Send Him Victorious: Book 1 by Bart Cline
“A humble functionary who has the ear of the King. That’s got to count for something.”
Youngblood’s brow furrowed. “Obviously His Majesty has as much need for spiritual counsel as anyone. And of course, he has my ear as well.”
“As what? Confessor?”
“Not quite. We are not Rome, after all.”
“But His Majesty confides in you, yes?”
“We have long enjoyed,” Youngblood said, leaning back comfortably in his chair, “a very good relationship, personally and professionally.”
“So you knew he was going to stage this… coup.”
The Archbishop sat upright again. “Well, I’m not at liberty to say.” He smiled a conspiratorial smile. “These are, after all, matters of National Security.”
“You can’t say whether or not you knew? Surely the cat’s out of the bag now.”
“This particular cat, yes.”
“I see,” McKinnel said. “As a member, then, of the King’s inner circle of advisors and confidantes, do you approve of his actions?”
“He acts on the advice of many people, and many points of view. In the end, the sovereign can act with or without the approval of his subjects, as he has shown most ably. I support him as best I can, within the limits of my wisdom, my conscience, and my position as head of the English Church.”
“With his new interest in governing the country, does he also wish to govern the church? After all, he is titular head of the Church of England.”
“Definitely not. He has too much on his plate already. He trusts me with the Church. Implicitly. But let’s remember that Christ is the true head of the church.”
“Henry the eighth didn’t agree with that sentiment. Nor did many of his successors.”
“Regardless of what they or anyone else thought,” the Archbishop said with a sardonic smile, “one cannot take away what belongs to Christ.”
The interview ended, McKinnel thanked him for coming, and Youngblood walked away from the pool of studio lights to his waiting assistant, a younger and shorter bearded priest.
“That TV idiot’s right, Julian.” Youngblood spat the words out as they walked away from the TV studio, while McKinnel received his next guest. “Alfred doesn’t only want the nation. He wants the Church.” He clenched his teeth. “I will not let him have it. It’s mine!”
3 - Rule
“Good morning, Your Highness,” Mitchell said, his hand resting on the handle of the open front door. He bowed to Princess Frances, who stood in the porch of Clarence House, flanked by two bodyguards in dark suits and glasses, shoulder holsters showing beneath their jackets. Her limousine waited nearby. “It’s lovely to see you again so soon.”
“Good morning to you too, Mitchell,” the Princess said. “Is my brother here, by any chance?”
“Please come in, Your Highness. The Prince of Wales is in today, and he has no engagements. At least, no official engagements.”
“Ah,” she said. “So am I to assume he’s not up yet?”
“Oh yes, he’s been up for a little while now. He and the–” Mitchell put a finger to his lips. “He’s taking breakfast. I’m sure he would be very happy to see you. May I just let him know that you’re here first? So that I can ascertain where he wishes to receive you.”
“Of course,” Frances said. “You’re the image and likeness of discretion, as always, Mitchell.” She smiled at him. He returned the smile before turning to depart.
She made her way to a reception room, flanked by her security men.
“You two may wait outside,” the Princess said, closing the communicating doors.
The men complied.
Frances waited on an 18th-century sofa of English manufacture, in common with all the furniture in this room. Of a similar vintage, the paintings, while acceptable in mixed company today, were on the saucier end of what reputable painters produced at that period.
Prince Adrian opened the door, bursting in on the silence. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? I’d have been ready for you.” His hair was wet, and no pyjamas were visible under his dressing gown.
“Oh no, I learn much more by dropping in unexpectedly.”
“What could you want to learn? You know I’m always completely truthful with you,” the Prince said, arms held open.
“Truthful perhaps,” she said, “but not necessarily factual.”
Adrian’s brow furrowed. “You haven’t told me what you want. I am rather busy at the moment, so if you could just state your business…”
“Busy?” She raised an eyebrow. “I’m surprised you’re even awake.”
