Yes it was me the trusted advisor. Yes I was going to bring down this monarchy from the inside. It was time, after all. History wasn’t on their side anymore. The old man had been a very benign ruler, respected for over forty years despite his numerous vices. At his funeral, I paid sincere respect to him. I paid tribute at his grave, kneeling down before the massive mortuary and saying solemn prayers. Now I walked the halls of this castle impatiently. I knew the boy wasn’t for this country. Everyone inside knew it too.
Maybe in years past, when harvests were plentiful and fields of wheat could be seen for miles- maybe then William III could have ascended this throne with my consent. But not now. Devastating harvests had caused bouts of great famine and anxiety grew about raids from other lands affected by the blight and poor rainfall. Farmers were worried that the Trelthians might again invade to take disputed territories as they had done early in the reign of William II. If word got out that there was a weak young king on the throne, might they then seize the moment? Merchants also worried about the higher taxes that might come with a Trelthian invasion. The elite fretted about loss of their titles and prestige if Trelthian aristocrats dared a bold land grab. Overall, the general population was weary of war and famine, plague and hardship. They had savored the last decade of peace and relative prosperity and I dared say that they would be loathe to tolerate a monarch who would return them to those dark times when brother could not trust brother.
In the early afternoons I would meet with William III, advising him of issues affecting his reign and policies to consider. But it was all a show, I only told him of things that would not affect my own plot to dethrone him. In short measure, I kept his dim-witted mind in the dark while I slowly built my power base and consolidated allies among the knights and other aristocrats. I might tell William of a grain famine in our northeast for example, but only long after the fact. Long after I had already dispatched orders to my friends in that territory on how to handle it. And William was too lazy or too boorish to ask someone else for his news. Yes, it was usually me he asked. Me, who had fought in on the front lines in all the great wars of this country. Me, the man who had the ear of William II and engineered his greatest policies and achievements. Me, the only man who William III had always seen at his father’s behest all through his childhood and adolescence. After all, it was always me that his father turned to when he was indecisive or anxious about a disloyal knight or rebellious province.
Always during those years I saw him grow to be quite a spoiled child. Constantly at his mother’s side- well groomed and pampered. The best education was granted to him, all the priviledges of aristocracy and all the wealth he desired. His military record was poor, a few lackluster assignments to remote areas and no experience with combat. During years of war, he was off consorting with beautiful maidens of the kingdom or indulging in wild sporting events. While I was rushing through the castle to deal with rebellions or the capture of traitors he would be hosting grand banquets. Tables would be full of venison and the finest ham. Goblets were filled to the brim with red wine. Musicians would create such a ruckus that many a time I was sent to end their soiree. He was never on record much disciplined by his preoccupied father nor was his doting mother ever to lay a hand on his precious head. Now this ungrateful braggart and vile offspring was the lone regent of a land tottering on destruction.
His demise is long in the making but my coup will be swift. On the 30th of the following month, while the kingdom sleeps, my allies from all the provinces of our great kingdom will move into the king’s tower and replace his war cabinet and parliament. As he sleeps, I will personally slit his throat and have the new cabinet proclaim me the King of Lymont.
KING WILLIAM III
After the smiles and jokes told at the state dinner, King William III retired back to his opulent chambers. Unlike other nights past, there were no statuesque beauties to be found in his bedchamber nor any hallucinogens of sorts. As sobriety came upon him, he pondered the meaning of his reign and what would be his place in history. Surely like monarchs before him, he was despised by many, maybe loved by some, irrelevant to the everyday lives of the majority. It was lonely by himself now. His father had prepped him for this role his whole life but no one can really school you in positions of great responsibility. In trying times, monarchs are tested severely. They are forced to be shrewd or perish into the yellowing pages of texts buried in remote monasteries. Those who can’t guide their kingdoms to survival become mere footnotes in the chronicles of the great kings, maybe mentioned among those who were dethroned to make for more effective rulers.
