by Trevor Veale
Godfrey hid behind his napkin. He was laughing silently to himself. Lesbians and German Shepherd dogs in front of the archbishop! Letitia was looking daggers at him, and meanwhile Betty and Agatha were struggling to contain little Angus.
He gave everyone the runaround: cats and dogs scattered from his assaults, and the family beagles kept out of his way, fearing a tussle. Servants sought refuge in closets and pantries, and Simpkins narrowly avoided being butted in the stomach by Angus’s head as he careered joyfully around the palace. At one point during the afternoon party games, Catheter carried Angus on his back to give him a better view, Angus squirmed so vigorously he almost toppled off his father, but Betty managed to get hold of the boy and hoisted him back onto Catheter’s shoulders.
Letitia found him, after she came back from the garden, resting on an improvised crib of Easter basket straw, fast asleep. Betty too was exhausted and had dozed off. Letitia looked at them both and closed her eyes as well.
Next morning Godfrey came down for breakfast and told those present he was going to retire on health grounds. His deputy, Archbishop Lepager, would take over as interim president until the Restitution of the Monarchy Act came into force in the New Year. Then it would be up to the Mellorian people to decide, through a referendum, whether they wanted a constitutional monarchy, with Catheter as king, or a continuation of the republic. Godfrey was confident from the soundings of various parties that the people would choose the former, but things still hung in the balance.
Listening to Godfrey’s decision, Letitia realized with a surge of joy that her dream had come true at last. What’s more, she had received a notification from the realter of a two bedroom villa in Barbados that she hoped they could afford. All she could think of was when and where, in this household of bustling people, she would find time to lobby Godfrey about the Barbados house.
After Godfrey had made his announcement, he and the others tucked into egg, bacon and toast, and other delicacies. Catheter came in late, with Lucinda a few steps behind. Anton, who had been guided to his room by a servant the night before and had slept on his bed without taking his clothes off, sat casually in his chair looking very disheveled. Lucinda beamed a good morning to everyone around the table, but when she saw Anton picking his nose while deciding between marmalade and blackcurrant jam, the smile died on her lips. She glanced pleadingly to Catheter.
“Stop that nose mining – you’re grossing everybody out!” Catheter exclaimed. Then he sat down, draping his jacket across the back of his chair.
Anton finished chewing his bacon and said: “Raasclaat!”
A car horn sounded loudly outside the window. “That’s my ride,” Catheter said. reaching for his tea. Then he laughed and added: “I’m sharing it with two cabinet ministers. Bye, Darling.” He swallowed a gulp of tea and kissed Lucinda. “I’ll see you at the Assembly, Father. Bye, Mother. Bye Booger Boy!”
He glanced at Anton, who nonchalantly raised a finger, and strode out, carrying his jacket over one arm and his briefcase in the other.
With Catheter gone the atmosphere became more relaxed, and Lucinda became the focus of attention. Anton flicked glances at her cleavage and her expanse of stomach, and Godfrey read pieces of news from the Bugle to her as if she were a child. She listened with a careful pretense of interest.
Eventually, after almost all the food had gone, Hernia came in looking even more disheveled than Anton.
Chapter 63
Catheter Hits Back
When Catheter returned home he was in a foul temper.
With scarcely more than a nod to his father, mother and brother, he marched straight to his seat at the dinner table and aggressively slapped his briefcase down.
“Damn swine, the lot of them!” he announced.
Letitia surveyed him from the other side of the table and gave Godfrey a sidelong glance. Godfrey’s features were strongly set.
“Those damn moronic bishops ought to be shot!” he shouted, picking up his knife and fork as the first dishes appeared.
“What happened, Darling?” Lucinda murmured, leaning over and loosening his tie with her red-nailed fingers.
He grunted his appreciation of her attentions and shoveled in a mouthful of turnip stew. To keep his shirt and tie from spotting, she began tucking his napkin under his collar. “Tell me,” she breathed.
