The Last King

The Ascension bells had rung three times in my life, once when I was a young boy, again when I was not much older than the first, and finally today. My head bowed as I listened. The masses around me were driven to silence as the bong, bong, bong continued. My fingers coiled around my other hand and I winced, I tried not to, but I was ashamed. The noise frightened me, as it did the small child I heard crying somewhere in the chamber. My queens hand rested on my shoulder. Her soft voice came to me like the distant spot of a light house in a harsh storm.

           “My love,” she said rubbing my shoulder. “There’s no shame in it. If the bells are too-”

           I looked up at her, seeing the surprise in her face, brought on by my own angered expression.

           “It’s not the bell’s,” I told her.

           She looked confused. My outward appearance would certainly show I was scared of nothing more than the thunderous shaking the bells caused. That the noise itself was driving me to a point of real physical pain. I could feel it in my bones like a soft vibration. I could smell the gunpowder of the past, the harsh scent that filled the air. I took the crown from my head then, and stared down at, and jumped every time I heard that rhythmic chime.

           Bong, Bong, Bong, Bong-

-Bong.

           It felt like an eternity until the last bong came, and my father rose at the bishop’s instruction. I’ll never forget the strength I saw in him that day. He had a stoic nature, despite having just been handed the weight of such responsibility. The sheer strain it must of gave him to know so much rested on his shoulders, and the lives of so many was dictated by his decision’s, and his alone. I have to admit, I felt ashamed. As a young prince, I wanted nothing to do with such things, even knowing by law, it would be my responsibility. Such a task was for those who wanted to bear it. I knew even then I didn’t want it.

           My father seemed to be a natural at taking on the royal duties, and approaching the anxious crowds with an ease that a farmer had when he walked into his own field, even at his coronation. I found him amazing to watch. He made me wonder if it was as easy as it looked?

           “Your majesty,” I heard from behind me as I stood with my father.

           Howard, my father’s personal guard, glanced behind me. My father turned a moment later. When I followed, I saw the grey tunic, and shoulder slung cloak of my uncle. Immediately, I detected a strong stench coming from him, it attacked my nostrils with a ferocity that it was difficult to hide. His eye’s looked down at me. I noticed the unusual shine to them, as well a sort of harsh redness to his face. The smell came on harder when he spoke to me.

           “And the young prince. How are you this evening?”

There was a tone with the words that made me nervous to answer. He sounded almost disgusted with the question, and his gaze seemed troubled. I noticed my father took a step between me and him.

           “I was unaware you were in attendance,” my father said. Immediately, I became aware based on his tone that this wasn’t a conversation for me. Sir Howard, even had a suspicious look in his eye toward my uncle.

           “Well of course I was! You’re my blood after all. It’s my responsibility.”

           “Enjoying the drink I see,” my father responded in a callous way.

           “Should I not be?”

I noticed there was a drawn-out way to his words. As well, he swayed a bit in his stance.

           “Not my place to tell you. We are not children anymore.”

           “Ay, and now your king. We seem to have grown exponentially, haven’t we?”

           From behind his back, my uncle produced a leather sack and raised it to his mouth. His head tipped back, and I heard the gurgling of liquid as he gulped it. Sir Howard, only stared with that same suspicion. While my father sighed and shook his head.

           “Christ’s sake man,” he muttered.

           “What?!” my uncle looked insulted. “You said it yourself; we are not children anymore.”

           “I believe what his majesty is trying to explain is that your shitfaced,” Sir Howard interjected. “You look as if you’ve been drinking since the roosters called this morning, man. Where’s your decency?”

           My uncle took another sip of the leather pouch, and glared at Sir Howard with his shinny eyes.

           “If his majesty can’t tell me to stop drinking, then you, his fucking guard dog certainly can’t either,” my uncle growled.

           “Enough,” my father said. His voice was low, but as stern and powerful as if he’d yelled.

           “I won’t have this here. Not on this day. You’ll leave if you plan to start trouble.”

           “I’ve done nothing wrong,” my uncle said with wide arms. He stumbled back a step. And sounded as if he thought the whole thing, was a joke.

           “You’re attending a coronation as if it were a brothel. You came in here like this, don’t act like it’s the fault of anyone else,” my father said.

           “Ay…but it is a brothel, you’re just not the one getting fucked,” my uncle sneered.

           He stumbled away then.

I noticed the way my father shook his head at the sight of him. There was anger, but also a deep sadness. As if he was wondering how it came to this? How had the two of them grown so different?