As he sat on the eloquently carved rocking chair that had once been a gift to his father, he wondered aloud about the problems facing his nation. He knew of the onset of a great blight in the southern provinces and of mounting tensions in border regions with Lymont’s neighbors. There was also the matter of the great debt that had accumulated from the successful wars his father had fought in years past. Now the creditors, many of them knights of the kingdom, were calling on the heir apparent to repay them in full. But how to repay them when taxes were diminishing, harvests failing and military costs still high? William could hear the ticking of the clock’s hands as he sat in his candle-lit room.
At once, there was a knock on his battened door.
“William! William! Open the door! Please… it’s Norman!”
William immediately recognized the voice at the door as that of his younger brother Norman. William beckoned the armed guards to open it and let him in.
As the door opened, Norman streamed in anxiously. “William, I must tell you immediately…” He put his hands on his knees as he struggled to catch his breath.
“What is it Norman? What is the matter?” asked William with some agitation.
“William… it is Malcolm. He is plotting against our reign. He plans to execute a coup next month and murder you in your sleep. He, he…”
“Stop right there Norman,” William said. “Malcolm? Are you sure? That man has served our family for decades, he was my father’s most trusted adviser.”
“It is very true William, unfortunately. I had long suspected he meant to usurp your power and I bribed a knight believed to be in his company to divulge what he knew. Malcolm and much of our aristocracy seem to share the belief that you are not competent enough to handle affairs of the state and especially the coming crises that we face in the near future.” Norman’s eyes were wide open and on the verge of tears as he spoke. In the next few moments he told of the details of the plot as he had learned of them from the snitch in Malcolm’s camp. Norman told of how William had incurred the disrespect of much of the aristocracy and knighthood through his partying and lack of accomplishments.
William now just sat silently and rocked in his chair. He didn’t even look at his brother. The only noise that could be heard was the gusts of wind outside and the sound of the chair rocking against the stone floor. William had grown to believe that his high birth was a gift from God to him. It had brought him unlimited wealth and prestige. He had always enjoyed hosting large banquets where him and his friends would drink wine until sunrise and sleep on days where most of their people toiled hard in the fields. Now his high birth seemed like a gift from Satan himself. Now he felt cursed, he felt unfortunate. He got up from his rocking chair and walked to a window in his room.
“Norman, that man who works in the fields, who grows just enough to sustain himself, I envy him. Why was I not born like him? You know, there are millions like him but only a few like me. A few who were born into this life.” William sighed. All of a sudden, at twenty-two years of age, he felt very old.
Norman returned to the issue at hand. “William, we must act now against this traitor. The kingdom belongs to us, legally. We are its rightful owners. Malcolm will take that all away from us. He means to kill you and maybe the rest of the family as well. We can have him captured, placed on trial and executed immediately. It is for you to order.”
William stared at Norman as he spoke. For a while he wondered whether Norman might be a traitor as well. Maybe he was in on Malcolm’s plot, maybe there was no plot, maybe Norman was jealous of his powers and wanted to overthrow him. But he banished the thought.
William then spoke as he looked out through the window at his land: “So my country has turned against me. That is what it is. They think Malcolm is better suited to guide them. And I suppose their dealings with me and him has taught them that Malcolm is the rightful king and my lifetime of priveledge has me seem inadequate. Perhaps, even if I try Malcolm, my reign is doomed.”
“I will leave you to think of these matters, but just remember that you will see Malcolm at your cabinet meeting tomorrow.” And with that, Norman left the room.
William continued to stare out the window onto the land he had only reigned over for ten months. Random memories of Malcolm ran through his mind. There he was tutoring him in mathematics and reading, there he was running through the chambers of the tower when enemy forces were literally at the gates. There he was at his father’s funeral, putting flowers on the coffin. Now up on the top floor in the same tower his father had occupied only a short time ago William felt the weight of the world on his shoulders. He knew not where to begin. Where to gain the trust of his kingdom. How could he bring himself to jail such a respected and beloved figure as Malcolm? This man who had been like a member of his own family. The next page in the book of William III was yet to be written.
