Metamorphoses

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It was evening, and Afran and Willem were enjoying the breeze off the lake and a pizza that King James and Jason Connor had brought with them from Nikaea. Jason had a guitar and was strumming and warbling the Otis Redding classic, Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay. They were on the pier at the lakeside, and King James was wincing with every false note his boyfriend inflicted on his ears.

‘Nice spot you have here,’ the king said to Afran.

Afran gave a rather hapless grin. ‘Yeah. Unfortunately the fridge is empty and we aren’t either of us great in the kitchen. If you hadn’t picked up that bottle of wine and pizza on the way here, we’d have starved tonight. The security detail won’t let us go out to find a restaurant. They’re a lot more intimidated by our mothers than by us.’

‘At least you guys have a car,’ chipped in Will. ‘That makes you grown-ups; we’re still kids in our mothers’ eyes.’

They sipped their wine for a while and watched the sky darken above them. It was quiet apart from the lapping of the lake waters, and the occasional angry bickering of water fowl as they settled for the night.

James gave a relieved sigh when Jason put down his guitar. ‘Thank you, your grace,’ he said.

‘Oh? Is the title thing settled?’ Afran asked.

‘Jason, his grace the most excellent the Duke of … Maine!’ laughed the king.

‘Does that suit you, Jason?’ Will asked with a certain justified curiosity, since his own future standing might rest on a similar strategy.

Jason shook his head. ‘I would have preferred Vermont, and His Arseholiness here ruled out New York and Boston on the grounds of their anti-monarchist past. Also he said that Maine was a territorial designation rather than a city, so more appropriate, not to mention its proximity to historical Canada and the Francophone element in its population. I apparently have to have a coat of arms and some sort of coronet for the state wedding.’

The king was gleeful. ‘We do things properly in the kingdom of Canada. I have a proper real crown you know.’

Afran said, ‘I know. The Maple Crown, named from the fashioning of its golden high points. It was a gift from the provinces on the transfer of the kingdom by King Charles of Great Britain to you. Do you ever wear it?’

‘I do indeed, at the State Opening of Parliament in Ottawa. My people are good on matters of ceremony. Our British inheritance. Sounds to me like you’ve been doing some serious research about crowns, Afran.’

The prince smiled. ‘Oskar von Tarlenheim, the Duke of Husbrau and my unofficial mentor, told me that I should not underestimate the importance of symbols in such a performative thing as a monarchy: we have to be seen to be believed, as the late Queen Elizabeth II once said. And considering his track record in restoring the monarchy of Rothenia I listened to what Oskar had to say. We spent a long week at the National Library in Strelzen with some of the academics from the Politics Department of the Technische Universität, reviewing possibilities. So the flag of Rum is to be the former banner of the Eyalet of Anatolia, red with a white crescent moon and star, very useful since it was also the flag of the old republic so old ones can be recycled. In my royal device, the banner is surmounted by, yes, a crown. It is the same barred coronet the Hashemite kings have used since the 1920s, adapted from European models. But neither I nor they actually possess or will have such an object. It’s just an abstract symbol of royalty.’

The four young men toasted abstract symbols of royalty. Feeling comfortable despite being the youngest among them, Will asked what he had been dying to. ‘So how did you and James get together, Jason?’

Jason shot a glance at the king. ‘It’s a good story … so can I tell the unexpurgated version, Jimmy?’

James rolled his eyes. ‘If you must, Jace. I know you want to.’

‘Okay. Well, I was playing for the Chicago Blackhawks in the Central Division, so when the war broke out I was not in Canada. And Chicago was not a safe place to be. Indiana and Illinois chose to follow the Theocrats and their State National Guards marched on Chicago, which had defied the fatwa from Washington. Everyone knew what you had to expect after the murders and outrages of the sack of New York. Me and the team tooled up and joined the barricades around the University on East 59th Street. The Theocrats were predictable. They always put a priority on sacking campuses and torching libraries, so we were ready for them.’

Will nodded. ‘They had a lot in common with the Black Horde.’

James snarled. ‘Worse. The Theocrats did what they did claiming to be working for God’s purposes and the greater good. The Horde was more honest. Its leaders never claimed to be other than what they were, rapists, murderers and thieves.’

Will asked the king. ‘Had Canada been attacked yet?’