           I understood the dynamic of what had happened that day, even at a young age. I knew my uncle had been leapt over, that he wanted the throne and that was why my father reacted as so. I knew he despised me as well. My very existence meaning he’d never sit on that stupid chair in his life. Though in perfect honesty, he could have it, for all I cared. At the time, I was too busy trying to find ways out of the teachings for my fathers’ life, the grooming to become a king myself had very little interest to me. It seemed more trouble than it was worth. I understood that my uncle despised my father, but I didn’t understand why? Why would someone want this life? Something that seems to only make the people disappointed in you, brings others to jealousy, even those closest to you. It seemed as though the deal was simple. You trade your life and family, for a crown. I saw it as a torture I was soon to be given one day. A curse, would even be a better description, and I planned to escape it. I’d run, far away from this place and all it held. I’d leave my father a note, escape when the castle slept, and slink off where no one knew my name, or my face.

           One day, my father brought me to the throne room. I’d not known why. But I’d made a mistake in my planning, I hadn’t given my father enough credit.

           “Would you care to explain this?” he said holding up the small leather-bound book. In which I had detailed my full plan to escape this place. In hindsight, I could have hidden it better, a drawer is a terrible hiding place for a book.

           “You write as if you are held prisoner in this castle.”

           “I am a prisoner.”

           “You are a naïve boy, who has a serious problem with discipline, and fails to see the importance of his role. Do you not understand one day you will be king?”

           Through the shame, I looked up at him. I felt like I had too at this point. While I still planned to leave, I felt I owed him an explanation. He was my father, Afterall.

           “I’ve never wanted your crown; I never want any of it! It’s only brought you misery!”

           I expected him to strike me. I even flinched for it, and turned away with my eyes closed. But when I opened them, my father looked defeated. He patted the book against his leg and sighed with a disheartened feeling to it. He sat down next to me, just below the throne itself.

           “You don’t know how much that saddens me son. You’ve no notion of how important you are to me, and my plans. I have but one life to live…and my dreams for this land will take far more than that.”

           “I don’t care,” I said. “I don’t want your responsibilities, or your curse.”

He glanced at me; I could see I’d stumped him.

“My…curse?”

It took him a moment, but I think he started to see what I was saying. The trust’s he’d lost, the loves he’d sacrificed, all came boiling up to him in that moment. He looked away from me, and flicked his brow with a smile.

“It is a duty, not a curse,” he said. We paused a moment, neither of us spoke in the silence of the hanging ascension bells above.

 “One day, you’ll understand that there are somethings more important than what we feel we want. That the best decisions…are often the ones that feel the most wrong.”

           I didn’t expect such a statement from my father. I expected a much worse scolding for my actions that day, and in truth, if I could have them over what transpired, I’d taken them in a heartbeat.

           The great hall doors creaked open beyond us then. Walking with a pace that I detected as furious, was my uncle, accompanied by two other men, all three of them armed with pistols.

           My father suddenly jumped up; he stepped in front of me so fast I couldn’t tell what was happening.

           “Are you mad!” my father roared.

           I saw my uncle had a rage to his eyes, his brow almost to a point.

           “Long live the king,” he growled.

           The shots rang out, with three white clouds of smoke from their flintlocks. My ears instantly started to ring, and my father stumbled back falling on top of me. I tried to catch him, but it was as if I was trying to catch a bag of flour thrown from high up. He came down next to me clutching his stomach and the side of his neck.

           “Father!”

           I looked back at my uncle. My hands beginning to tremble, and my thoughts raced from run, to stay with him, then finally to freeze. The black powder scent of their shots filled the room.

           My uncle holstered his pistol. His eyes full of furious hatred on me as he drew a dagger from his belt. My father’s hand slid to me, clutching it tight, trying to gurgle to me to run.

           “And may the prince live well-,”

My uncles’ words were cut off by another shot, the hatred was suddenly washed away by a look of surprise. I twisted to see the smoking barrel of Sir Howards own pistol, as well three of his own men at his back.

           A man behind my uncle had fallen, sprinkles of blood spattered the chairs beyond.

           “You whoreson!” Sir Howard yelled; the voice broke through the ringing of the shots. The air carried now the thick stench of smoke and gunpowder.

           More shots rang out, but my uncle and his remaining man turned to flee. They ran for the doors. Sir Howard’s men chased after them.

           “Get them! Don’t let them leave this castle alive!”

           When I turned to my father’s face, I saw nothing. Suddenly, my mind came back to me and I felt tightening of horror around my neck. I could feel the thumps of my heart. It was as if I was looking at a sculpture with extreme detail to it. But there wasn’t a single movement to my father, his face and eyes so very still.

