Avalon: The Return of King Arthur

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  “The point is, give a child a good, solid foundation on which to build — that is, a mind that can think, a heart that can feel, a conscience that knows right from wrong — and there is no limit to what that individual can do in life.”

  James leaned back, trying to control his breathing. Wrapped up in his argument, he was in danger of hyperventilating. Trent reacted by adopting a patronizing smile, augmented by the slightest shake of his head in dismissal. “You make it sound almost utopian,” he said, as if the word were self-evidently damning.

  “Perhaps,” James allowed, feeling his blood warm to the cut and thrust of argument, “someone deprived of the simple benefits I have described might seek to discount them out of ignorance, envy, or spite. Nevertheless, this great country of ours has worked very hard for a very long time to make precisely these things possible for its citizens. Call it utopian if you like, but there are millions of people who, like myself, were raised in just this way and have moved on to lives as secure, happy, productive citizens.”

  “All the same,” refuted Trent, “these millions of otherwise well-adjusted citizens are not asking anyone to accept them as reigning monarchs.”

  “I believe it comes down to leadership in the end,” James replied. “Leadership, as my old sergeant used to say, is not so much where you come from but where you’re going. Character, in other words, not circumstance. As King, I ask no one to accept me by the circumstances of my birth. I ask only to be judged by the quality and integrity of my character.”

  Jonathan Trent pursed his lips and glanced down at the notebook in his lap. James could not tell whether he had scored any direct hits with that answer, but the adrenaline was flowing now; he could feel the buzz of conflict, and was eager to meet it. Bring it on, Trent, he thought. Show me what you’ve got.

  “Setting questions of integrity aside for the moment,” Trent said, nicely parrying James’ attack, “you must read the papers. You must realize that in less than five weeks’ time this nation will go to the ballot box in a referendum vote to abolish Britain’s monarchy forever. That is to say, in a few weeks you will be out of a job. What are your feelings about this?”

  James smiled; this question had been foreseen. “As an army officer, one of my first assignments was to the British contingent of the UN Peacekeeping Force in Afghanistan, where I led a company of young soldiers just like myself. One night, after patrol, about eight of us were sitting around the fire, talking. Several of the men had reached the end of their tour of duty and were due to head home in a few days’ time; they were telling us all the things they were going to do the minute they got back.

  “One of these soldiers, a Glaswegian called Gus, announced, ‘I’m going to buy my girl an engagement ring and ask her to marry me.’ The words were scarcely out of his mouth when there came a whir in the air. Someone shouted, ‘Mortar!’ and we all hit the dirt. The shell exploded right where we were standing.

  “When the smoke cleared there were only three of us left. Five young men were blown to bloody bits, and I found myself lying next to Gus, who had lost his right arm and most of his chest.”

  Trent regarded James with sympathetic dispassion, his professional cool very much in place; he gave away nothing.

  “That night I learned the true nature of existence,” James explained. “Life is fragile, and it is short. None of us knows what the next moment will bring — let alone the next five weeks. I could go under a bus tomorrow, and that would be that.

  “The point is, I can’t say whether I will be King after the referendum. All I know is that I am King now, at this moment. And while I have this moment, I intend to be the very best monarch I can. I intend to reign to the best of my ability — whether that reign is five hours, five weeks, or fifty years.”

  Trent pressed his lips together and nodded appreciatively. “Clearly, you seem to believe there is a place for a king in a modern democracy. But, truthfully, isn’t the monarchy a dead institution — an outmoded throwback to an era best forgotten?”

  “I used to think so,” James confessed. “Like most people in this country, I heard that opinion expressed so often that I swallowed it without ever thinking about it. But recently I have been forced to come to grips with what sovereignty means — and, more important, what it must mean for our country.”

  “In other words,” Trent broke in, “you have discovered some benefits for yourself in what is a uniquely lucrative and prestigious position.”

  “That is a glib assumption — which, I might add, the media work very hard to promote for their own purposes.” James stated. “The truth is, when one begins to understand it properly, the first thing one realizes is that kingship is very costly.”

  “Come now,” goaded Trent, smiling smugly, “you have to admit the perks aren’t so bad. I mean, here you are, plucked from obscurity and presented with a millionaire lifestyle overnight. You’re fêted by the nation at the taxpayers’ expense, and given the best of everything wherever you go. How can you call any of that costly?”

  “Again, you assume too much,” James told him. “While it is true I was plucked from obscurity, as you say, I have gained nothing at the taxpayers’ expense — not so much as a bus pass, in fact. Nor am I presented with the best of everything; wherever I go, I pay my own way. But that is not the cost I had in mind. I was thinking more of the personal cost — the physical, emotional, and spiritual cost, if you will.”

  “Very well, let’s talk about that then,” Trent agreed, implying James had somehow fallen into his trap. “For decades, the throne of Britain has been sunk in decadence and moral decay. For decades, a lengthy succession of uninterested, if not dissolute, monarchs have presided over a period in our nation’s history in which our international standing has steadily diminished, our social problems have increased, and our country flounders from crisis to crisis without purpose.

