He isn’t sure what the King wants and in truth most of the time it is other people wanting things from the King and not the other way around. He follows the stewards through the house, though he knows the way to the study well enough.
‘Good to see you,’ says the King, as though he does not see him most days. ‘Care to sit?’
Tea is brought for them. For a while they sit with the screen door open to the garden, listening to the wind chimes tinkle in the breeze, and watching the ladies of the house as they watch the children play in the small forest of flowers and ferns around the lawn.
‘There was a time I could watch all this without thinking that one wrong choice will cost me all of it.’
‘I think we’re never far away from losing it all,’ he says. ‘Even in times of peace. At least now our enemies put up banners for us to see them. Most of the time they skulk about in your own house and smile and bow and say kind words to your lady and plays with your children.’
The King nods slowly. ‘What you lack in gentleness, you were given back tenfold in bluntness.’
‘You have plenty of gentlefolk around you.’
‘Hm,’ says the King. ‘Too many, perhaps. You yourself are becoming one of them.’
He thinks about that, watching the sun scatter across the waters of the fish pond. The King says it as a joke but they both know otherwise. ‘Not sure I’ll ever be one of them.’
‘No,’ says the King, sobering. ‘I’m not sure you can. I’m not even sure I can go back to,’ he gestures at the garden, ‘this.’ He seems pained by that. As if all he wants is to walk out that door, but in doing so he’ll tear the fabric of the scene all together. People like them have to dwell in the shadows to see the sun.
The King reaches into the desk and brings out a heavy lockbox. ‘I…’
He leans back in his chair, away from the box. He shakes his head.
‘I am sorry,’ the King says. ‘I’m sorry I have to ask.’
‘You’re not asking,’ he says. ‘You’re commanding.’
‘You know I wouldn’t if I had any other choice,’ says the King, opening each of the three locks with separate keys.
‘Is that what you tell yourself?’
‘Yes,’ says the King, hardly a whisper. ‘Yes it is. I must.’ The King opens the box and turns it to face him.
He meets the King’s gaze.
‘We are losing,’ says the King. ‘Every day we cede more ground. More farms. Commonfolk flood the cities en masse. Soon the famine will start. The riots. The raids. Countless deaths before our enemy even sets foot near our cities. You know it as well as I. We have seen it all before.’
He sighs. Then he reaches across the desk and with a finger parts some of the folded cloth that sits bunched in the box.
One half of a red mask is revealed.
‘You know once this goes on,’ he says, ‘there is no way to know when it will come off.’
‘I know,’ says the King, tears welling in his old eyes.
‘There is no way to know what I might do.’
‘I know it,’ says the King, turning his tearful gaze to the garden. ‘I know.’
‘And yet,’ he says, picking up the mask, ‘You’ll have me do it anyway.’
Paddy Dobson
3rd July 2021