Billy K. Baker - My King and I, part I

Billy K. Baker
09/27/2020 05:00 AM (update 04/11/2023 01:53 AM)

Everything I know about royalty I learned years ago, before becoming ancient and infallible. Books taught me much about kings, and movies showed them in action as I gorged upon fistfuls of popcorn. Later on, kings entertained me on television while I quaffed generous snifters of beer. You agree, no doubt, such research qualifies me as an expert.

My king is an amalgam—an amalgam of British and pre-British kings drawn from long ago, before nature gave up trying to destroy civilization and assigned mankind to do the job. My amalgamated king embodies monarchs like Alfred the Great, King Arthur, Henry the Fifth, Henry the Eighth, Richard the Lionheart, and my personal hero, Ethelred the Unready.

I dismiss foreign kings like Philip II of Spain, who lost the Great Armada (how careless) and Louis XIV, who built Versailles—a dubious claim: The man never once turned a shovel of dirt or chiseled a hunk of marble. All Lou did was envision the place, berating his first architect, “BIG, Gus! I told you to make it big! You call that big?”

He then turned to his aide. “Get me an architect who understands BIG. This one is fired. Make sure he gets severance (which in those days meant ‘sever his head’).” I should note that Louis XIV, who labeled himself “The Sun King,” was an outrageous publicity hog. (What, for example, do you know about Louis XIII?)

It is true that William the Conqueror laid firm foundations for Great Britain. Even so, I consider him a foreigner—the man couldn’t even speak English! He established Britain the time-honored way … by destroying it. His army ousted the rightful owners of English soil and violently crushed rebellions. But as Bill the Conqueror put it, “You can’t make an omelet without breaking a few heads.”

As for my amalgamated king, how I envy him: He could raise an army, raid neighboring kingdoms, and steal their treasure—gaining enough loot to pay for his next army. Every other person in the kingdom was a subject and had to do whatever the king ordered, much like my wife.

The realm’s subjects, even lords and ladies, bowed in his presence … kneeled if begging a favor. People were respectful, even obsequious in his presence. His word was law; my king didn’t abide disagreement. If his wife, the Queen, aggravated him, he sent her out for a good beheading.

It is said a man’s home is his castle, but my king’s castle was his castle, and it was built to last. He probably never had to re-plaster or re-paint the thing, perhaps only repair the occasional trebuchet impact.

Servants pampered my king, and there were a lot of them. They prepared sumptuous meals, dressed him, cared for his horses and carriages, tended palatial gardens, swept, cleaned and polished everything in the palace. One lucky servant, the Groom of the Stool, gained intimate contact by assisting my king whenever nature called. It was a sought-after position, akin to our president’s Chief of Staff. That groom was said to have “the ear of the king”—make that “the rear of the king.”

My king resided among silken bedcovers, vibrant tapestries, exquisite artwork, golden goblets, dazzling gemstones, ornate weapons and decorative armor, treasures donated by admiring royals and by ne’er-do-wells seeking high office. Running his lavish kingdom was expensive, but my king never sold those possessions, preferring instead to raise taxes.

Sometimes, hard-pressed commoners were forced into poverty. That hardly mattered. It was only a hair’s breadth worse than their ordinary existence.

The populace adored him. When he came to town, his subjects waved wildly as the king drove by in a gold-plated carriage, splashing mud on those closest to the road. Oh, happiness!