Testimonium Regis - Part 5 of 5

“Follow through with what? A coup? Because a child asked you to?” Hugh panicked but kept his voice low. “Sirs. The ceremony is upon us. We don’t have a heart to show the people. We don’t have a heart!” Hugh’s hands went to his hair, balling it up between his fingers. “We’ll be put to death. Hanging together, won’t that be nice?”

“No such thing will happen. Besides, we have a heart.” Aldus intoned.

Hugh wheezed out a wry laugh as if he’d been punched in the stomach. “Howard will order us killed.”

“Why would he? He wouldn’t know what was going on.”

“But the few others that do -!”

“They don’t have the right to my head.” Will butted in.

“This is…it’s unprecedented!”

“I understand, believe me, but I -”

“Aldus, what will you do up there on the platform? Abdicate for him? Howard is already making space on his head for the crown. You don’t expect us to prevent him from doing so as our young -” he gestured to the dead boy, unsure how to address him. “- humanist intended. I can’t fight a prince.”

“I can.” Will thought to add.

“You can’t fight a warmongering prince’s guard, fool!” Hugh spat.

“Jerome didn’t intend for us to fight. Not as first recourse. This action may…will stir something in the people. As it stirred something in me. That is the hope. Once the shock has worn, we will explain.”

“The people? And what shall they do? Storm the castle? The people won’t understand. There will be confusion, there will be chaos, there will be -” Hugh replied.

“As there is confusion and chaos in this room. This we will manage and fast. They will manage as well.”

Wide-eyed, Hugh turned to Will. “Lord Blacksmith. You must have a spare heart? A mould you use? I’ll go to the forge myself and -”

With the time for debate dwindling, Aldus gripped his apprentice by the shoulders. “You know there isn’t time.” Hugh tried to look away from the piercing gaze of his mentor. He found he could only either look at the corpse or the surly blacksmith looming over him. He settled his eyes back on Aldus. “If you prefer, think of this as honoring the dead king’s wishes. I shall be honoring the wishes of a man. My friend. Now, you can stay here in the tower while we perform the ceremony, if you wish. I won’t think less of you. But we are doing this come the threat of death or hell or God himself.”

“These were the words of a boy, Aldus.”

“Wise words, Hugh, wise words. His ideas were crude, yes, but potent. He was young, but we are not! We have wisdom between us. As do the yeoman. As do the guilds. As do many of those down there gathering in the bailey. Kings are not and have never been useful by virtue of their birth. I have known them. I have dug in their bodies. Golden hearts or no, they are men and above no other men. We, all of us, can lead ourselves.” Aldus’ grip tightened on Hugh’s shoulders; his frail, weathered hands coursing with adrenaline and becoming vise-like as he spoke.

“You’re hurting me, Aldus.” Hugh admitted. Aldus released his apprentice, embarrassed, and struggled briefly to unclench his fists.

“I’m sorry.” Aldus offered. “I feel…strongly about this.”

Will chuckled to himself. Hugh rotated his shoulders and winced. “My God -” he started, a weak smile forming. “- and you were struggling to crack the ribs?" Aldus smiled at this. "What would you have done if Will hadn’t thrown the heart in the fire?” Hugh asked.

“Then I’d have done my best to convince you two to allow the true heart to be shown anyway. Fortunately, that decision was made for us.” Will grunted in response, stroking his beard. “Stay here or come with us, Hugh. My mind is made up.” Aldus said, turning back to the slab, back to the corpse. “But I must finish.” Aldus retrieved the shears and made for the next rib. He positioned the shears and with another burst of strength he managed to sever the left side of the ribcage. He began on the right side when Hugh placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Please. Let me help.”