‘As it happens, yes. Our federal government had discovered that certain Canadian megachurches aligned with their American brethren south of the border had set up militias with the plan of operating as a fifth column in Canada. Our decisive move against them was the excuse for US troops to cross over from Wisconsin and Minnesota on the pretence of “peace-keeping”. By then, I had taken a leaf out of Rudi’s book and rallied with our army, which did a first-rate job of demonstrating that without its old technological edge the US Army was no more a match for the Canadians than it had been in 1812. I had the honour of leading my cavalry brigades into Milwaukee and Madison, where we were greeted as liberators.’

‘In the meantime,’ chipped in Jason, ‘it was the third day of the siege of the University of Chicago and things were getting just a bit desperate. I was with a unit mostly made up of students, boys and girls both. They were so brave. We were dug in along an avenue of what had been handsome stone buildings, now mostly smoking and gutted ruins. We looked out across a park, and still every now and again lines of zealots would launch across it, sometimes waving fucking bibles … some of them were so young.’ Jason paused, and Will saw him wipe a tear from the side of his eye. He shook his head. ‘But the students opposing them were just as young, and far less blameworthy.’ James gripped Jason’s shoulder. ‘I was at Soldier Field receiving the submission of the city’s mayor and confiding the governor and lieutenant-governor of Illinois to my provost marshal on charges of crimes against humanity. The mayor was very urgent that the heroic defenders of the University should be relieved before they were overwhelmed. So I had our squadron on Lake Michigan anchor off Burnham Park, range their guns and land their marines, while I led our cavalry division down to Washington Park to take up positions on the other flank.’

Jason grinned. ‘And that’s when me and His Majesty met.’

Afran grinned back. ‘It’s sorta romantic.’

Jason shrugged. ‘I was helping escort our wounded to the university hospital, when this dickhead on a big black horse, very conspicuous in a blue and gold uniform with a red plumed helmet, pulled up next to me, and called down at me in a very posh accent, “I say, you there! Can you tell us where to find your commander?” “And who are you, buster?” I responded, rationally enough. “Me? I’m the King of Canada,” he said. So how do you reply to that? My response was. “That’s some fucking coincidence, fella. Cos I’m the Emperor of Japan”.’

James was sniggering. Will got the impression that this was a party piece the two men had rehearsed often. ‘So I said, “Oh, I thought you’d be a lot shorter”.

‘Didn’t you recognise your king?’ queried Will.

Jason shook his head, ‘I’d been in the States since before the monarchy was established. I’d seen Jimmy on TV of course, but not close up.’

James shook his head. ‘And that’s when he saved my life … sorta.’

Afran and Will looked up at this. ‘Saved your life? That’s not in the Wikipedia version of your life, James.’ Afran commented.

‘Sorta saved your life?’ queried Will. ‘How could Jason sort of save your life?’

James shrugged. ‘He was escorting a group of Theocrat walking wounded to the hospital, kids mostly. He might not have recognised me, but some of them did. Next thing I knew, some blood-spattered maniac boy screaming “Antichrist” had pushed out of the line and was wrestling with another guard for his rifle.’

Will asked. ‘And you recognised he meant you?’

James laughed. ‘Well, Malik-Rammu wasn’t around, so I made the obvious deduction. The American Theocrats hate kings on principle, kingship for them is God’s, which in their deranged theology means that their pastors draw all power to themselves and brook no defiance. I am literally an Antichrist to them.’

‘So what happened next, Jace?’ Afran urged.

‘There are times when ice hockey is a great training for life. It’s not the most peaceful and elegant of sports, but when the other side come at you, it’s “Elbows up!” as we say. You go in quick and you go in hard.’

James chuckled. ‘Jason was serving a three-match suspension when the war broke out for charging and elbowing an opponent, the latest of several such incidents I might add.’

Jason gave a comical grin. ‘So my reactions were more or less automatic. The kid got a rifle butt in his face. Well, actually it was the butt of the rifle he’d grabbed from the guard, which I very cunningly flipped. Made a mess of his nose, the little Yankee psychopath.’

‘So he saved my life,’ James laughed. ‘A great start to a relationship. And not unlike what Will did for you in Strelzen, Afran.’

Will was intrigued. ‘So how did things get romantic between you?’