Catheter sighed. “The bloody Bishop of Mellinda has ordained that, according to traditional Mellorian law, I won’t be allowed to become king after the referendum if I marry you, because we had a child out of wedlock!”
Lucinda’s fingers stopped. “No!” she exclaimed, genuinely shocked. “That’s ridiculous!”
“Martin Bribe’s a prick!” Catheter growled around the tureen of stew. “Excuse me, Mother, but it’s true. He said we wouldn’t even be allowed to bring up Angus. We’d have to leave him in the care of church-appointed caregivers, ‘lest the son be tainted with the sin of the father’ – or in this case, the stepmother.”
“You’ll have to go over their heads,” Godfrey stated. “Go directly to the people. No sane Mellorian will allow it!”
“I just can’t believe it,” Lucinda whispered in astonishment, her nose had gone red and tears were starting down her cheeks.
“We won’t let them get away with it – ” Letitia began indignantly.
“I think I’m going to have to leave this room,” Lucinda cried, just before she broke down and wept.
Catheter put an arm around her and held her while she shook with tears.
A sudden thought struck Catheter. “Next Friday is Melloria’s National Day. I’ll go on TV and ask the people to support me as their king.”
Lucinda had stopped weeping, and now looked hopeful. “Oh Darling, do you think it will work?”
Godfrey and Letitia maintained a diplomatic silence.
Catheter spent the next three days fretting about his TV appearance and how he should phrase his appeal for support against the bishops. He went to see Clive Fatsi. Fatsi was embarrassed, but, conscious of his role as a presidential adviser, he advised Catheter to go the whole hog and wear the national costume on Melloria’s National Day. Catheter left the meeting feeling slightly uneasy.
Catheter stood outside the studio door for a second, and looked at Lucinda. He was smiling with pleasure and she couldn’t help smiling back at him. He was dressed simply and immaculately in the Mellorian national costume of an embroidered white cotton shirt worn almost to the knee and well-starched baggy white pants. He wore a white cotton cap whose embroidery matched his shirt, and slip-on shoes of soft leather with curly toes, like Turkish slippers.
“I see you’re wearing your own style of goatherd’s cap,” she said, after popping a ginger snap into her mouth from the hospitality tray.
Catheter touched the side of his embroidered cap nervously, unsure of himself. “Perhaps I should have changed into a suit,” he said.
After the broadcast Catheter went to Calliper Palace for lunch and to brag about the UN ambassador he was going to meet. He’s from one of the South American countries – Peru or Chile or somewhere.”
“He’s from Bolivia,” Hernia commented tartly.
“Sorry, my mistake,” Catheter said. ”I hadn’t realized Hernia is sleeping with him.” Letitia looked appalled.
To Hernia he said: “Are you dating him? That sounds better, doesn’t it?”
Letitia glanced at him, unsoothed.
“Yah, sort of,” Hernia said.
“Well, you mustn’t,” Catheter said stuffily. “He’s elderly – must be at least fifty-five.”
Letitia glanced in annoyance at her son. Fifty-five was hardly elderly.
“Where did you get such an awful son?” Letitia asked her husband.
“I don’t know,” Godfrey replied.
“If you’d spent more time with him when he was young, instead of going to the officer’s club every day - ” she began to rebuke him, then Simpkins approached Godfrey.
“Sir, His Maj
esty the King of Bulimia is on the telephone,” he intoned.
“Ten to one it’s about Hernia,” Godfrey said. He snatched the cell from Simpkins’s silver salver.
“Tell His Majesty we’re sending her home!” Catheter commented.
“Fuck off!” Hernia retorted, and poked her tongue out at him. The sight of the skewered stud, livid as an eyeball, made him blanch.
Letitia was shocked into exclaiming: “Language! And put that awful ornament back in your mouth.”
Oh, bollocks!” Hernia muttered, looking sullen.
“I’d better get ready for His Excellency. Excuse me, I’ve an ambassador to meet,” Catheter said.
“You’re the biggest wanker alive!” Hernia cried, stung to fierceness.
