King Henry's Choice

by Emily-Jane Hills Orford

  Forty-One

  Stirling Castle, Year of Our Lord 1314

  “I have been expecting you, many great grandson of mine.” The man standing at the hearth waved Henry forward. “Come. Warm yourself by the fire. It has been a cold, damp day. But we did well. I had the support I needed, so thank those from the future. We are free of the English plague. For now.”

  “No need to thank those of the future,” Henry replied calmly as he made his way towards this great king. Robert the Bruce was a legendary figure in Scottish history. Henry would know him anywhere. It was fitting he should visit him now. On the night before his own great battle with the English. Well into the future. “They watch our every move.”

  Robert laughed. A deep, hearty laugh. “Aye and I am sure they do. I know I would if I had the means they have. What a wonderful world the future time. Would I could live long enough to see it.”

  “Oh. They have their problems, too.”

  Henry now stood close to his ancestor. What happened next was both sudden and unexpected. Robert set down the cup he was holding and pulled Henry into a warm embrace, patting him fondly on the back as if he were a long-lost friend. The fourteenth century king placed his hands on Henry’s shoulders, gripping firmly and holding him at arm’s length to study him further. Satisfied, he let go with a nod. “Yes,” he said. “You are my descendant.” He made his way to a sturdy, wooden chair, intricately carved, and sat down, waving Henry to do the same in the chair facing him.

  “We have much discuss,” Robert raised a cup. “Would you care for some cider?” Henry shook his head and watched the great king of old as he took a big mouthful and swallowed. Satisfied, he placed the cup on the table next to him and pondered his next words before speaking. “I understand you are the one who will carry my sword. Raised it many times, I have, against those scoundrels from the south. Glad to report that they all fled in many directions each time I raised it. Unfortunately, those English never give up. They just do not seem to understand. Scotland is ours. Not theirs.”

  “I have the sword.” Henry watched his ancestor intently. “It was held in safekeeping for centuries.”

  “Marie de Guise and her extensive French family.” Robert took another sip of cider, this time continuing to hold his cup with both hands as he pulled his lips together tightly as if to compress any remnants of the liquid into his mouth, not to be wasted. Noticing Henry’s raised eyebrow, he chuckled softly. “Yes, I have met the woman herself. As well as her granddaughter. Mary Elizabeth. A good queen in her time. She didn’t need the sword. But I fear you do.”

  Henry nodded. “It has some powers, I am led to believe. But possessing a more scientific mind, I am rather skeptical.”

  “Understandable.” Robert paused, garnering his thoughts before saying more. “We may have won the battle today, the battle of Bannockburn, as I believe they will call it in the future. But the war with our southern neighbors is far from over. And they have a new weapon at their beck and call, it would seem. A weapon of manpower and weapons the like we have never seen. At least not in my time. Perhaps not in yours either. You must wipe them out in the future, Henry. Wipe them out so they can’t interfere with our lives. Scotland wants to heal and prosper. And it will. In my time. In Mary Elizabeth’s time. And in your time. But it might not have a chance if these future powers take over the past, my present.”

  Henry nodded in both understanding and agreement. “What do I need to know about this sword?”

  Robert quickly downed the rest of the contents of his cup and placed it on the side table. He pushed himself from his seat and walked over to the table under the row of lead-pained windows. He picked up the sword. His sword. The same one Henry had strapped to his side. Only Henry’s was centuries older. Robert pulled the sword from its scabbard and faced Henry.

  Holding it up high, in front of his face, he studied the weapon from its sharp tip to the pommel at the opposite end of the grip. “Magnificent. Isn’t it?” He glanced across to Henry who had also stood up, pulling his sword, Robert’s sword, from the scabbard and held it before him, mimicking his ancestor’s pose. “I see you have my sword,” Robert exclaimed. “It’s showing its age, but still as magnificent as ever. Don’t you agree?” Henry nodded. “Shall we?” Without waiting, Robert allowed his sword to lie forward as the man who gripped it, commanded, “On guard.”

