VIII

him on the floor stand rows of chests, strapped and locked. Before him on the table sit bunches of keys, alongside neat sheaves of papers, ledger books in meticulously squared-off stacks, and small chests with neatly ordered drawers of whetstones and penknives, quills and small silver pots of ink.
    I am standing stiffly before the desk, like a soldier reporting to his commanding officer. I say, “Not just a game, sir. My ambition, when I am king, is to reclaim the French crown. The conquests of Henry V—”
    “Came to nothing!” interrupts my father, banging the desk with his hand. “Worse than nothing – disaster! Henry V’s military ambitions killed him – when his son and heir was still a baby. The result? France was lost. England descended into civil war.” He leans forward, looking at me intently. “Secure the succession or, no matter what your achievements, your legacy will be a catastrophe . This is why, incidentally,
    I don’t want you skewered on the sports field. Do you see?” He tilts his head and speaks slowly, as if explaining to an idiot. “I – am – securing – the – succession.”
    There’s a silence. A breeze stirs the red curtain. Tentatively, I say, “I feel sure there will be no disaster for me, sir. I am convinced…” I hesitate; I am loath to share this secret with my father.
    “Convinced of what?” he snaps, alert and motionless like a bird, his beady eyes fixed on me.
    I take a deep breath. “That I am destined to restore England’s glory, sir. And I believe this means winning back the French crown. I must be trained for battle—”
    A shout of laughter echoes round the room. “My God!” my father exclaims. “You don’t change, do you? My son: the thoughtless oaf with the terrifying sense of entitlement. Showy, too. You’ve always fancied yourself a hero, but you have no idea what it means.”
    “And you do ?” I snap. “Your heroics are ancient history. Look at you now! Permanently bent over your desk like a clerk! Obsessed with nothing but money!”
    There is a silence. I am panting, trembling. My father regards me coldly.
    He says, “I could have you flogged for what you’ve just said. I would like to – you deserve it. But… I will treat this little outburst as an opportunity for you to learn .” He rests back in his chair and opens his hands. “Why this scorn for administrative work? Is it not manly enough for you? Do you think that if you ride around on a horse, brandishing your sword, the country will somehow magically run itself? And that the money to pay for your conquering armies can be plucked from the trees like fruit?
    “What about taxation, trade, justice? What about the administration of estates, the security of our borders, feuds between families that have money and men enough to start a war on their own? You have spent all this time, as you say, faithfully performing every task I set . Were you asleep while you did it? Did you not notice that being a ‘clerk’ is how I exercise power ?” He opens his eyes wide, in mock-innocence. “If you think you know a better way, please share it with me.”
    I feel sick, but something in me knows I can’t turn back. I say, my voice quavering, “I believe England needs a lionhearted leader. Someone to dazzle the people – someone for them to look up to. Your tasks have taught me a great deal, but some of what I have seen I… I cannot think is for the best.” I daren’t look at my father: I’m shaking, and I have to focus my eyes on the wall above his head as I press on. “The noble families of England must be allowed their pride and honour, sir. They must exercise their rightful power as your loyal servants, not be bent constantly under the weight of debts, loaded with trumped-up fines they have done nothing to deserve. When… when I am king I will uphold true justice. I will reward courage and valour. I will pursue virtue, glory and immortality.” I come to a stop, feeling drained, and wait for the explosion.
    The explosion doesn’t come. When my father speaks it is with scorn, but his voice is quiet. “It sounds so pretty, doesn’t it?” Slowly, he stands up and limps around the desk towards me. He says, “Do you honestly think your mightiest subjects will serve you out of love ? Think of the last four kings before me. Three of them died violently and the fourth spent years fighting for his crown.” One thin hand reaches out and squeezes my arm. “Henry. As king you will be