James shrugged. ‘Not immediately. I had my hands full clearing the Indiana Theocrat Militia out of Chicago at the time, but I made sure Jason remained attached to my immediate staff. I caught the militia between three fires: the volunteers defending the campus, the marines coming up from the lake and my cavalry division, whom I dismounted apart from my Horse Guards and deployed them into a firing line. The Theocrat leaders soon realised they were exposed and began a withdrawal. But my Guards quickly disrupted their attempt at a disciplined extraction, and I do believe that not more than a dozen survivors reached the state line. My first ever military campaign, Sandhurst should have been proud of me considering my record as a cadet there. It’s why I can look Emperor Rudi in the eye.’ He and Jason kissed.

‘And what happened to the Theocrat boy who attempted to assassinate you?’ asked Will.

Afran laughed and kissed him. ‘Will is like a small kid, he wants his stories complete in every detail.’

James shrugged. ‘I was interested in him in a macabre sort of way. In a different age he might have been the sort of American kid who wandered into his school with a semi-automatic and picked off the teachers and unfortunate fellow pupils who got in his way.’

Jason gave a satirical grin and rolled his eyes. ‘Instead he signed up for mass murder for a supposed moral purpose. His name is Jefferson Micah Jensen, by the way.’

‘So he’s still alive?’ Will asked.

James nodded. ‘They fixed up his nose in the same university hospital he and his psycho friends were trying to burn to the ground. He was charged with lèse majesté (attempted murder of an anointed sovereign, to you) and sent to Canada for trial. His lawyers in Toronto argued he was mentally ill for trying to kill me; not an argument my ex-wife would have endorsed, I’m afraid. But the psychological assessment did influence the sentence. So he’s being re-educated in an open prison in Vermont which specialises in rehabilitating Theocrat fanatics. One of these days he might be let out to have another go at me. Poor bastard is a Canadian citizen now of course, such are the choices and chances of life.’

The four men circulated the wine bottle for a while as the sky darkened and a night wind ruffled the lake’s surface. Will whispered in Afran’s ear. The prince cleared his throat and said. ‘Er … sorry James, my undiagnosed possibly autistic boyfriend is still suffering from his narrative compulsions. I think I can see why in this case though. Don’t be angry with him, he can’t help it. He wants to know about your previous marriage.’

James took the impertinence well. ‘It’s the usual story, complicated by the pressures of royal life. I may not be that unusual to be a gay royal, but the expectations are that you should be a breeder, and I exploited my poor wife’s desire to be a royal highness. She’s from a prominent courtier family, so she was a good choice, in the sense she knew the pressures of our life, but it was not long before she came to realise she had a bad deal, for Jimmy Mountbatten-Windsor was a fag prince.

‘She was not happy about that, and so she never became Queen of Canada, but she did fulfil the deal, for she produced His Royal Highness Edward Charles James Louis, Duke of Quebec — known as Teddy — who will one day be King Edward III of Canada, Alaska and North America. He lives at the court of my sister, Queen Louise of Australasia, where he is doing well. He’s best friends with her son, his cousin Prince George. Teddy’s mum was one of Louise’s school friends, and now is her mistress of the robes, so little Teddy stays with her at Royal Canberra and all in all it’s a good compromise. I love and trust my sister.

‘We are planning that Teddy will come full time to Canada when he gets to university age. Myself I rather like the idea that he first puts in some years of secondary school in Rothenia, Rudi tells me that the Strelzen International School was good for his kids, even though he’s now sending them both to Medwardine in England. So does that answer your question, Will?’

Will stumbled out with, ‘Yeah, thanks so much James.’

‘Let me guess,’ the king came back, ‘you’ve been over-thinking the future of the Kingdom of Rum, with a queer king and his foreign boyfriend who, naturally, cannot provide an heir to the throne.’

‘Er … yeah … something like that.’

King James reached over and ruffled Will’s hair. ‘It’s not your problem, kid. Your only job in life as a royal consort is to keep Afran happy and grounded. I think you show promise there.’

***

Afran leaned in and straightened Will’s tie, then straightened. ‘How do I look, Will?’

