Send Him Victorious: Book 1 by Bart Cline
“Ah.” Adrian glanced from the Captain to the seamen who were waiting to see whose will would win out. “I suppose I mustn’t upset naval culture. Hundreds of years of tradition, hey?”
Captain Roberts gave the seamen a nod. They left without any delay.
“With your permission, Your Majesty, I’ll leave you to get settled in and get on with your work. If there’s anything else you need, just call your orderly.”
“If there’s anything I need, Dickie,” the Prince said, “I shall call you. You will be acting as my exec. After all, a ship doesn’t need two captains.”
Roberts narrowed his eyes and tightened his lips. “I see. In that case, what are your orders, Your Highness?”
“Is there any hope,” the Prince said with a sarcastic smirk, “that my orders will actually be obeyed? I mean, if you can’t even second a rating to unpack my things for me…”
“Oh, they’ll be obeyed, sir. Immediately, and to the letter.”
“I trust they will. Then we sail for the Port of Edinburgh.”
“Very good, Your Highness,” Roberts said, making for the door.
“Oh, and Dickie,” the Prince said to the departing Captain. “We must spend some time together, if and when there’s an opportunity to socialise. A cup of tea, a glass of wine, a lager, if that’s your poison.”
Roberts looked thoughtful. “I’ll look forward to it. Good afternoon, Your Highness.”
When the Captain left, Adrian put his hands in his pockets and moved about the room, as if examining the possibilities. He ran a finger across the top of the writing desk, opened and closed some cupboards and wardrobes, went into the en-suite and tried the taps, glanced in the mirror, took off his jacket and hung it on a hook.
He opened one of his bags and removed a sheaf of papers which he took to the desk.
Putting on a pair of reading glasses, the Prince sat down, leaned back, and attempted to absorb the print on the pages.
“There is STILL ample time… There is still AMPLE time… There is still ample time to make THIS century the one where the United Kingdom stands truly united. One where love speaks louder than greed, and where Britain is its best voice.”
He stood in front of the mirror, putting on an air, assuming a magisterial stance, examining his bearing.
***
The HMS Dominance arrived in Leith, the Port of Edinburgh, to waiting throngs of spectators and press.
The crowds greeted the Prince with a mix of enthusiastic cheers and two-fingered salutes, the latter greeting being predominant. In the general rush of sound the cheers could not be distinguished from the jeers.
A mixture of military and civilian security personnel prepared the way as Adrian began to move through the crowd, while others watched his back.
His security detachment led him forward and the Prince became aware that he was being led to a stage equipped with a podium and microphone, with Union and Scottish flags flying at the sides.
Minders hemmed the Prince in right and left. He spoke to the one nearest him. “What’s all this about, David?”
“We only know that we’re supposed to get you to that stage safely. Weren’t you going to make a speech or something, Your Highness?” David said.
“I didn’t– I mean, I couldn’t–” the Prince spluttered and stumbled.
David spoke into a walkie-talkie that he held in his free hand, speaking code about packages and deliveries.
Escorting the Prince onto the stage and to the microphone, David retreated a few steps to stand guard behind him.
The flashes of cameras, of no effect in the daylight, confused the field of view as he took in the extensive crowd. He uselessly put his hands in his pockets, probing them in turn.
As he allowed his eyes to wander over the entire breadth of the crowd, it began to quiet down in readiness for whatever he had to say.
“I didn’t expect–” the Prince started, continuing to take stock of the crowd. “I didn’t know–” He took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly.
“I never expected,” the Prince said, “that there would be so many of you here to greet me. I’m flattered. I’m here today–” He took out a handkerchief and mopped his forehead. He licked his lips. “Well, that much you know already.” He waited out the muted laughter. “But why am I here today?
“Scotland has always been a second home for my family and I. My father and mother gave me most of my best memories here. The Scots are not a barbarian tribe thankfully separated from me by Hadrian’s Wall. Nor are you my cousins north of the border.
“You are, in fact, my brothers and sisters.”
A roar rose from the crowd, though whether of pleasure or rage was impossible to distinguish.
“It is relatively early in the century. Early enough to make this the century of Great Britain. There is still ample time to make this century the one where the United Kingdom stands truly united. One where love speaks louder than greed, and where Britain is its best voice.”
The speech continued for several more minutes, the crowd’s reaction always ambivalent, though those nearest the platform appeared to be on the Prince’s side.
He continued his improvised speech, laying the emotion on thickly, appearing at times to gain the favour of some and lose the favour of others. After several minutes Adrian acknowledged the crowd’s kindness and attention, offered a royal wave, and departed with his minders.
“How did you think that went, David?” The Prince mopped his brow as he walked.
“I don’t know, Your Highness. Pretty well, I think. I don’t really know much about politics myself. But the crowd seemed to like you.”
“You think so?” The Prince frowned. “I didn’t get that impression.”
“Oh, definitely. These are Scots, remember. They’re not like us.”
The Prince affected a worried half-smile.
