SEND HIM VICTORIOUS - A Royal Thriller - Chapter 1, part 2

King Alfred II deposes Parliament to rule Britain like the kings of Old. Can the modern world cope with a return to the golden age of kings?

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By way of introduction, this is my latest book which I am serializing for you here on Steemit. You can buy this book on Amazon (clickable here) or any other online bookshop, both electronically and in print, or you can read it free right here.

I am also thinking of recording an audiobook of this title. Please let me know if you would like that.

I look forward to interacting with you. If you have any questions about the story, locations, characters, events, or background, please ask (though I will only answer them if it doesn’t require revealing spoilers!).

This book is the product of years of preparation, research, and writing. I hope you enjoy it!

Read on:

CHAPTER ONE - Overthrow (part 2 of 5)

“This nation needs a King. Not a figurehead. Nor a head of state who does Parliament’s bidding. Nor someone who merely opens bridges and hospitals, visit schools, goes on state visits and feathers his own nest, hiding away in stately palaces while letting government and opposition debate their meagre accomplishments – which for too long is exactly what I have done.

“This country needs a King. A sovereign. A rightful ruler. From henceforth that is what I shall be.” The King’s expensively capped teeth gleamed under the powerful lights as he held the government’s speech, tore it in half, and threw it in the air. The pieces fluttered down.

“From this moment, my so-called ‘government’ will not govern. It will represent. Your ministers of parliament will represent you to me.” The King looked directly into a television camera. “I will govern. I will rule.”

The lords, ladies, almost everyone, stood to their feet, shouting, cursing, vilifying the King, defying parliamentary procedure.

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Princess Frances dropped a slice of toast on her Delft plate and forgot to chew the bite in her mouth until she nearly choked.

The Prince dropped his cup and saucer. It shattered.

Watching as the King spoke on screen, the Princess put a hand to her mouth. A tear fell from her eye.

Adrian sighed. “The old man has finally gone to be with the fairies. The Palace physicians will have to section him for certain.”

The Princess glared. “Shut. Your. Mouth.”

“You heard him,” the Prince said. “He’s gone completely potty!”

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A young man dressed in camouflage fatigues and a pair of slippers sat on the second-hand sofa nursing a mug of coffee, an older woman next to him, watching King Alfred on television.

The woman sported a chunky dressing gown with a hole in the shoulder where the seam came apart.

The lounge was roomy with little decoration, and in need of new wallpaper.

“Can’t we change the channel, Jimmy?” his Mum said.

“No Mum, that’s ’is Majesty.” Jimmy gave the TV a little salute and smiled at his Mum.

“Oh, you,” Jimmy’s mother said. “Why you wanna watch ’is Majesty anyway?”

“I’m a soldier in ’is Army. ’E’s me King. Why wouldn’ I wanna watch ’im?”

Jimmy’s mother snuggled next to him and sipped her drink.

“Won’t ya at least stay ’til Dad gets ’ome from work? ’E’ll wanna say g’bye t’ya.”

“Can’t. I’ve gotta be on post at sixteen-hundred hours. Besides, I said goodbye t’Dad this morning before ’e went t’work. Now, stop botherin’ me. There’s some kind o’ big fuss goin’ on with the King’s speech.”

“Why? What’s ’e doin’?”

In a lower voice, Jimmy said, “’E’s bein’ the King, that’s what!”

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The King raised his hands and shouted, the powerful amplifier making his voice heard over the commotion. “Listen to me! Where is your respect for your sovereign?” He smiled subtly as the assembled crowd continued caterwauling.

The King bellowed in a commanding voice. “I will have silence!” After a moment the shouts subsided. “Perhaps you misunderstand me. This is not a debate. This is a New Order.”

The murmur resumed, less noisily.

The Archbishop of Canterbury wore a beatific frown. He was a severe but handsome man with wavy ashen hair, slim, his face lined and clean-shaven. The other bishops conformed more to the stereotype of overfed former public schoolboys.

The Archbishop looked hard at Alfred. He spoke to the Bishop next to him. “Someone must stop the King.”

The other man leaned close to him. “Yes, but there’s nothing he can actually do other than talk. That’s the beauty of our constitutional monarchy, isn’t it? He is king in name only. Powerless. Emasculated.”

“Nevertheless, he needs to be raked over the coals for this. The decorum of this house is sacrosanct, and he has violated it.”

“I suppose so, Your Grace,” the other Bishop said.

The Lord Speaker had found a microphone, which she tapped several times. “Lords, ladies, honoured guests, we must have order!” She looked around as she waited for silence. “Your Majesty, I’m sure none of us understand what has moved you to make your extraordinary statements, but I would respectfully remind you that this session is being broadcast live on television and online. Furthermore, the news services must surely have generated considerable extra interest based on your… rather unusual speech. Perhaps that is what you wanted, but neither the House of Lords nor the Commons can accept any further–”

“I think I’ve made my intentions clear enough,” the King said. “You need only to–”

“Your Majesty, I’m sorry but if you will not stand down then you will be removed.” The Baroness looked toward the door at the far end where a pair of policeman stood.

“How dare you,” Alfred bellowed, “speak over your sovereign, and threaten your King. This is my parliament. I cannot be removed from it.”

“Very well, Your Majesty. I sincerely regret what you force me to do.” Baroness Overhill pointed at the constables, clicking her fingers and gesturing.

Impeded by the crowd, the constables moved slowly along the length of the Chamber. The King gasped with mock fear, looking exaggeratedly frightened without trying to be convincing. He held his hands out toward the constables, wrists together, face sullen.

The constables stood at the King’s feet. They looked from one another to the King, to Overhill, and back again, sweating.

“Well?” the King said.

“Er… Your Majesty, would you please…”

“Remove your hats in the presence of your King.”

They quickly complied, their gazes flicking from place to place. “Sorry, sir, but we have to escort you out. Would you please come with us?”

The King smiled and gently clapped. “Oh, vey good, my boy. Truly intimidating.” He towered over the constables. That they were intimidated by him was clear to all.

A new commotion was developing among the members of the House of Commons who were crowded into the far end of the Chamber, toward which all eyes now directed themselves.

Standing in the doorway was a British Army General in field uniform. His dark hair was neatly cut and combed with a side parting, a trim moustache atop his thin-lipped mouth. The military baton he held in his left hand was complemented by a holstered sidearm.