With only a half-moment’s hesitation, Aldus surrendered the shears to Hugh who proceeded with the next three ribs. Will, feeling useless in that moment, seized the shears himself. “Where do I cut?” he asked, realizing he didn’t know what he was doing. Aldus instructed him to cut at the costal cartilage that connected the rib to the sternum. With almost reckless abandon, Will snapped through the next four before handing the shears back to Aldus. “You finish, old man. Your job anyway.” There were two ribs remaining. With a last look at the boy, Aldus found the strength to cut through the rest. Sweat stood on his brow. With a deft hand, he grasped the sternum and lifted the boy’s thoracic wall away. There sat the heart, free now. Exposed. Beet red and beige tissue. Dried. Human. He felt all the fire that had blazed within him the past few minutes snuff out with a great sigh. He would have been reduced to a puddle had Will and Hugh not noticed that his knees quivered with a sudden violence and tears now leaked from him. They each caught him by the armpit and kept him standing. Aldus let out a pitiful sob. He had amputated, bisected, dissected, incised, extracted, cut, severed, medicated, gutted; but never once had the desire to look away more than he did right now.

“Later, Aldus.” Will warned. “We’ve no time.”

“We’ve never had time!” Aldus protested. “He hasn’t been grieved properly.”

The two men guided Aldus to his chair nearby. “Will, help me lift him onto the carrier.” Hugh said. He grabbed a fine wicker stretcher that had carried several kings to their respective ceremonies. Hugh and Will lifted and positioned the boy’s body upon the stretcher.

“The sheet.” Aldus whispered from the chair. Hugh retrieved a white sheet and draped it over the body so that only the head could be seen. There was a moment’s pause with silence only broken by one or all of the men’s stomachs churning. Aldus was deflated. Hugh’s hands shook ever so slightly. Monosyllabic profanities rattled in Will’s skull. Jerome lied, patient, under the sheet.

“How much longer do we have?”

“I imagine any moment now they’ll -” Aldus was interrupted by a rapping against the door. The guard outside shouted in.

“Forgive me, but it’s time, sirs!”

Against the immense gravity of the knot in his core, Aldus gathered strength in his brittle bones and stood, gesturing to the stretcher. Hugh and Will lifted either end of the stretcher as Aldus rinsed his hands in a nearby bowl of water and dried them on his apron. The three men shared one last glance between them before Aldus led the procession to the door. After nodding to the guard in attendance, they were escorted down the spiral stone staircase leading to the castle proper. Aldus braved bouts of dizziness as they descended, steadying himself against the wall. My God, what am I doing? No one spoke.

There was a bitter nip in the air. The invasive breeze penetrated flesh and chilled the blood. The sky was iron. Ceremonies in the past were typically blessed with temperate weather, but this morning the sphere itself heeded the somber moment and seemed to wail through the wind. As was done in ceremonies of the past, a platform was erected in the castle’s bailey. The drawbridge was down and those with and without titles were filtering in. The peasantry, young and old, gawked, surrounded by the high walls of the castle and those dressed and bathed in ways they never would experience. Most were old enough to remember the ceremony of Jerome II, some even old enough to remember Jerome I. Seeing two gilded hearts in their lifetime only bolstered the legitimate sovereignty in their mind. Those that shouted “Long Live the King!” at the last ceremony were each shackled to one another by a taut rope of embarrassment.

Grouped on the right hand side of the platform were those of the inner circle, the keepers of the secret. The Archbishop, more ancient than Aldus and half-asleep, and the viziers and politicians who were automatons of statecraft and whispers. The Lord Blacksmith’s apprentice stood apart, awkward, having anticipated his master’s arrival minutes ago. On the left side of the platform flocked Prince Howard and his elite guard. Stern, tall, chiseled men with bodies and minds optimized for killing. Yet Howard, chief among them, fidgeted. He was all but salivating at the phantom sensation of the crown gripping his scalp, so much that he, more than once, scratched the sides of his head. He wanted nothing more than for this silly stage play to conclude.

Aldus’ procession strode the short distance from the door exiting the castle to the platform. Looking out ahead, he could see the throng of attendees craning their necks and shuffling about to get a better look behind the platform. The word vultures leaked from his mind. He resisted. People, he insisted to himself. Following the escorting guard, Aldus shuffled up the stairs to the platform and stood to the right to make way for the stretcher. A hand fell on his wrist. It was one of the viziers.