Catheter got up to go, then froze as Hernia hurtled from the room.
The day after Catheter’s broadcast, the opinion polls showed his rating as having fallen dramatically, and his spirits fell also. He now felt he was completely at the mercy of the caucus of bishops controlled by Martin Bribe.
“They’ve given me an ultimatum,” he complained to Lucinda as they rode the gelding and the splotchy gray mare along a bridle path toward her cottage. “Either I sign a declaration restraining myself from marrying you, or they’ll take Angus away from us after the referendum.”
“It’s outrageous,” Lucinda said, riding well for all her six months of pregnancy. “And all because of that dreadful Martin Bribe.”
“He’s a shitbag,” Catheter said, lapsing into vulgarity, “But unfortunately he’s got us by the balls.”
Veering off to the left to avoid a marshy bog, they came out onto a clearing.
“You know, I think I can do something about the Very Reverend Dr Bribe,” Lucinda said thoughtfully.
“How so?” Catheter was curious.
Lucinda reined in her mare. “My friend, Arabella Scott-Natterson of the Bugle, knows a thing or two about digging up dirt on people. I’ll ask her to do some research,” she said.
They stopped and rested.
“Do you think she could find something to discredit Bribe?” Catheter said. “I’d pay gold to see his name dragged through the mud.”
“I’m pretty sure she can find something,” Lucinda said.
Geeing up the gelding, Catheter cantered back to the path. “Well, we’ll see if your scheme works. Race you back to the cottage!”
Godfrey sat up in bed, turning the pages of his Bugle in a leisurely fashion and occasionally reaching for his coffee cup. He had just rung for Simpkins, and he idly scanned the travel section, thinking of his flight to Barbados with Letitia. He knew it was time to leave. Although no longer president and with an abundance of free time for his own pursuits, he accepted that his favorite ones, deer hunting and riding his chestnut cob were gone forever. Catheter and Anton had told him that they would never go hunting again, Catheter saying he preferred polo and Anton simply refusing. As for his chestnut cob, its fate was unknown. Godfrey could only hope it had survived the revolutionary period and had not been killed for horsemeat.
He no longer had any qualms about retiring to a villa in Barbados or Tobago. In fact, he had two good reasons to go: the desire to make his wife happy and the preservation of his health. The latter had taken a severe dent during the months of imprisonment, electioneering and political infighting. He had grown weary of battling against the onslaught of the fundamentalist bishops, and was more than happy to hand over the reins to others. He was also curious to see if Catheter, who had proved a lackluster politician so far, could effectively curb the extremists and become an able head of state. He was impressed by what he’d observed of Lucinda, and he felt she would provide excellent support for Catheter during the trials that lay ahead.
The recent resignation of Martin Bribe from the government, following his expose in the Bugle of having sexually abused boys in his days as a priest, gave Godfrey a certain satisfaction. He gave credit to the newspaper woman who had discovered Bribe’s murky past and hoped she would continue to investigate the fundamentalist bishops. They were now left without their most powerful strategist, but he suspected they would soon regroup around another leader. However, they were becoming anathema to the majority of Mellorians because of their divisive ‘sinners’ tax’, and he hoped that, when the next election came, many of them would be voted out of office.
Godfrey knew his days of political office were numbered and had no regrets. Dawna’s vast popularity had helped him win the presidency, but his conflict with the fundamentalists had left him feeling stranded and impotent, and his final act as president had been to authorize today’s referendum. Its result was expected to be a resounding endorsement for the restoration of the monarchy, something he fervently longed for. From tomorrow onwards, it would be up to Catheter aided by Lucinda and the moderates in the government, to keep the country going.
One big problem that they would have to face was the country’s dire financial straits. Slobodia’s threat to cut off Melloria’s electricity supply because of a massive unpaid bill would soon be carried out, now that it was clear the defeat of the People’s Party had not plunged the country into the chaos the Slobodians had hoped for. Unless an alternative supply could be quickly established, they would all be groping around in the dark and Godfrey made a mental note to warn Catheter of the imminence of the power losses.