  “All the while, the party in power has labored to run this country in the guise of His or Her Majesty’s Government, subjected to royal oversight, seeking the sovereign’s wisdom in dealing with the problems besetting the country. Prime ministers have come and gone, governments likewise; the one constant in the equation is the monarchy — often said to provide a valuable continuity which protects the nation from the violent swings in political trends other countries must endure.”

  He stared at James as if daring him to disagree, then said, “I would suggest, however, that whatever encouragement, advice, or opinions the monarch has shared with his governmental servants, the nation’s problems have not diminished but have, in fact, grown steadily worse. It appears that the much heralded ‘continuity’ supplied by this insanely conceited institution is, when all is said and done, merely the continuity of British decline.

  “The very best that can be said about the modern monarchy is that it is, and has been for a very long time, ineffectual and irrelevant to the difficulties this nation faces in the modern world. As an institution, it is intractable to change, secretive, and self-serving.” Trent, in full sail now, delivered his well-prepared salvo. “You may accuse me of glib assumptions, but the royal establishment has consistently provided the nation its worst examples of idle privilege and neglected responsibility. In fact, you could say it is remarkable the nation has put up with the vile, extravagant waste for so long. For generations, the royals have squandered not only the wealth and substance of the nation but also the goodwill of their subjects.

  “In short, the monarchy has become a gross and offensive anachronism — a costly fossil of medieval feudalism — which will no longer be supported by a much-deceived and deluded population. Britain demands accountability and competence of its leaders. There is simply no room in a modern democracy for a system based on unmerited privilege and false class distinction.”

  “Mr. Trent,” James replied, “was there a question in that diatribe?”

  Not waiting for an answer, James continued, “You have made some serious indictments, and I am sure many viewers will agree with your s
entiments. Once, I might have even said such things myself. But your logic is flawed and your conclusions are false.”

  Trent made no reply, merely inclined his head in an invitation to elaborate.

  “You call the monarchy ineffectual,” James began, feeling the clarity sharpen. He felt unassailable. Invincible. “You write it off as an irrelevancy — yet, you still wish to hold it to blame for the ills of the nation. Tell me, then, which is it?”

  “I’m not sure I follow.” Trent’s attempt to deflect the blow he sensed coming was misjudged.

  “It is perfectly simple,” James replied. “If the monarchy is irrelevant, then by definition it can have no real influence on the affairs of the day. It seems to me, you condemn the reigning monarch for his lack of influence, while at the same time refusing to allow him any relevant rôle by which he could conceivably effect meaningful change. Thus, you make the monarchy the cause of the problem, yet deny it any part in the solution.”

  Trent tried to blunt the counterattack with an objection, but James cut him off.

  “I’m not finished,” James said. “You contend that the monarch has watched a lengthy succession of prime ministers and governments come and go while the nation’s difficulties have worsened. I would like to point out that each successive government has steadily, relentlessly stripped the monarchy of its powers, at the same time removing itself from any sort of meaningful accountability to the sovereign and gathering more authority unto itself.

  “If, as you suggest, the nation’s troubles have drifted from bad to worse, should not some liability lie with the government ministers — men and women whose sole responsibility it is to deal with the nation’s problems?

  “Yet, of the two parties mentioned, you heap the blame for our problems on those powerless to act — monarchs past and present — while absolving from all guilt those who possess not only the power but also the obligation, duty, responsibility, and wherewithal to heal our land.

  “Now, I ask you, Mr. Trent, is this fair? Is it even logical? I mean, you hold to public ridicule the monarch, whose sole approach to matters of state is advisory and ceremonial, and exonerate the Prime Minister and his government. Who, I ask you, is running Britain? Who is in charge? Is it not the democratically elected members of Parliament and the Prime Minister — the very people who, with the entire machinery of government at their command, are uniquely placed to find and offer solutions to the problems besetting the nation?”

  James was in full command now; the words seemed to come of themselves. Each singing stroke was effortless and precise. He regarded his adversary across the divide and said, “Let’s not relegate the monarchy to the sidelines, deny it any vital part in the ongoing battle, and then fault it for losing the war. Not only is that manifestly unfair, it is willfully prejudiced.”

  Trent was ruffling the pages of his notebook, hoping to break James’ concentration so he could jump in. But James saw the trick for what it was, and swept it aside.

  “You say the monarchy is self-serving. Then what, I wonder, do you call a government which is comprehensively seen to be devoting more and more of its vital energies to sabotaging its opponents and getting itself re-elected, rather than finding a way out of the morass of our common plight?