  It was as if the sword had a mind of its own. Henry felt his arm being pulled and tugged in every direction as he warded off blow after blow. His opponent’s sword copied, mimicked. As it should, since it was one and the same sword.

  “You cannot lose with this sword in your hand, Henry,” Robert called out as the two continued to parry. “It has a mind and a power of its own. Believe in it. But never let it go. Never allow anyone else to handle it at any time. The power is within you and within the sword. You are now connected to each other.” He was still talking but the sound of his voice was fading. As was Henry. “Believe, Henry. For now and forever. Believe.”

  Forty-Two

  Buckingham Palace, London, Year of Our Lord 2445

  “Father,” Edward whispered as the two time travelers hovered in a dark corner, waiting Cecil’s signal. “If we manage to destroy all the implants, how do we return to our time? And, how can we be sure someone else won’t invent something similar and use it for their evil purposes?”

  Henry wondered the same thing, but he had no answers for his son. His mind was focussed only on the current task at hand. “You’ll have to ask Cecil, son.” He couldn’t think of any other way to respond.

  Cecil’s return, with a stern shush warning, prevented further discussion. “The grandmothers are ensconced at the far end of the hall. They’ll stay hidden until our signal.” The man spoke in barely more than a whisper. His instructions were unnecessary as they had already gone over the plans in great detail. Many times.

  Cecil would lead Henry and Cecil into the audience chamber, or what had been the audience chamber on the main floor of the grand palace. The men were hidden around the corner off the Marble Hall staircase; the women in a staircase at the opposite end of the hall. The women’s job was to prevent others from accessing the floor around the audience chamber once the action started. They would also set off some explosives at random locations throughout the main floor to divert attention from the main attack in the audience chamber, the English ground zero of time travel.

  Cecil had explained how the audience chamber, complete with its fine furnishings, including the concert grand piano, had long since been cleared away to facilitate the production and monitoring of the time travelers. It was in effect their war room, the place where they planned all military exercises throughout time. Cecil would use his handheld implant monitor to adjust their body chemistry and make them invisible, until such time as they were in the room and able to disable much of the system. Once the women received the ‘all clear’ signal and they had set off the diverting explosives, they would make their way down into the lower regions of the palace where the English soldiers were implanted and trained. The queens had special devices, developed by Cecil, to disengage every implant which had been installed and destroy the implants waiting to be inserted. They knew the English soldiers currently in the implant region were already sedated. Cecil had managed to secure the necessary intel to time this operation at a crucial point in the implanting of new soldiers.

  The Scottish warriors of the past and present each had their weapons of choice, as well as the weapons of the century, designed by none other than Cecil.

  “Ready?” Cecil asked. Henry and Edward nodded in unison. They were the only ones forging this part of the battle. They were the only ones with the capabilities of becoming invisible and wreaking the most havoc. “Let’s do it, then. Buckingham Palace will never be the same once we’re done.” He fiddled with a device on his wrist, then paused briefly to add, “Don’t forget to follow our plan completely. Once I press this button, we shall be invisible. Completely. Even to ourselves.
” He tapped the button and whispered the final command, “Let’s go.”

  Henry glanced around him. He couldn’t see his son. He couldn’t see Cecil. He couldn’t hear them, other than a faint whisper of a breath here and there. Even their footsteps were muffled, as Cecil had insisted they wear cloth coverings on their shoes. He didn’t want them running around in sock feet, in case they had to make a speedy exit through the gardens. It wouldn’t do the feet any good to be battered and bruised by stones and other sharp objects piercing through the socks. He had provided what he called surgical booties to cover the shoes and muffle the sound. As long as they didn’t move quickly and stomp their feet, the muffling worked like a charm. Should a fast escape be required, the friction of fast-moving feet on the ground was enough to rip off the booties.

  A door whooshed open and someone stepped out. Before it could close, Henry slid into the audience chamber, a.k.a. the war room. He assumed the others had done likewise. He moved around the room to get into position, being careful not to jostle the men and women at the consoles and other equipment which beeped and projected images from across the time warp. It was much like the setup at Holyrood House.