Chapter 64
The Disinheritance
Catheter rode hard for an hour until he realized what he was doing to Lucinda’s gelding. Then he stopped and rested. His first blind rage was gone, and the windy night air helped to clear his head of fury. He began to mull over the events that had led up to his hell-for-leather ride. They had begun with the long talk he’d had with his father after the result of the referendum had been announced. The overwhelming Yes vote for a constitutional monarchy had prompted Godfrey to spell out to him the nature of his duties. Thus fortified, he had gone to Septimus Dripe, the Bishop of Polyp, the new leader of the fundamentalists, and asked for support for his accession to the throne. He had been taken aback when Dripe told him the caucus would continue to endorse the law that compelled an heir married to a “fallen woman” to give up the care of his successor heir to “unblemished” advisers and take no further part in his upbringing. He had left Dripe’s office, livid at the harsh sanctimonious judgment and at Mellorian traditional law, bicycled straight to Lucinda’s cottage, saddled up the gelding and galloped off, determined he would marry Lucinda and keep Angus come hell or high water.
Catheter spent the next two hours riding slowly back to Lucinda’s spread. He returned just before midnight and, after unsaddling and stabling the horse, was making his way toward the cottage when Lucinda came out to meet him. She gave him a quizzical look and he threw up his hands in a gesture that implied that the whole of life was a fiasco.
“I went to see that piece of work Dripe, and he said his bunch will never allow a change in the law: either I marry you and give up the care of Angus to God-knows-who or I stay a widower. I suppose the third alternative would be to marry a virgin princess and let our kid become a bastard!”
He gave her a pleading look. She rushed up to him and flung her arms around him.
“Oh Darling, let’s leave this God-forsaken country!” she said, close to his chest. “I’ve always thought the place was weird.”
They disengaged and went inside the cottage, where a saucepan of gluhwein simmered on the range.
“I had a meet today with father,” Catheter said as they snuggled on the couch and supped mulled wine, “and he swore he read in one of the old lawbooks he used to keep in his study that Mellorian traditional law allows the Heir Apparent to succeed upon the successful overthrow of an unlawful dissolution, such as an insurrection. That actually happened, after he won the presidential election and introduced the Restitution Law. The trouble is, he didn’t turn the page and read the subclause dealing with the marriage of an heir apparent to a fallen woman – such as yourself. Probably because the p
ages were moldy.”
They finished their glasses. “Then why don’t we just go…?” she urged sleepily.
He stroked the side of her face and neck, let his hand wander down and brushed her heavily-pregnant belly.
“It’s time to put my plan into action,” he said.
“What’s the plan, Darling?”
He took her glass, then got up and poured more wine. “I’m going to disinherit Angus,” he called. “Let Anton have the crown.”
When Catheter went to see Septimus Dripe the following day he was in an upbeat mood. He decided he would wear Mellorian dress, as a mocking sally to the fundamentalists’ love of Mellorian traditional law, and his white goatherd’s cap was askew on his head as he was ushered into Dripe’s office. Bookshelves formed a second wall behind Dripe’s desk, and they were crammed with the moldering tomes of law that had formerly rotted silently in Godfrey’s study before the revolution. How Dripe and his caucus had acquired them was a mystery, but their presence as a formidable third force gradually diminished the ebullience of Catheter’s mood.
“Please sit down,” Dripe told Catheter. When they were alone, he offered Catheter a thin glass of sherry.
“No thanks, my Lord. I’ll just come straight to the point.”
“Please.”
Dripe was approximately the same age as Godfrey, but he looked older. Tall and spindly, he looked as though he’d spent his entire life mellowing in booklined rooms like the one he was presently in.
Catheter, looking almost dashing in his national costume, leaned forward. “I’ve decided to come clean about the location of my son’s conception,” he said.
“Ah,” Dripe replied. His forehead twitched momentarily.