside the abbey. You have a bank account, I suppose?” he added to Charlie.
Charlie was so surprised to learn that Geoffrey Chaucer lived both in the modern world and in this hidden world of the kings that he was too startled to reply. He was annoyed at himself for having failed to make the connection since he had seen Geoffrey Chaucer outside Westminster Abbey on the boat trip and inside as now.
But when George II again looked hard at him with a questioning gaze, Charlie took another chance and answered brazenly, “You bet your bottom dollar, I do.” This time he added, “Sir,” as a sly dig, a not-so discreet parody of royal etiquette.
Charlie still had to answer George II’s question more clearly. His own bank accounts were in the US but he now added, “Yes,” to his earlier, “sir,” as politely as could any innocent man replying to such practiced double-dealers as these unsmiling kings.
“Prove it,” ordered George II, his newly turned German junker haughtiness making his lips look like an unattractive flowering of cruel petals.
“I can,” said canny New Yorker Charlie who was learning fast to play by malign English rules. He put his hand in his jacket pocket, took out his wallet and withdrew a bank debit card and a credit card.
“I guess Mr Chaucer also has bank accounts outside Westminster Abbey,” continued Charlie meekly to the arrant kings. “So all you have to do is transfer the funds from the various abbey accounts electronically into Mr Chaucer’s London accounts. When he leaves the abbey during the day, he can go into a bank, prove his identity with the correct documents and withdraw the money as notes.”
Yet again, Charlie noticed Edward I’s eyes widen with surprise while George II simply st
ared ahead as if to hide any reaction. Now Charlie guessed why: “George II already knows this—perhaps not all of it but the general outline. So, why has he kept this to himself?”
However, Charlie struck to the script implied by Geoffrey Chaucer.
“There are instant ways of obtaining money,” he said. “People today do it from what are known as ATM machines, usually outside banks but also in grocery stores, convenience stores and post offices—even in bars, pubs and on streets. You put—that is to say, you insert—one of your cards into a slit in the machine, tap out an identity code in numbers in a pad and then take out—withdraw—your money in notes. Some people call these machines ‘holes in the wall’, as if to ape two infamous Wild West outlaws—Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid and their Hole in the Wall Gang. Some cards are what is termed contactless. You flash or swipe them at a screen. But the banks limit the amount that can be used by this method. And generally banks do set limits on the amount you can take out in one go. So, if you’re planning a heist, you will need to get into the bank like any regular customer and discuss this with the clerk. Either that or stage a bank robbery.”
“What do you think?” Edward I asked George II who now had to show something of his hidden hand. “Is it worth a try?”
“Well worth it, I would say,” said George II. With that, he smiled, this time more generously. And still with his gaze fixed on Charlie, Edward I now asked George II, “Can we trust this Charlie Chancer? And, more to the point, can we trust this Geoffrey Chaucer?”
“Yes and no. And if you want a second opinion about Mr Chaucer, you could also ask your grandson, Edward III, and his grandson, Richard II,” answered George II.
“How do we turn the numbers inside the computers into real money and send it off somewhere where we can retrieve it? It’s just as old Chaucer keeps telling us, we don’t have the expertise,” concluded Edward I sadly.
Charlie had a nagging doubt that he was missing something. If some spirit royals knew about Geoffrey Chaucer moving between their world and the everyday world of mortality, why did they need Charlie’s help? And was there some other missing link, some other intermediary—maybe more than one—that they wanted him to reach?
Then George II gave both Edward I and Charlie Chancer a clue as he answered, “The answer lies in Queen for a Day.”
Charlie had to wrack his brains. But he was stumped.
QUEEN FOR A DAY
Stuart Queens Mary II and Anne woke Charlie’s children gently and led Ginny and Georgie to the great west doors of the abbey where the little stage was now set for another TV show. Without saying anything, they indicated that the youngsters were to sit in front of the stage and remain quiet. To the side, two hard animal sentries bared rude mouths as a silent threat that they would tolerate no nonsense.
The sound stage before Ginny and George looked different from its previous form for the confessional exchanges of the Tudor queens. It had acquired some of the style of a more high-tech gloss TV quiz show complete with TV presenter’s stand and an obligatory sofa for more confessional guests. There was a warm buzz of sound from the various royal personages and their animal devices.
King Charles II stood at the front in a modern lounge suit. He wanted to look smart casual. He was ready with notes on cue cards to warm up the audience. His very presence with glacial smile was enough to make the little heraldic animals keep quiet while the kings and queens in the audience yawned politely, some fluttering elaborate fans.
"Good evening, hello, and welcome, honoured guests, to Queen for a Day in which three ladies whom we all know and love as queens of the night compete for your votes to become queen for a day.
"The show was once popular on American TV, specifically from 1956 to 1964, when what they used to term housewives who struggled with hard lives competed as to which one had the sorriest tale to tell. The winner’s reward was to be crowned queen for a day. This show was the matriarchal predecessor of TV confessional chat and reality shows for decades.
“I know what you’re thinking—where do we come in?”
“Westminster Abbey houses kings and queens from five dynasties: Wessex, Plantagenet, Tudor, Stuart and Hanoverian. Three dynasties have each chosen a candidate for tonight’s contest: respectively, Anne of Bohemia, Anne of Cleves and Anne of Denmark. Each queen can, if she chooses, bring an artefact to help plead her case.”