“So you’ve come here merely to show me your snide side?” He shifted his weight and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Congratulations on your commission.”
The Prince’s arms dropped to his sides. “What commission?”
“Your naval commission.” Frances’s eyes narrowed as she turned her head slightly away from him. “Obviously nobody told you that you’re captain of the HMS Dominance now.”
“Am I?” He raised his hands as if fending off a paparazzo. “I mean, I’m not – not taking command of anything. Is this Father’s latest ploy?”
“It’s no ploy. Father wants you to take command of that ship and to undertake a diplomatic mission. Already, Scotland is making some rather disagreeable noises over Father’s New Order. He wants you to sail the Dominance to Edinburgh and address the Scottish Parliament. A show of strength and an olive branch in the same gesture. Persuade Scotland to support us. Otherwise things could get difficult, and the United Kingdom may once again fail to live up to its name.”
“Excuse me. Let me see if I understood you correctly. You would have me understand that Father believes in me?” He shook his head, incredulous.
“He does believe in you.” The Princess stood up and walked slowly. “But he doesn’t know you as well as the rest of the country does.”
“Thanks for your honesty,” the Prince said with a half-laugh.
The Princess stopped at a painting, clasping her hands behind her back. “Like you, I’m always truthful.”
Adrian regarded Frances’s profile. “And what about you? Do you believe in me?”
“Of course not,” she said. “Have you ever given me cause to?”
“Possibly. And I’d rather have your respect than his.”
“I’m sorry,” the Princess said, examining the painting, “but that’s a foolish attitude. Why do you think Father is doing what he is doing?”
“Because he has a big head,” the Prince said, looking away from her.
“He’s creating this New Order for you. You are heir to the throne, and Father wants to make sure you have something to inherit. It may not be the inheritance you expected or wanted, but it’s one you cannot refuse. This is greatness being thrust upon you. This is history in the making. If you embrace it, you may find you’re better than you think you are. If you rise to the challenge, you might prove Father right.” Frances turned from the painting to look at Adrian. “And me wrong. If you want my respect, this is the only way you’re going to get it.”
“Respect?” The Prince coughed the word out, meeting her gaze. “You think I’m going to try to buy it from you? As in, I can only have it if I do A and B? Well, I don’t need to buy anything. I am the future King. I don’t have to earn it. I could talk those bloody Scots into going along with Father’s ridiculous plan if I chose to. But I don’t choose to. I could even command a ship if I chose to. I’ve got wits, I’ve got charm, charisma, brains – and I know how to use them.”
“Oh, I know that very well,” the Princess said, “as evidenced by your bimbos.”
“Get out!” Adrian shouted, pointing at the door. “Your respect isn’t that important to me.”
“Of course not. If you had ever wanted to prove you could do something well, other than philandering, you’d have done it by now. Middle-age doesn’t sit well on someone who refuses to grow up.”
&
“Touché, my dear brother. We are, the two of us, equal failures.” Frances turned her back on her brother and made for the door. Mitchell opened it from the other side, closing it as the Princess came through. “How did you know,” she said with a glint in her eye, “I was leaving?”
“I am simply very good at my job, Your Highness,” Mitchell said. “Have you had a successful meeting with His Highness?”
“I think I did what I came to do.” She smiled. “I wish you an equally successful day, Mitchell.”
The Princess walked on, her bodyguards falling in behind her.
***
“Frederick?” Adrian spoke into his gold-finished, diamond-studded iPhone. “I’ve decided to accept that commission. How will it work, with two captains on board? I can’t exactly sleep down below decks with the seamen.”
Dressed for the day in a Saville Row suit, Adrian paced the floor of his office, holding his phone to his ear.
“Captain Roberts will be giving you his cabin,” Admiral Billington said.
“That should be adequate. I’ll look forward to assuming command – even if the captain’s quarters are somewhat below the standard of Clarence House.” The Prince smiled.