           “Father…”

           I knew then that he was gone, my father had passed over. I screamed and shook his body with an inner want to try and reverse that. Maybe death was like being caught on a fishing line of the grim reapers pole, and I could shake him off of it.

           “Move aside boy,” Sir Howard said as he pulled me off.

           As he checked the wounds, his crown slid off the side of his head. It rolled down the steps until it landed just next to my ankle.

           Sir Howard looked over him for only a few moments, the large gauge out of his neck, and the red wet drop shape that was growing under his robe, all pointed to the same thing. I’ll never forget the look on Sir Howards face then, it was more than just defeat, it was anguish, loss, and grief. He gripped my father’s robe with a firmness that turned his knuckles. His eye’s looked up to me, and I thought I saw for a moment the shine of tears beginning to well.

           “I’m sorry your grace. I’m… so sorry.”

           I couldn’t speak, nor would I for days to come. At some point, I’d taken the crown and hugged it tightly. Waiting to see if maybe he’d unsnag himself from the reapers line, I’d have been waiting an eternity.

           “Sir Howard!” one of his men yelled, as they rushed back into the throne room.

           “We got the other! But the Duke has escaped! He had riders waiting for him in the courtyard!”

           Sir Howard wiped his eyes and rose turning to his men. I stayed by my father, still waiting for that line to break.

           “The king…is he?”

           “He’s gone,” Sir Howard said.

           “Then you know what this means? The duke will ride to the bishop-.”

           The conversation was only a distant noise in my ears as I started to gaze at the crown. I ran my fingers over its cold smooth surface, it seemed astonishing light now that I felt it. But I couldn’t understand why my uncle had done this? Why would anyone kill their own brother for something as awful and vile as ruling? I started to blame the crown. I looked at its aged etchings of past coronations and wanted to smash it to pieces, or throw it into the sea.

           “God damnit I know!” Sir Howard yelled.

           “They’ll claim you did this! Or all of us! He’ll have men already willing to falsely testify.”

           “They’ll hang us all sir!”

           “No…not unless we do something now, let them know we’d have no reason to do such a thing.”

           “Like what?”

           “Something that wouldn’t make sense for usurpers to do.”

           The four knights had turned to me without my knowledge. I was looked at the crown through tear-streaked eyes, it was like a possessed object to me, it had killed my father just as much as my uncle had.

           “Something that can’t be argued…” Sir Howard said.

           Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a sword tip at the base of the stairs. I looked up from the crown, slowly a confusion started to grow over me.

Three of the knights with Sir Howard at the front had bent their knees to me, grasping their swords as they had on the day of my father’s coronation. I looked over at the fourth knight, his hand around the rope that began the chiming of the ascension bells.

           “By the powers that be, and by right of the Royal Guard, I devote myself to the new king…to the only king.”

           The fourth knight pulled the rope. The room started to vibrate and the air shook with the power of the bells tolling. My fingers started to tighten around the crown, along with a dread for what had just happened. I felt as though this infernal thing was covered in barbs, all of which had now sunken into me. Before I could even say anything, Sir Howard was rising to his feet.

           “Come along your grace, we must get you to safety,” Sir Howard said.

           It wouldn’t be real to me for some time that this thing I clasped in my hands, and hated with a passion that it seemed no one understood, was mine now. I could only focus on those bone shaking bells above me.

Bong, bong, bong.

-Bong,

           “Then what is it?” my queen asked me.

           I looked down at the crown, it’s color still the same after 60 years, it’s deterioration almost minor. But my feelings on this piece of metal remained unchanged. When my eyes came up, I saw my son. A prince of his own time, being wed to a black-haired woman I’d spent little to no time with. I glanced at the guard next to me. It wasn’t Sir Howard, no, that old warrior had long since died and passed away.

But behind him farther down the line was my other son. I saw something in his eyes, a glazed look, and a redness to his face. He glared at his brother’s back as the bishop wed the two of them. I saw a hatred there that was undistinguishable. His hand gripped tightly around the other, and his chest heaved under his tunic.

“Dear? The what?” my queen asked.

With a sigh, I placed the crown back on my head. Despite its lightness, I felt it’s weight, I felt the possessed way about it. I saw how my sons looked at it with hope and joy that one day it’d be theirs, it sickened me, made me remember my uncles’ eyes as he’d marched into the throne room. The ringing of the bells took me back to that day, and a thought I’d had long ago. That maybe the sea was the perfect place for a crown.