David and the Prince arrived at the waiting limousine. Entering, they were spirited away with an entourage of police motorcycles and cars.
Crowds greeted the motorcade as it made its way along Princes Street, normally thronged with shoppers but now spectators. They turned, passing Waverley Station on their way to the Royal Mile.
Turning left, the Prince’s limousine was at one point pummelled by eggs and tomatoes. David raised a sympathetic hand. “Don’t worry about them, Your Highness. They’re just–”
“It’s all right, David,” Adrian said, raising a hand. “This has happened to me before – numerous times. Not everyone likes me.”
The retinue came to a stop at the front entrance of the Scottish Parliament. The bodyguards, minders, and other staff scrambled to prepare the Prince’s way.
When the driver opened the door the Prince stepped out into the sunlight. Everyone stood in ranks, marking out the path from the limousine to the front entrance of the melange of architectural quirks which was the Parliament building.
“I can never imagine any real work being done in this place,” the Prince said, surveying the structure. “I mean it is rather weird. As if the architects took a long holiday and let Salvador Dali’s admirers build it. I can’t imagine anyone getting their heads down in there. Then again, maybe it’s the best way to avoid having to look at the thing.”
David shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. I’ve always kind of liked the place myself. At least it’s different.”
“Indeed it is that.”
The front door was held open and the Prince disappeared inside, acknowledging no-one as he passed.
Located at the front of the building, the debating chamber took very little time to reach. The Ministers of the Scottish Parliament, pausing their governmental business, stood at their seats as the Prince entered – with a few exceptions. As he walked the distance from the entrance door to the speaker’s platform, a number of the other ministers sat down in solidarity with their protesting colleagues. By the time the Prince took his seat at the back of the stage, at least two thirds of the house were sitting.
“… The Prince of Wales.” The speaker turned from the assembly to the Prince and held out a welcoming arm.
Folding the speech away in his pocket, Adrian stood up and took the podium.
“Thank you, Presiding Officer. Ladies and gentlemen, I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve asked you all here.” He looked at the glass teleprompter which stood in front of him and to his left. “It is not to ask for money.” He paused for a moment but only a few laughed.
“I have, in point of fact, come to ask for your support. And, more generally, for Scotland’s support. As you know, His Majesty the King, my father, has taken the reins of government upon himself. This he has done for the good of all – and at great personal cost to himself, I would add. It would have been easier for him at his stage in life to retire, to spend time with his family and the dogs, and leave the reins of power where they were – or perhaps transfer them to the next in line to the throne. Which” – the Prince put a hand on his chest and assumed a bashful stance – “would be me. Oh dear.”
Again the Prince waited a moment, to little response.
“But such is the weight of responsibility he feels, that he must give himself fully to the role that God and fate have given him. I do not envy him this responsibility. It would break a lesser man.
“But my father is not a lesser man. He is a man who deserves our respect and support. He has worked tirelessly for this country his entire life. Even in the last decade, while you didn’t seen much of him, he was working, preparing his government.
“The New Order brings with it a multitude of possibilities. Not just for England, or Scotland, or Wales, but for all British people, both individually and collectively. Britain is already beginning to regain the respect of the world. The messages coming in from our friendly nations – and even those of the less friendly nations – are encouraging.
“Visitor numbers will undoubtedly increase. Our little monarchy has always been a source of fascination for the Americans and much of the world.
“Investment will increase as well. Our ambassadors are already involved in negotiations with some of those friendly powers, and much of that investment could come here. Scotland could enjoy a renaissance. She could be as good as she ever was, and better.”
The crowd began to show its discomfort, harrumphing and grumbling with discomfort.
“We stand today on the threshold of history. Can we not, like a newlywed couple, carry one another over it? Can we not meet the challenges of this young century together?
“There is still ample time to make this century the one where the United Kingdom stands truly united. One where love speaks louder than greed, and where Britain is its best voice.
“Working together will be the best thing for all of us. Let us show unity to the world.” The Prince looked out at the assembled gathering, as if expecting something other than the silence that continued to greet him.
One of the minsters stood. “Scotland could just about live with England while the monarchy was reined in. A peace – if an uncomfortable one. But Scotland remembers the last time an English King held sway over her. It’s not going to happen again.”
The minister sat down to a thunder of applause, his colleagues supporting him as if the Prince’s word had made no impression.
“My friends” – the Prince held his arms out, pleading – “my brothers, what is the alternative?”
“Independence!” A large number of ministers chimed their agreement.
Adrian backed away from the podium as the crowd increasingly voiced its displeasure. He looked for and found David, who was on his feet at the back of the stage. Adrian glanced at David and gestured a wordless demand. The security man spoke into his walkie-talkie, and was joined by several more. Together they guided the Prince out the same way he entered, forming a barrier on either side of him against the hostile ministers.
Outside the security forces worked hard to hold the crowd back as the Prince re-entered his vehicle.