  “You say the monarchy is secretive. When, I wonder, was the last time the Prime Minister allowed a camera crew into Number Ten on Christmas Day, or any other day? When did the Government ever allow a journalist to report on the proceedings of a cabinet meeting? Is it not also the case that the rivalry and jealousy between the various departments of government have reached such proportions that leaking documents is no longer a cause for scandal, but instead has become a practical and useful means of communicating information which allows the source to undermine opponents while remaining anonymous? What is that, if not self-serving secrecy in action?

  “You berate Britain’s monarchy for its incompetence, but where, in all fairness, is its sphere of influence to be found? The monarch is everywhere circumscribed by convention, his powers curtailed, his voice silenced. Denied a worthwhile public rôle — and a voice — is it any wonder the monarchy is deemed anachronistic? It seems to me you confuse incompetence on the part of the monarchy with simple indifference on the part of the public.

  “Despite the hopelessness of his condition, the monarch must never complain. He must at all times display a humility which can only be described as servile. He must at all times uphold the traditional functions of his position, but he is never allowed a say in the shaping of the country of which he is the titular head. He must at all times provide an impeccable example to the nation, exemplifying all virtues, yet he is never allowed to make the slightest moral demand on those who wield authority in his name. He must at all times receive the opinions of his subjects, but heaven forbid he should express an original view of his own!”

  “We seem to have struck a nerve, Your Highness,” Trent remarked, smiling weakly. The blood on the carpet was his.

  “I have given these things a great deal of thought in the last few weeks,” James replied evenly. Having beaten his erstwhile adversary, it was time to begin the reconciliation. “As I say, there was a time, not too long ago, when I would have articulated the same accusations you have made today. Since assuming the crown, however, I have been forced to look at kingship in a completely new way.”

  “Any conclusions you’d like to share with us?” For the first time since the interview began, Trent appeared genuinely interested in what James might say.

  “I think it is true that Britain has been disappointed in the monarchy for a long time. I have been asking myself why. Why have we been so disappointed?

  “For, if the King is merely a remnant of a vanished time — a medieval fossil” — James acknowledged Trent’s assertion — “who serves no worthwhile function or purpose, a living relic whose usefulness ceased many centuries ago, then why do we still care?”

  He allowed the question to hang for a moment. “In my experience, we human beings care only about those things that matter to us, the things we value. And when something or someone we care about lets us down, it is only natural to feel disappointed.

  “In thinking about this, I have come to the conclusion that we are disappointed in our monarchy, because we still care very much about it. And because we care, we expect something of it. But why? If it is true that the King is only a self-serving and incompetent figurehead, where does this expectation of something better arise? It makes no sense — neither the disappointment nor the expectation make any sense at all — unless…” He leaned towards Trent slightly to draw him to his side. Out of the corner of his eye, James saw the camera glide in closer, too.

  “Unless,” he repeated, lowering his voice slightly, “unless all the allegations and accusations are a tissue of lies.”

  “Lies?” wondered Trent, intrigued.

  “Damned lies,” James confirmed. “Our discouragement, our dissatisfaction, our disillusionment make no sense unless there is in reality something at work behind the scenes — a truth, if you will, which has been too long denied.”

  “And what might that truth be?” asked Trent, now the dutiful straight man.

  “The truth is, despite all evidence to the contrary, the monarchy does matter, the monarchy has a valuable service to perform for the nation; there are forces at work in the world which are ordained by God and which people may thwart, or disregard for a time, but which will not be denied forever. True sovereignty is just such a force, and when the monarchy is conjoined in a True King, then Britain will be exalted once again.

  “You see, Mr. Trent, I believe that Britain has always had a special part to play in the world. For far too long we have been unable, for one reason or another, to play our part, and that has been deeply discouraging to us. But today, here and now on this Christmas Day, we begin to recover our heritage, to resume our rightful place. To do that, we need a king — a prime minister cannot do it, a president cannot do it. We need someone who
is not only above but also beyond the mundane concerns of party politics, yet who embodies in his person the best hopes and aspirations of the nation and its people, someone before whom all the citizens are deemed equal and equally accountable. In short, we need a monarch.

  “Not just any monarch,” James hastened to add. “We do not need another Ready Teddy or another smiling, aloof, and ineffectual figurehead. We need a True Sovereign — a king who will sacrifice and serve, and wield power on behalf of his people.”

  Julie, the assistant producer, moved to the fore; waving her hands for attention, she held up three fingers.

  “That is why,” James continued, “I am determined that the monarchy of this nation will not be allowed to disappear without a fight. First thing after the New Year’s holiday, I am taking my message directly to the people.”

  Trent appeared delighted to have received this scoop. “A campaign for King, Your Highness?”

  “Call it what you will,” replied James.

  “No doubt we will be hearing more about this in the days to come. Unfortunately, our time is up,” said Trent reluctantly, and managed to convey genuine regret in his tone. “We must leave it there for now.” He hesitated. “However, I cannot conclude this interview without asking you just one more question.”

  Julie, waving two fingers, began frantically shaking her head.