Adrian jingled the change and keys in his pocket.
“Count your blessings, Your Highness. Captain Roberts will be bunking in the officers’ conference room. The officers’ mess will have to do if the brass need to confab.”
“Ah. I hadn’t thought about that. Well, everyone has to endure these little ignominies occasionally. I’m sure he’ll do so with the utmost composure.”
“He’s had to put up with much worse,” Billington responded.
“I’m pleased we understand one another. Good. It’s your investiture soon, isn’t it? I expect I’ll see you there then. Good bye, Frederick.”
He inserted his iPhone in its Acqua Di Parma Tournée buffalo skin leather slipcase, slipping that in his inside jacket pocket.
“Mitchell!”
The door opened. “Your highness?”
“Get me my father on the house phone.”
“Of course, sir.” The door closed.
The Prince sat behind his desk, leaned back and closed his eyes.
The desk telephone rang. Adrian answered it.
“Good morning, Father. How are you today? Enjoying this lovely weather?”
“I hadn’t noticed the weather,” Alfred said. “I have rather larger matters to consider at the moment.”
“Of course, yes, I understand.”
“You didn’t call me to talk about the weather. Or did you?”
“I will be… or rather, I have accepted the commission. I spoke to Frederick only a few moments ago. It’s all arranged. Given the immediacy of the situation, I’m going aboard today.”
“Good. I’m so pleased. I’ll leave you to it then.”
“Oh, and Father… Thanks for sending Frances to tell me you don’t believe in me. What a vote of confidence. I’m still basking in it.”
Alfred waited a moment before answering. “But I do believe in you, son. More than anything. I don’t know what your sister said to you, but it would seem to have had a positive effect.”
“She said, essentially, that I am a useless and immature waste of space, and gave the impression that you and everyone else believe the same. And I suppose it’s true.”
“Do not believe that about yourself. England expects great things of you. And I do as well. Believe that.” An uncomfortable silent moment passed. “Do you?”
“I had better get to my ship.”
“Of course, son. I’ll send the Sikorsky to collect you. Good luck.”
***
Captain Roberts waited on the helicopter platform aboard the Duke-class frigate HMS Dominance. As the red-liveried Sikorsky helicopter neared the ship Roberts stood at attention, holding a naval salute.
Dominance rolled with the gentle waves, the pilot matching its movement to set the helicopter gently on the platform. At the edge of the landing surface a team of seamen waited with ropes and hooks in their hands.
As the aircraft’s tyres made contact with the helipad, the seamen went to work securing it.
Two men left the Sikorsky, approaching and saluting the Captain. “Permission to come aboard, sir?” the transferees said in turn, each greeted with the standard response, “Granted. Welcome aboard.”
Prince Adrian stepped out of the aircraft and saluted as he walked past the Captain.
“Granted. Welcome aboard, Your Highness,” Roberts said under his breath to the Prince’s back. He completed his salute. “Carry on, men,” he said, though one of the mechanics descending on the helicopter was a woman, and followed the Prince at a trot.
“Would you like to see your quarters, Your Highness?” Roberts spoke quietly and without enthusiasm as he caught up with Adrian.
“I’d prefer to see the bridge first. Might as well see where I’m going to be serving.”
“Of course,” Roberts said. “That would be this way.”
Winding their way through cramped corridors, stairs, and doors, they passed ratings and officers, each of whom stopped with some astonishment to salute the new captain and the old. The Prince smiled at each one as he returned their salutes, continuing to walk without breaking stride. For one particularly plain female rating he afforded a mere glance and a half-smile, but for the more attractive ratings he smiled warmly, slowed his pace, saluted with a flourish, and perhaps cast a second look at their departing figures.
“The Admiral has done me proud by offering me what must be the ship with the most attractive complement of female personnel.”
Roberts remained silent until he found opportunities for small talk, pointing out the functions of rooms on either side, and asking after the health of other members of the Royal family.
