The wait of the crown

Edward climbed the seven wooden steps up to the elevated stage; each bowing under his weight, with a painful-creak. His entourage, numbering seven, filed up the steps behind him, each announced by their personal sing-song of creaks and groans which varied by weight and by gait.

The priest and other officiators were already on stage, having arrived earlier. 

As Edward cleared the last step, the master-of-ceremonies motioned him to the high wooden throne set in the middle of the stage.

His new bride followed, who they motioned to the small wooden throne to his left.

Behind her, the rest of the entourage filed up the steps; each taking their seat, on large wooden chairs set beneath their house-banner.   

Edward sat on his throne and looked out at the people, his subjects, who had gathered to witness his coronation; officially crowning him king.

On the stage with him was: his wife, the priest, a few officiators, and the reigning nobles of the six other houses.

Down in front of the stage, cordoned off from the rest, were the lesser nobles. Some sat in high wooden chairs brought by their servants, while others stood. A fresh thick-layer of straw had been strewn on the ground so as to keep the sticky mud from soling their clean and polished high-leather-boots.

Behind the nobles, the merchants, wearing soft-leather shoes, stood in ankle deep mud; and behind them, milling about, were the shoeless-peasants spattered in mud and grime.

Why was this not held in the main-hall with only my nobles, he thought; swatting a biting fly from his neck. They had emerged early this year.

Instead of in this God-forsaken pig-pen.

Edward had never been to a pig pen, but he was quite sure this, a foul odor of mud, straw and sweaty bodies was how it smelled.

He looked past the crowd, to the deep forest which lay just beyond the gates; his forest. A clear blue sky, painted with a few whisps of soft white clouds, broke above the tree-line. 

A gentle breeze blew down from the forest, ruffling the banners and streamers decorating the gala, carrying with it a fresh clean smell that reinvigorated him.

“We are here today,” the master-of-ceremonies began, his voice deep, “to crown a new king!”

Cheers went up from the crowd, the nobles in a dignified and somewhat reserved manner, the merchants with a bit more gusto, and the peasants in raucous celebration with calls and whistles.

Edward’s heart swelled as he stood on the threshold of his life’s-long ambition.

His mind drifted back to one of his recurring childhood memories.

He was about eight-years-old; playing wooden-swords with his older brother Richard.

“One day,” Richard claimed, “when I am king, I will vanquish those barbarians to our north and marry the most beautiful southern princess.” He charged forward, as if on horseback, to vanquish the enemy.

“Me too,” Edward said, “one day when I am king, I will kill all the bad guys and marry a beautiful princess too.” He galloped after his brother wielding his sword above his head.

“You silly goose,” Richard laughed, reining his steed, “you can’t be king, only I can. When father dies, I will be king. And after I die, my son will be king. You will only ever be a prince.”

Edward reigned his steed.

“That’s not fair. I can be king too, if I want.”

Richard dropped his sword to his side, walking over to his crestfallen brother. He put his arm around him and said, “sorry Ed, that’s not the way it works.” He went on to explain about all about kings, blood lines and lineage.

“The only way you will ever be king, is if I die without an heir.”

At this, Edward pretended to run his brother through with the wooden sword

“Now I’m king.”

Richard clutched to pretend wound; falling to the ground and rolling around in death throes. Then he reached up and pulled Edward to the ground where they both rolled around laughing.

The master-of-ceremonies had concluded his opening remarks and was introducing the reigning lord of the first house, whose house-banner was the stallion. The lord was expected to provide accolades and pledge his fealty to the new king. Edward shifted in his seat, taking a drink of wine from the cup, which had been placed at his hand; his thoughts filled with a memory from the eve of his brother’s wedding.

It was five years ago. Richard was seventeen and Edward fourteen. Richard had been king for just over a year; having ascended to the throne when their father, King Henry, had died a glorious death battling the barbarians to the north.

His bride was to be the beautiful princess Elizabeth from Sussanglia, one of the southern kingdoms.

Edward loved Elizabeth at first sight, for she was the most beautiful and graceful lady he’d ever seen.

The two brothers had spent the day feasting and drinking with several young noblemen. It had grown late and only the two of them were left.

“I want you to have this,” Richard said in a drunken slur; passing him a dagger.

It was a dagger. Edward unsheathed it. It had a seven-inch blade and a stag-antler handle that was inlaid with two of the deepest crimson rubies Edward had ever seen. He immediately recognized it as the one their father had given to Richard on his sixteenth birthday

“I can’t take this,” Edward mumbled, closing one eye in order to remove his double-vision and focus on the dagger.

“No, it’s yours. I insist. I am to be married tomorrow, brother. It is my gift to you. Now that I am a king, I have the sword of our ancestors, but you have nothing. It is only fitting that you, my brother, you should have this heirloom passed down for generations.”