Safely inside his limousine, the Prince breathed a deep sigh, once again mopping the sweat from his brow. David spoke again into his walkie-talkie. “The package is en-route. Repeat, the package is en-route.”
More than once, thrown missiles sounded against the car’s exterior. The Prince flinched at each one.
“Don’t let them get to you, Your Highness. They’re only politicians. They wouldn’t actually do anything.”
“If the crowd inside was safer than the one outside, then why the need to bundle me out?”
“Just normal security protocols, sir. If you’re threatened, get you to a safe location. That’s what we’re doing.”
A hostile crowd spilled onto the street, and the vehicles frequently had to slow down to allow the police to clear the way.
Adrian saw in the crowd two women and one man holding up a banner with a hand painted slogan: “Scotland loves her King!”
“Look at that, David.” The Prince gazed as if about to weep.
“Now that is nice,” David said.
Another group attempted to swamp the three Royalists and their message. The banner was pushed to the background as those holding it were attacked by the mob. But they re-emerged to the front of the crowd, enthusiastically showing their banner despite fresh blood on their faces. Again this supportive minority was forced back, and again they re-emerged to the front, before the crowd decisively knocked them down and swallowed them up.
The noise level greatly increased as the crowd surged, attempting to reach the vehicle and, in places, succeeding. As fists thumped and pounded on the car, the Prince slumped in his seat, pressing his palms to his eyes.
The driver put his foot down, dispersing the crowd as they scrambled out of the way, causing havoc as the people swirled in frenzy.
Car horns and sirens blaring, the Prince was carried away faster than the conditions should have reasonably allowed.
The crowded city centre was treacherous, but the procession evaded damage and no injuries were recorded. When they reached the port Adrian was quaking, breathing raggedly.
The limousine came to rest at the bottom of the HMS Dominance’s gangway.
Captain Roberts greeted him at the quayside.
“I’m so sorry for how this has turned out, Your Highness. Please accept my and the crews’ deepest–”
The Prince strode past Captain Roberts and entered the ship.
Maintaining a brisk pace, Adrian moved through the vessel in a trance. Ratings and officers stood aside holding respectful salutes, which the Prince ignored, failing even to make eye contact.
He stopped at a junction of corridors and stairs, looking this way and that, up and down, vacillating between the possible routes.
A junior rating stopped next to him, offering a salute. “Can I help you, sir?” The young woman’s nervous voice was almost lost among the background sounds of the ship. “We all get lost when new to a ship, Sir.”
The Prince straightened, and he began to climb the stairs. “That’s ‘Your Highness’ to you.”
After more twists, turns, and uncertain junctions, the Prince found his quarters.
Entering, Adrian sat down on the bed, removed his coat, threw it on the floor, loosened his tie, and gripped his head in his hands.
His suitcases lay open on the floor, much of the contents strewn around like a teenager’s bedroom. The trunk was open, and clothing spilled out of it like entrails from a wound.
Throwing a few unidentified items from his bed across the room, he lay down.
The intercom on the desk bleeped.
Adrian stood up with a growl, stormed across the room, grabbed the receiver, and clamped it to his ear.
Apart from the sound of breathing, there was silence on both ends of the phone line.
Captain Roberts broke the hush. “Er… what are your orders, Your Highness?”
“Your Highness, Commander Indrani is this ship’s executive officer. It would be more appropriate for a rating–”
“Send me Commander Indrani!” Adrian chewed up and spat out the words. “Don’t argue with your Prince,” he shouted.
“Very well, Your Highness. By the way, sir –” Roberts paused before continuing. “– If you’d like to discuss today’s events, if you’d like someone to talk to, I’m at your disposal.”
The Prince pulled the receiver away from his face as if it had been stuck there with glue, and slammed it onto its cradle.
He returned to his bed, dropped onto it heavily, and closed his eyes, sprawled, unmoving, until a knock came at the door.
Springing up, Adrian almost leapt across the room, putting his hand on the door, but then paused. He straightened his posture, assumed a serious but welcoming frown, and opened the door.
Commander Indrani held an elegant silver tray with china tea service for two.
“Ah, come in Commander.”
She complied, the Prince taking the opportunity to look her over while her back was to him.
Examining the carnage of the Prince’s room, she attempted to discern a clear path. She emitted a barely audible sigh before placing the tray on the coffee table.
“Will you be mother?” The Prince sat on the sofa, motioning for her to join him.
“Of course, sir,” she said as she began pouring. “Now, you take it strong, with milk and one sugar, correct?”
“You are a most remarkable woman,” he said.
Indrani placed the cup and saucer in front of the Prince before pouring one for herself. “Why me, Your Highness? Any of the galley staff could have brought you your tea.”
“I feel it’s better to have the officers do a few, shall we say, menial tasks from time to time where members of the Royal family are concerned. It’s better for discipline in the ranks – or I think it is. I could be mistaken, but it’s what I’ve always done. And especially in the light of the New Order, it must be seen that nobody is above these things.”
“I see,” she said. “Is that the only reason?”