“Here we are, Your Highness.” The Captain stopped, and the Prince with him, in front of a door marked “BRIDGE”. There was no handle on the door, nor a pane of glass to allow outsiders to see in. Roberts pressed a domed palm-sized button set into the wall, and the door slid open with a whine of motors. “The nerve centre of this vessel. Have you been on the bridge on one of these ships before, Your Highness?”
“No, I earned my commission on the previous model.”
As they stepped through, a female voice half-shouted, “Captains on the bridge!”
All bridge personnel sprang to attention and saluted. Each one was dressed in a uniform of trousers, belt, and loose-fitting shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and a darker tee-shirt underneath, rank insignia in the centre of the chest and a name tape below the left shoulder, all in blue. The Prince smiled deliberately and returned their salutes.
“Welcome aboard, sirs,” the same voice said. Adrian looked at the speaker: a female commander, almost as tall as himself, with a slim figure, silky hair tied in a regulation ponytail, and a striking Indian face like that of a Bollywood starlet with less make-up. Staring at her just that moment too long, the Prince’s thoughts of this young officer were clear for all to see.
“Thank you, Commander,” Roberts said. “As you were.”
The Commander stepped forward. “I look forward to serving under you, sir,” she said to Adrian, her voice smooth with received pronunciation.
“‘Your Highness’ is the proper form of address,” Captain Roberts said, “for a member of the Royal family, Commander.”
“Of course. My apologies, Your Highness.” Colour added to her already sumptuous cheeks.
“Not necessary,” the Prince said. “‘Sir’ is a proper form of address for any officer, regardless of his family ties. I have no objection. Return to your duties, Commander…” He looked at the name tape stitched to her shirt. “…Indrani. The pleasure will be all mine.”
The Prince broadened his gaze to include all of the person
Indrani gave the Prince, at his request, a tour of the bridge, explaining the many technologies in view, and introducing the staff, whose names the Prince made a show of committing to memory.
Roberts glanced at his watch several times as the Prince asked questions, inspected screens, and leered at the Commander.
At length the Prince rejoined the Captain, and they departed the bridge to sighs of relief on both sides of the door.
“How do you find our ship, Your Highness?”
“I like the bridge immensely. And now, I’d like very much to see my quarters.”
“Of course, Your Highness.” The now-secondary Captain gestured with a quiet sigh for the Prince to follow him.
The two men made their way along corridors and stairways, the Prince continuing to eye the occasional attractive female crew member. Roberts stopped at a door.
“This is what used to be the officers’ conference room. The men have done an amazing job transforming it into my new quarters.” Captain Roberts stood with his hand on the door handle. “Would you like to have a look?”
The Prince shook his head. “Not necessary. Let’s move on.”
“As you wish, Your Highness.”
Presently they arrived at a door with a small plaque on it which read “CAPTAIN”.
“Ah! Here we are,” the Prince said, opening the door with excitement.
The ceiling was low and the space ungenerous. But the few furnishings and trappings were elegant. A desk with an old world appearance set the tone for everything else, including the bed, bookshelves, vanity stand, and a wood-panelled wall with a yacht’s wheel mounted on it.
“Well, it isn’t Clarence House,” Adrian said, “but it’ll do for now.”
A seaman arrived, carrying two leather-trimmed Mulberry cases, and behind him another seaman wheeling a matching medium-sized trunk held shut with gold-buckled leather straps.
“Your luggage, Your Highness,” the seaman with the trunk said.
“Oh, good,” the Prince said. “Now, you’ll need to unpack these quickly because I have a lot of work to do in here this afternoon. And take care not to disturb the creases.” The Prince nodded to the Captain and smiled, continuing under his breath, “Good thing I don’t have to tip the staff.”
Roberts smiled back. “That isn’t how we do things nowadays, Your Highness. Everyone, from top to bottom, handles his own gear.”