‘You look really smart, lover.’ Afran had adopted a uniform largely modelled on that of a general of the former army of the Turkish Republic. A dark blue tunic and trousers with gold waist belt and shoulder belt, and red and gold shoulder boards. The peaked cap sported the new royal device of Rum, however. Several orders, notably the Rothenian order of Henry the Lion, adorned his breast pockets. ‘Am I travelling with you?’ he asked.

‘Only as far as the hotel, where I’ll drop you off. You’ll be in King Maxxie’s entourage for the day.’

The drive in the limousine, escorted by motorcycle outriders and followed by a van for the Kurdish military police detachment, took them into the town and up the winding streets to the Levke Gate. The Byzantine gateway was draped with the flag of Rum and was to be the site of a ceremonial adventus, a ritual entrance to a city as practised by both Byzantine and Ottoman rulers in their day. It would represent Afran’s staking his claim to be king of this land and lord of this city.

The civic authorities, five gentlemen in suits and a military officer, were gathered to greet him at the western arch of the ruined propylon and deliver the symbolic keys. The Emperor Rudolf, again in white, was waiting for Afran with his son King Maxim, who was carrying an object wrapped in patterned gold silk. Will took a place to the rear of the Rothenian group behind the king, as the Emperor took Afran by his hand and introduced him to the reception commitee, who bowed and offered Afran the city keys on a plush green cushion. The crowd of onlookers applauded as Afran received the keys and moved forward under the gate arches, Kurdish soldiers presenting arms as he passed under the arch.

Will was walking next to General Cornish, who leaned in and offered a commentary on the ceremony. ‘The Kurdish regiment Queen Rozhin loaned us has been useful. There’s enough uniforms to line the road to the Green Mosque, where the next ceremony happens.’

Indeed, soldiers were presenting arms on both sides of the lane that led to the religious site, each house draped with the flag of Rum. Locals were smiling and waving, giving a notably warm reception to their young king. Every now and then, a young child ran out in front of Afran and presented him with a bouquet. He began passing them back to young Prince Leopold, who was walking behind the emperor and next to his brother, whose hands were full with the wrapped object. ‘What’s Maxxie carrying?’ Will asked the general.

‘Oh, that’s the object called the Sword of Osman,’ he replied. ‘Supposedly once belonging to Osman Ghazi, founder of the Ottoman State, so it would be fourteenth-century if it was genuine, which some dispute. But it or something like it has been used in inaugurating Turkish rulers since the fifteenth century.’

‘And Maxxie is going to give it to Afran?’

‘Er … no. Historically, the privilege of investing the ruler of the Turks belongs to the head of the Sufi Dervish fraternity called the Mevlevi Order, the Honourable Chelebi of Konya. He’s a delightful scholarly old gentleman who was persecuted by the former Turkish republic and outlawed by the Horde. As a result he was delighted to inaugurate a new Turkish monarchy, and give it the blessing of history. He is also an admirer of Queen Rozhin, as it happens. And he honours the Emperor as the man who put an end to the godless heretic, Malik-Rammu. Having the holy Chelebi here to offer prayers is a great coup for our Afran.’

The procession reached a turn beyond which was the mosque, set in lawns. Will had been expecting something larger and taller. He looked up at the general and observed. ‘We won’t all fit in there, it’s only a shoebox of a place.’

‘If my Henry was here he’d tell you it’s a fourteenth-century structure, one of the first Ottoman mosques built in Asia Minor and very important historically as a model for later mosques throughout the Turkish lands. But the smallness isn’t a problem. That open three-bay portico on the western side is where they will hold the ceremony. Plenty of people will be able to see it.’

As the procession approached the mosque, the Chelebi appeared in the central arch of the portico, a man garbed in a black robe wearing a tall golden flower pot of a hat emerging from a green turban. Afran stopped at the entry and bowed before him, removing his cap. The Chelebi declaimed a prayer into the sudden silence, as the square filled with a shuffling mass of people. He held out his hand and King Maxim unwrapped the sword and handed it to the old man. The Chelebi held it high with both hands to the applause of the crowd which began a slow chant of ‘Alahu Akbar’. The Sword of Osman was attached to a rich green and gold baldric, which the Chelebi went on to hang round Afran’s neck. The crowd, as if on cue began a new chant ‘Çok yaşa kral’. Somewhere outside the city, an artillery battery began a royal salute. General Cornish, King James and Emperor Rudolf began applauding and shouted with the people ‘Long Lıve the King!’ and in that acclamation of kings and commoners began the reign of Afran Yousefi, King of Rum.