Richard smiled; patting his brother on the back. He told him how lucky he was to be a prince; living the good life. He said that much of that had been robbed from him now that he was king; his days filled with the affairs of the state, settling grievances between the nobles and always looking over his back, wondering if an ambitious nobleman had a dagger waiting for him. 

“Oh, Edward. I would give anything to be free like that again, like when we were younger. My days filled with hunting and enjoying good food, good wine and a good woman to share the night with.”

“I am so lucky,” he said, putting his arm around him, “to have you, my brother, and Elizabeth, my betrothed. You are the only ones who truly love me, and the only ones who will forever have my trust.”

On his face, Richard wore a smile of perfect contentment. Edward smiled back, sheathing the dagger and pocketing it; then helped his brother to bed.

The third lord, whose house-banner was an eagle, began his talk. Edward took another deep drink of wine from the cup, which was always kept filled, and glanced over at his beautiful wife. She gave him a smile and gently lay her hand upon his, then turned to watch the lord’s speech.

Too bad you couldn’t be here today to see me ascend to the throne; brother, he thought; his mind drifting back to that fateful night several months ago.

The ground was still solid and the young buds had yet to burst. Edward had turned in early that night and was in his bedchamber, sleeping deeply, when he was suddenly jarred awake by a shrill scream, followed by the keening and wailing of a woman. 

He scrambled out of bed and dressed quickly. Taking a lit candle from the candelabra, burning over by the fireplace, he exited his bedchamber. As he stepped out into the hall, he saw a crowd of people gathered in front of his brother’s chamber.

He immediately rushed down to his brother’s chamber and upon entering, saw his brother lying there on the bed; dead. His head was lolled to one side, and his blue, cloudy, lifeless eyes were locked in a frozen stare. His beautiful wife Elizabeth knelt at his bedside wailing; her maidens attending to her, fussing and comforting her as best they could. On the opposite side of the bed, a knot of noblemen had gathered.

Edward rushed to his brother’s bedside. One of the noblemen caught his arm and shouted, “the king is dead,” and then raising Edward’s arm above his head and shouted, “long live the king!” All those gathered, except Elizabeth, answered with “long live the king.” Three times the call went out and was three times answered.

Edward swatted another of those damned biting flies which had just bitten him on the neck. He lifted his cup to take another drink but noticed a gnat floating in the wine. He reached his fingers in and removed the vile thing; flinging it away from him. His stuck his fingers, stained red from the wine, in his mouth and sucked on them; then wiped his fingers on his robes; but the stain persisted.

The fifth lord, whose house-banner was the fox, began his talk. Edward nodded approvingly, raising his cup and taking another drink of wine.

His mind wandered, and he found himself back in his bedroom chamber. Two nights had passed since his brother’s death; tomorrow being the funeral. He was lying on his bed when he was startled by a series of quick raps upon his bedroom door; a secret knock. He crossed the room and opened the door. Elizabeth pushed past him.

“You shouldn’t have come so soon,” he said; checking the hall to make sure she wasn’t followed. He closed the heavy oaken-door behind her and turned a big iron key in the lock.

“I have news for you,” she said excitedly as she pulled loose the drawstring of her cowled cape. She let if fall sensuously from her shoulder, then tossed it over a nearby wooden chair tucked neatly under a small table.

“You know the peasant girl who got me the poison? Well she is dead.”

She slowly pulled a ribbon from her long dark hair, letting it fall about her shoulders.

“Killed on my order by my guards,” she said proudly, shaking out her hair and winding the ribbon around her hand. She walked over to where Edward stood.

“I gave the little tramp my golden brooch as payment; a wedding gift from my late husband.” She placed one of her beautiful white hands on Edward’s shoulder then playfully orbited around him until they were face to face.

“How ironic; don’t you think?”

“Anyway, I told them she had stolen it.”

“You are proud of me; aren’t you my love,” she asked with a playful innocence. She put the ribbon around Edward’s waist, like a belt, then pulled him towards her.

“You are as cold as you are cunning my dear,” he said as the met. He slipped his arm around her waist.

“You’re sure no one else knows,” he asked her; almost as an afterthought.

“Just the two of us; now,” she whispered softly, staring up into his eyes, “the perfect crime.”

He pulled her tightly against him and pressed the tip of a dagger into the soft-flesh of her throat; though it did not pierce the skin.

“No,” he said coldly; sliding the tip down her neck, “the perfect crime would be if I alone bore our little-secret.”

He could feel the tension in her body and her breath was shallow. She had fear in her eyes.

“My brother’s wife, who murdered him while he slept.” He pushed the knife tip a little deeper, drawing a small drop of blood that ran down the blade. She winced in pain trying to pull away but his grip was too strong.