  A loud clang interrupted his progress. The workers froze in place, awaiting instructions. “System breech. System breech.” A voice screeched through the air, barely louder than the clang. It was the signal, but Henry had to scurry to assume his assigned position. He wasn’t ready for what happened next. Arrows flew from the far end of the room. Edward was in position. He was shooting his arrows with accurate precision. While he remained invisible, the trajectory of arrows did not.

  “Ouch!”

  “Hey!”

  People dropped to the floor. Some moved, wrenched in pain. Others did not as their life blood poured out of the hole created by the arrow. Cecil had managed to install some technological wizardry into Edward’s arrows. The affect was devastating to watch. Henry counted. He knew how many arrows were in his son’s arsenal. Twenty-four. It was the maximum a quiver could hold economically, allowing for ease in quick removal once the battle commenced.

  The last arrow flew, felled a man at Henry’s feet. The man continued to squirm. Henry raised his sword and put the victim out of his misery with one swift stroke. The sword glistened in the king’s hand, but whether it was visible to others was a mystery. He swung again, claiming another victim.

  “I have what we need,” Henry heard Cecil’s whisper. He pivoted away from the sound of the man’s voice and swung his sword again, taking down another English technician. There were women in the room. He avoided them. He couldn’t abide violence of any type against women. It was too much to expect him to raise a sword against a woman. His weapon obviously had a mind of its own. Good thing, too. As the king moved around, a woman held a weapon directed at him. Was he suddenly visible? It didn’t matter. He had to do something. Fast. The sword took action, pulling Henry’s arm up and slashing down, severing the hand bearing the threatened weapon.

  The woman screamed. Henry resisted the urge to go to her rescue. To be a knight in shining armor. Another scream had diverted his attention. It was his son. “Edward.” He moved towards the sound of the scream, the place where his son had been instructed to stand, from whence the arrows had flown.

  “Father.”

  More people were flooding into the room. Weapons were being fired in every direction, seeking to claim the source of the invasion. Edward had lost his invisibility. He lay crumbled on the floor, blood oozing out of his chest where one of the modern weapons had found its target.

  Henry moved closer, but he couldn’t reach his son. The sword was swishing in every direction, carving a path of destruction. A sharp pain grazed his shoulder. He’d been shot. The impact would remove his ability to remain invisible.

  “Take the boy,” Cecil yelled from the other side of the room. “I have what we need. All is set.”

  He didn’t have to explain further.

  “Grab them!” An English voice shouted orders. “Don’t let them escape. Block the travel device.”

  “It’s not working, Sir,” someone answered. Henry watched as a woman worked at a console across the long table. “It’s been blocked, Sir.” She glanced at the door where armed men and women continued to pour in. The woman shrieked and crumbled to the floor. Cecil had taken her down. His invisibility had also been compromised. Blood oozed from a wound to the arm. He quickly plugged something into the console, typed frantically, then stepped back and vanished. Henry didn’t understand what Cecil had just done. All the instructions earlier about viruses and explosive devices was beyond his comprehension. His idea of explosives was a canon ball ejected from a canon. None of those were in use this day.

  He didn’t pause to think as he pushed his way through the remaining obstacles in his path and grabbed Edward. “Think of Stirling, son,” he whispered and the two vanished as the room exploded in a plume of smoke and noise.

  Forty-Three

  Stirling Castle, May 1st, Year of Our Lord 1873

  Henry watched as Edward opened his eyes slowly. Cecil had been and left, doing all he could to save the lad. The damage was too grave. There was nothing to do but wait for the final breath. Henry had not left his son’s side since their return.

  “Did it work?” Edward whispered in a breath, sounding choked, strangled.

  “We did it, son.” Henry nodded, forcing a smile through the wet cheeks where tears had streamed down unchecked. “The English scourge of the future has dissipated. We are safe. For now.”