***

‘So you’ve never flown before, Will?’ Jason observed.

‘No … not many of my generation have, what with the collapse of commercial airlines back in my parents’ days. My mum flew all over the world when she was my age.’

Will had joined King James’s entourage for the return to Strelzen. It was to be accomplished on a RCAF transport which had flown in to New Constantinople to ferry King James back home to Ottawa, and would do it via state visits to Rothenia and to England.

King Maxim was grinning all over his face as the plane rumbled out on to the runway. He caught Will’s eye. ‘This is so cool, Will. Only other time I got to fly was when Granddad Peacher wanted me, Ossie and Leo to come over to Suffolk for a family Christmas two years back. Well … apart from that time in the Horde Wars when I was small, but I’m not supposed to talk about that. My Uncle Pete still keeps his private jets in Strelzen Municipal and he’s pretty generous about friends and family using them.’

Will watched out the window as the plane stopped at the end of the runway and waited for clearance for take-off. The pilot on intercom introduced himself and his crew and regretted that drinks and snacks would not be served on the flight to Strelzen, which got a lot of laughs from the passengers. Then all of a sudden Will was crushed back into his seat, the world started flashing faster and faster past the window next to him, the cabin rattled alarmingly and his stomach lurched as the plane reared and launched itself into the air.

The two-hour flight was a thrill. Mostly Will stared down as the rivers, hills, fields, villages and towns of the Balkans unrolled beneath him. He imagined children below looking up and pointing as the great silver bird passed over them above the clouds, of which there were few that day.

It didn’t seem that long before Maxxie looked across at him and winked. ‘We’re in Rothenian air space,’ he confided.

‘How do you know, sir?’

The boy gave a little laugh. ‘I just do. I always do. Look down, you’ll see the Starel basin. We’re home, Will.’

In twenty minutes, the seat belt warning lights went on, and Will watched the streets and buildings of Strelzen wheel below him as the plane descended to its landing at Strelzen Municipal. He picked out the police barracks in the Neuvemesten across from which was his father’s apartment. That reminded him he needed to ring his dad as soon as he got a chance. Soon the towers of Strelzen’s Martzfeld business district were flashing past his window as the plane touched down, and slowly taxied to the apron outside the terminal building.

One of the Canadian crew tapped Will on his shoulder. ‘Sir, disembarkation for those not in the royal parties is through the rear door. If you’ll bring your bags …’.

Just as he was passing up the aisle Maxxie collared him. ‘Will, I’m heading back to school in England in a few days, but you and I will be meeting again soon. Don’t be too surprised when we do.’

It was a cool autumn day in Strelzen, though the sky was clear. Will cursed that his only warm coat was stowed in his bag. The Foot Guard detachment and band which was the guard of honour to meet King James were in greatcoats. From a distance, Will could see the chancellor standing next to the Queen Regent, Maxxie and Leo’s mum, who was in a striking white coat.

As James emerged from the plane alongside King Maxim, Prince Leopold and Jason Connor, the band struck up ‘Oh Canada’ and the guards presented arms. Will was suddenly aware of someone at his elbow. ‘Oh. Hello Herr At-vood. I hadn’t realised you were on the plane.’

The little man shrugged. ‘I can be inconspicuous when I want, Will. It’s the size thing. They stored me in an overhead bin for the flight.’

‘Very amusing, sir. Is the general staying on in New Constantinople?’

‘Yes. He and your mum are creating a Rumish Army for Afran over the next year or so. I think “Rumish” is the correct adjective. When’s Afran coming back to Rothenia?’

‘We’re registering late at the Technische in the second week of October, so he won’t be long. He’s coming back by train, and in the meantime I have to sort out accommodation for us. Scary. I’m hoping my dad will be helpful.’

‘So the adventure in higher education and independent living begins. I’m getting a taxi into town, Will. Want a lift anywhere?’

‘Yes sir, thanks. I need to get to my dad’s place.’

‘No problem, son. Let’s sneak into the terminal and get cleared by Immigration. Welcome home!’

NEXT CHAPTER

Copyright © 2025 Michael Arram