Charles waved his hand to where the three competitor queens sat on a wooden bench to one side. Anne of Cleves wore gold brocade. Anne of Denmark wore silver satin. Anne of Bohemia wore a plain shift dress as dull as unpolished lead. It was clear that the merry monarch was in his element, surrounded by so many beauties of the gilded stage vying for his attention.
“In this reality TV show—recorded for posterity to be shown in future according to the fifty years’ rule,” began Charles II.
“Thirty years now,” interrupted Ginny to Charles’s evident surprise. “How do they choose the winner in the show?” she then asked.
“By a show of hands among two groups,” replied Charles II. “These groups are the oh-so polished courtiers of the kings and queens and their oh-so charming heraldic devices.”
“Why would you want to be Queen for a Day when you are already queens of the night?” asked Georgie.
“Because day is sunny and light and warm while night is dark and cavernous and cold,” said Mary Tudor who was sitting behind him. “Besides, if we are voted Queen for a Day, a magic mist descends and grants the winner a special wish—either for her or for others. So, we can get the hell out of here. The chosen queen gets to mingle with tourists tomorrow and leaves with them when she chooses. She escapes. There has to be something better than this—perpetual slumber and only coming to life once a year or so during hours of darkness on a hallowed night.”
“Of course, it puts the queens in a dilemma,” added Richard II in Ginny’s earpiece. As before, he was still the deathly figure who could always cast a pall over fun and games. “Each one wants to win. But to do so they have to break the unwritten first rule of royals: ‘Never explain; never complain’. They have to bear their breasts—so to speak—and expose their vulnerability, confront their demons. Queens are meant to be above all that—at least in public. They’re meant to be impregnable psychologically, if not morally superior.”
Ginny, who was learning fast on this All Souls’ Eve, wanted to be sure she had got the message straight.
“So the contestant queens compete with one another as to who had the hardest life in life. And the one who wins faces a dilemma—escape or do something special for others—so her choice is to ‘get the hell out of here’ or to stay clogged in misery to become a saint who saves others.”
“Right. Self-interest versus self-sacrifice,” said Richard II in her ear. “That sums it up.”
Charles II was ready to rock and roll.
“Let’s welcome our first contestant: Anne of Denmark, queen consort to James VI and I—my own grandmother. Give her a big hand.”
Acknowledging the disembodied canned applause, Anne of Denmark stepped forward in her expensive silver dress. Most striking were her companions, two small silver unicorns that she led on silken threads. Ginny sensed a smell of early spring flowers—snowdrops, crocuses, daffodils.
Then Ginny looked over Anne’s clothes more carefully: a high ruff lace collar, a jewelled bodice and puffed-up sleeves in ostentatious Jacobean style. Her hair was not immaculate, however, being tousled—almost bedraggled. It was as if she was deliberately cultivating the image of a wronged wife.
“Dear grannie Annie,” began Charles II, “tell us your story. Why should you become queen for a day? What would you do?”
“Well dear, I would travel home to Denmark and pay my respects to the statue of the Little Mermaid in the harbour outside Copenhagen,” answered Anne with a slight Danish accent that was meant to be charming but sounded contrived. “The lovely plaintive Little Mermaid in the harbour outside Copenhagen is my soul mate. She marr
ied her ideal prince but to do so she had to sacrifice her own personal voice. And walking across his courtyards with her lovely tail turned into uncomfortable legs and feet was absolute torture to her. Her prince may have been Charming but he wasn’t Faithful.”
It was clear that Anne had thought through her segue. The little unicorns stayed silent but cast reproachful eyes at the audience.
“King James and I got married when I was fourteen. When my ship from Denmark to Scotland was buffeted by storms and we ended up on the coast of Norway, dear James sailed from Leith in Scotland with 300 men to rescue me. We were married in Oslo. It was so romantic. At first, he was so devoted that people said he was infatuated with me.”
Anne giggled like a green girl. The little unicorns looked ecstatic like small children hearing a beloved tween-age fairy tale for the umpteenth time.
“In Scotland, where we lived for years and years, everything was straight-laced. And everything we did was scrutinised by James’s interfering old relatives. James VI became the longest reigning monarch there. But, as the prospect of becoming king of England grew closer, my charming husband strayed. And once we travelled south from Edinburgh to London for him to claim the English crown as James I, he threw off all restraints.”
At that, the little unicorns lay on their backs and kicked their heels as if tossing away toe-pinching shoes.
“Ladies, you’ve been on package holidays to sunny Spain and other flesh spots,” said Anne confidentially to some of the crowd. "You know the score. Well, it was like that with James. He preferred his court favourites to me. There were other problems.
"When James succeeded to the English crown he soon faced yet another year of plague. By July as many as a thousand poor souls died every week in London. It was not only for our safety but also the survival of the monarchy that the political establishment advised us to stay in, and reign from, Hampton Court and other places of safety outside London.
“We had seven children. Only three lived to adulthood. James’s favourite was our eldest daughter, Elizabeth. She married the elector Palatine. It was a love match. But her actual reign as queen of Bohemia was brief, a few months only.”
Midnight in Westminster Abbey Page 24