  “For now and forever,” Edward returned his father’s smile. It was a weak smile, one filled with a wide myriad of emotions ranging from pain to sadness to joy. He gasped, his breathing becoming more raged. “Marry again, Father. Marry a Scottish lass. And call your first-born Robert.”

  “Even if it’s a girl?” Henry tried to sound lighthearted in his banter, but it was hard. He felt his heart wrenching into a thousand pieces as he sat by his son, watching him die slowly.

  “Then call her Robyn,” Edward bantered back, his voice barely audible. His breathing slowed. His hand, held tenderly by his father went limp. And he exhaled his last breath.

  “No!” Henry sobbed, gathering the lifeless boy in his arms and hugging him tight. “No!”

  He lost track of time. How long he knelt beside his son, cradling the boy’s head in his arms, he didn’t know. A knock on the door startled him from his mourning. He straightened himself, allowing Edward’s head to rest once more on the pillow. He wiped the tear-stained cheeks and stood up slowly, making his way to the end of the bed, pulling the canopy drapes down as he circumnavigated the bed. He wasn’t sure who was on the other side of the door, but he didn’t want an audience to his son’s passing. Not yet. Perhaps never.

  Satisfied all was concealed, he cleared his throat and uttered a firm, “Enter.”

  George, his trusted confidante, best friend and man of all tasks, entered. “Your Majesty. I see you are up. Perhaps you would care to freshen up and change into something more formal. Queen Victoria and her son, the Prince of Wales, have arrived.”

  Henry was startled, a little confused. He rubbed his head. What had Cecil said when they returned? Something about returning before. Before what? And where? The same place? No. Something didn’t add up. These chambers were at Stirling Castle. The last visit from Queen Victoria was at Holyrood House. Could this be an earlier visit?

  “Along with the Princess Isabel,” George added.

  Yes, it was before the fateful last visit. Well before. It was the meeting with Isabel and the proposal which changed his life forever. Or had it changed it forever? Here he was being given a second chance. Would he make the same mistakes again? He rubbed his forehead with greater ferocity.

  “Your Majesty.” It was his attendant and sometimes friend. The man’s voice was shadowed with concern.

  “It’s all right, George. Just a little headache. Give me a few minutes, then send in my valet.”

  “Very goo
d, Your Majesty. I’ll order some fresh tea, shall I?” He lifted his head towards the neglected tray of tea and sandwiches. When had it appeared?

  “Yes. Take it away. Some fresh tea and toast would be fine. Make sure my royal cousins are shown to their chambers and have everything they need. I shall meet with them shortly.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” George bowed, picked up the tray and exited the room, allowing the footman at the door to close it behind him.

  Henry was alone again. “You weren’t listening.” He jumped at the sound of Cecil’s voice.

  Turning, he nodded towards the bed. “He’s gone. My son is dead.”

  “Yes. He died a hero. Just as he wanted.” Cecil made his way towards the king. “Now you have work to do in your time.”

  “Which is what?”

  “May 1873.”

  “When I first meet Isabel and agreed to marry her. So, you really did mean ‘before’. What has happened?”

  “You returned to before Edward’s birth, to a time when you could choose. Your clan chiefs, childhood friends, are all here, including Ian MacGregor’s younger sister, Elizabeth, so named in honor of your mother, also Elizabeth. You always favored her growing up. But you were thwarted by the English queen, manipulated by your mother, and enticed by Isabel’s fake charms. Now you know better. Now you can make a better choice.”

  “Elizabeth. Yes, I should marry her, shouldn’t I?”

  “It’s your choice. But make it fast. My queen is restless. She has done her part, obliterating the implant and time travel program for all time. At your request. Or should I say command? Now, if you don’t marry soon and produce an heir, she will no longer exist in my time.”

  Henry nodded. “Understood.” He slapped Cecil fondly on the shoulders. “I suppose it means you don’t exist either?”

  Cecil nodded. “No. I wouldn’t. And the English would have their way once again.”