SEND HIM VICTORIOUS - A Royal Thriller - Chapter 1, part 4

What happens when a modern first-world country is ruled by a benevolent monarch? The King of England takes over from the elected government and the consequences reverberate not only in Britain, but the world!

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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:

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CHAPTER ONE - Risk (part 4 of 5)

The King stood again, and stepped to the edge of his dais. “Thank you, Woollie, for your counsel. I will answer your points in the order you made them.

“I believe I do know what this will mean to the country, as well as to my children. My son, the Prince of Wales, the heir to my throne, will be required to grow up. He has been bred to be King. When greatness is thrust upon him, he will rise to it. It will be the making of him.

“As for the country, you overlook that justly-famous British stiff upper lip. Our people have endured many things over the past centuries, but what I offer them now is greatness. Risk is nothing new to our people.

“The name of this island is Great Britain. If I cease and desist from this course of action, then Parliament will have to rename it ‘Adequate Britain’. That is essentially your suggestion. Then we may be content with mediocrity. But this land and this people are capable of greatness. We should be satisfied with nothing less.

“Do you think I am doing this only for myself? No! It’s for you,” he said, pointing to a lord at random, “and you,” pointing to another lord, “and you,” pointing and fixing his eye on the television camera.

“Western democracies are complacent. I do not say that they are bad. But they are not great. They are not even adequate.

“So, no, my dear Woollie, I cannot cease and desist. Even in these last few minutes I have earned myself a place in the Tower of London, and an appointment at the gallows. English monarchs have been beheaded for less than I am doing right now.

“No. Here I stand. I can do no other.”

The King resumed his seat.

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Jimmy and his mother sat motionless on the sofa, leaning forward, unable to take their eyes away from the television. Their mouths hung open.

“Blimey,” Jimmy’s mum said.

They both leaned back onto the worn cushions.

“No joke,” Jimmy reflected. “Blimey.”

She looked at him. “So, what d’you think of your precious ‘’is Majesty’ now?”

Jimmy stood up and moved around the room. “’E’s fantastic.” He continued moving, faster now. “Fantastic!” He jumped with a shout, punching the low council-house ceiling with a thump. “That’s me King!” Jimmy pointed at the screen. “I would so die for that man!”

His mother stood, embracing him and burying her head in his chest. “Don’t talk like that, Jimmy. We can’t lose you.”

Jimmy patted his mum’s shoulder. “Oh, I’ll be all right, Mum. Don’t worry.”

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The Lords’ Chamber was still. The King had finished speaking.

One of the ambassadors, a gentleman in African national dress, raised his hand.

“Dr Elimu Mbiwe,” the Lord Speaker said, “Ambassador of the East African Republic.”

“Do you have a question,” the King said, “Dr Mbiwe?”

The African stood, genuflecting. “Yes, if it pleases Your Majesty. I would like to know how Your Majesty’s plans will affect Britain’s relationship to her Commonwealth partners. Are you proposing a return to British colonialism?” He sat down.

“An excellent question, Dr Mbiwe. Our relationship with the Commonwealth will remain unchanged. It is not our purpose to impose our will on other nations,” the King said, though the curl of his mouth and brow implied that he might have added, “yet”.

“The Commonwealth, if I may be poetic, is a brotherhood with a common purpose and unity which will never–”

The King was interrupted. Someone, a rough-looking man in a suit, was pushing his way past General Montgomery, shouting. The General’s men held the man back.

“Don’t you care, Your Majesty, how your actions are going to affect–”

“You will show proper respect to your sovereign,” the General shouted to the intruder, “by only speaking when you’re spoken to!”

The unidentified man, cowed by the General’s outburst, collected himself, loosening his speckled tie.

All eyes vacillated between the man and the King.

Alfred beckoned the man forward.

General Montgomery escorted him through the throng, to the bottom of the King’s dais. The General bowed, and after an uncertain pause the unidentified man did the same.

“I know your face,” the King said, “but not your name.”

“Introduce yourself to your King,” the General said.

“Ernest Essex, MP for Newbury,” he said, gathering courage.

“And what did you wish to say to me, Mr Essex?”

He looked up at the King. Essex was a tall man but the King’s eye level was nevertheless above his. He looked at the crown, the State Robes, the Naval uniform and its medals. The MP re-tightened his tie and straightened his collar.

“Your Majesty,” he said, “I represent the ordinary people, not the gentry. I beg Your Majesty to be mindful of the masses, the people who live from hand to mouth every day, wondering if they’ll still have work tomorrow, counting the pennies every time they go to the supermarket to buy food for their children.” Essex squirmed a bit under the gaze of the King, General Montgomery, the entirety of the House of Lords, and the honoured guests. “I’m one of them. My dad – my father – worked as a bus driver for 40 years. My mother stayed at home mostly, but went to work later in life because my dad’s income wasn’t enough any more. They groomed me for university, wanting better things for me, and later I came to Parliament. I’m here to represent all those people who came from the same place I did – the working class.

“What’s your program going to mean to them? What are the knock-on effects going to be for the working man?”

The King smiled at Essex. “I am extremely glad you asked me that. If the ordinary person wants to talk to his government right now, what does he do?”

“Well, he’d probably write a letter to his MP,” Essex said.

“And what happens then? No, don’t answer. I’ll tell you. Generally, a form letter comes back stating what the Minister’s official policy is on that issue, and thanking the member of the public for contacting him. But nothing changes.”

“Yes it does. We read the letters, we take them into consideration, and we make policy decisions accordingly.”

The King leaned forward, touched a finger to the side of his nose, and winked. “Of course you do. And a fine job you do as well.

“But now imagine it my way. A concerned citizen applies for an audience with his King. The King listens to him, agrees with him, and makes a decree. The thing is implemented. It is done. No red tape, no bureaucracy.”

Essex scowled. “But that can’t possibly work! The whole point of Parliament is to produce a forum for debate on things that affect the population. Remove that debate, remove the democratic process, and we’re left with nothing less than dictatorship!”

“In reality, Mr Essex,” the King said, “what scares you more is, if I’m dealing with policy matters it may eliminate the need for your – what is it the Americans say? – oh yes, your ‘phoney baloney jobs’.” He unsuccessfully suppressed a grin.

“That is not fair, Your Majesty.” Essex’s face was a mask of damaged pride. A murmur of laughter ran through the Chamber.

“Perhaps I exaggerate,” the King said with a grin. “Nevertheless, this system has survived so long because it encourages comfort and complacency.” He looked beyond Essex, his voice rising. “I am issuing a challenge, and Britain will respond.”