“…consumed with guilt you come to me this night, begging for my forgiveness; begging for my mercy; begging me to use this blade to quickly end your traitorous life and spare you from the rope.” He fed on her terror; like a cat, toying with a mouse before the kill.

She swallowed hard and in a hoarse whisper, for her throat was tight and dry, said “What of our baby who grows in my belly?” 

Tears were running down her rosy-cheeks. 

“You can trust me Edward, I will never betray you.”

He flung her away from him, throwing the knife into the wooden table where it stuck with a quiver. She fell back, landing on the bed. He joined her and they made love; overfilled with the extasy of cheating fate, fed by the gluttonous-feast of their ill-gotten gains, and driven by the thrill of a shared dark-secret, sealed with a blood-trust which both gave them the power of life and death over their partner, while also demanding they relinquish their life, to the other, as a price.

The seventh lord, whose house-banner was the wolf, began his talk.

Edward’s mind wandered back to Richard’s funeral.

Edward rose around sunrise and got ready. Elizabeth had left several hours earlier, so as to be awakened in her own chambers.

As he was exiting his chamber, he paused at the wooden table and removed the dagger. He then went down to the chapel where his brother lay.

Upon entering, he saw Elizabeth kneeling next to the coffin and weeping loudly. He made his way over to the coffin where, as he reached it, Elizabeth stood, a silk scarf around her neck, and then fell into a swoon. Her attendants caught her, then carried her away to her chambers.

Well played.

He looked down at his dead brother, laying there peacefully, so regal; a true king. Small tokens, left by his mourners, were tucked around the body.

He spied a golden brooch next to his brother’s head and picked it up. In his hands it was heavy and cold. He ran his thumb over the deep-red ruby set in its center.

He remembered her, or at least he thought he did. She was a peasant girl of about ten he guessed. She would bring mushrooms and herbs, foraged in the forest, to the kitchen. Her father he was unsure of, but her mother had been hanged by the villagers for being a witch. Richard had tried unsuccessfully to intervene and save her; but the kingdom had fallen on hard times and the people demanded blood.

He last saw her, a few days ago, she was carrying a small black-and-white puppy, she had found, in her arms. They looked so happy together; the puppy licking her face and wagging its tail.

Edward dropped the brooch back into the coffin, and then leaned over his brother; kissing him on the cheek.

“I am to be married next fortnight, my brother, to the beautiful queen Elizabeth who carries my son in her belly. Here I have something for you,” he whispered into Richard’s ear as he took the dagger from under his robe and placed it neatly in the coffin, “It is my gift to you. Now that I am a king, I have the sword of our ancestors, but you have nothing. It is only fitting that you, my brother, you should have this.”

“And now, it’s time for what you’ve all been waiting for, the crowning of King Edward!”

The master-of-ceremonies’ deep-voice snapped Edward from his daze. He motioned for Edward to come forward, to a spot in front of the priest.

The wine had made him tipsy, and he stumbled as he rose. He felt the cool breeze from the forest on his face. It ruffled his house-banner hanging behind him; the stag. He steadied himself, then walked over to the priest and kneeled. A hush fell on the crowd, and everything grew silent except for the rustling of the banners and caw of a crow in the distance

The priest said some phrases in Latin, holding the crown high above his head, then slowly lowered it onto Edward’s head. 

A thrill went through him as he felt the cold metal band press into his skin and the glorious weight of the crown upon his head. He closed his eyes, so as to soak in its power; finally realizing his ambitions, his life’s dream.

Then as if in a fairy tale, the priest announced, “Arise King Edward,” and he stumbled to his feet with cheers of, “long live the king” erupting from the crowd.

He stood there, joyously soaking in their energy. His wife joined him, at his side with a cup of wine, and they toasted to his health and to the health of the kingdom.

As he stood there, basking in the moment, his mind returned to the words his brother had said about the carefree joys of being a prince; about the terrible price of power; about how his joy had left him, leaving him weighed down by the troubles of the world and the fear of betrayal.

He took another drink of wine. It tasted different now, somehow not as sweet.

He looked over at his beautiful wife, in whose belly his son grew; but how could he be sure? Had she not betrayed his brother? Was not the same fate awaiting him?

He looked back at the lords, each of whom had pledged their fealty. They were whispering to each other. Was a conspiracy being hatched this very day?

He looked out over the crowd. Their faces had all turned ugly and behind each one was want and need; but there was no love.

He felt completely alone and vulnerable.

Somewhere in the crowd he heard a puppy barking. He looked up towards the forest, where standing on a small knoll, he saw the most magnificent stag he’d ever seen. It looked at him, then reared up, pausing for a moment, then it bounded off into the woods.