“What took you so long?” came a harsh whisper, the sound only just escaping pressed lips.

“All is well.” was all Aldus could muster in response. He was not pressed further. Hugh and Will laid the stretcher atop a wooden dais that stood in the center of the platform and dispersed towards the far right of the platform. Will kept his eye on Aldus, the fire of his forge burning in him, ready to do anything next. Hugh stared only at his feet with his fists balled at his side to keep from jittering. Someone prodded the Archbishop who took a few shuffling steps forward to stand beside the dais. The breeze whistled through the open archways and hair of the attendees. The Archbishop raised his voice to match it, but those towards the back were surely unable to make out more than a few words of the rasping preamble. He spoke of the bloodline, of its sacred right to rule, recounted the tale of the Battle of Bexhill in brief, told of the ordination by God himself for these men to rule. He spoke of Jerome I and II before lamenting with dry eyes the untimely death of III. Aldus found himself in the limbo of inattention, existing in both the realities of the physical space around him and the dry well in his mind, waiting for his cue. What will happen? My God, what will happen? Perhaps we will be put to death…but surely someone wouldn’t understand why and protest on our behalf. I’ve performed my duties well as surgeon, Will as blacksmith. Our apprentices haven’t done anything wrong! Perhaps just exiled, then. I am old. I can live with exile.

As his mind drifted towards where he might go if exiled, imagining the warm garden where he shared his last moments with Jerome, the Archbishop coughed and Aldus was siphoned from his reverie. The Archbishop apologized and continued his flaccid speech. He didn’t know Jerome. Did not know his mind. Nor his heart. The Archbishop’s words were gossamer threads that spun away on the breeze, in one ear and out the other. Aldus’ gaze drifted to Howard. He noticed that Howard’s hand gripped the hilt of his sword - Why did he bring his sword? Why do they all have swords? - and he seemed to be in stance to draw it. Is this creature so impatient for his inheritance, so hungry, that he would, what, take it by force? For no reason!

With the Archbishop’s speech finished, the drummers off to the side began their dirge. The deep percussion vibrated Aldus’ innards. He could feel a lurch in his throat and sudden gathering of spit in his mouth. Don’t vomit, you old fool, don’t. The Archbishop stepped aside and now gestured for Aldus to perform his royal duty. Swallowing, Aldus took a step forward, leaving his stomach behind him. He walked as a draugr does; slow, shambling, almost without intent. Another step. Like going to the gallows. Another step. Closer now to the boy who was now so like a product of this morning; cold, grey. A final few steps and he now stood directly over Jerome as he had been only minutes before in the tower. He brought his eyes to the crowd who stood expectant. He picked out individuals to look at, both rich and poor, man and woman, washed and unwashed. The people with whom Jerome trusted to stand with him if, when, he abdicated. Reasonable, rational people…right? Someone here must know this is a farce. A children’s game of make believe. Do they all know it already?

Then Aldus did what no one, especially no Lord Surgeon, had done before in the Testimonium Regis. He stroked the boy’s hair, rested a hand on his cold forehead and spoke. “I delivered young Jerome from his mother’s womb. I held him as a crying babe. I held his little hand as he took his first steps. This was a gentle boy. As caring and full of cheer as any child. Any child here today -” and there were a few “- and any child you have known. I see that child here before me, still so full of life, so vibrant even after death has snatched him.”

One of the viziers, pink with fluster, stepped out of the group and attempted to grab Aldus. “Stop!” boomed another voice. It was Prince Howard that held out his hand to stop the vizier from advancing. He nodded to Aldus to continue.

“However, I also see before me…a man. I see the man he was and the man he was to become. A great man, but…just a man. As you are. As I am.” He paused, unsure if he had anything else to say. A tear that had formed and travelled down his nose now dripped onto and stained the sheet laid atop the boy. The time had come. He lifted the sheet and dipped his hand into Jerome’s chest cavity. The crowd, perplexed by the speech, leaned in as a horde. The group on the platform behind Aldus also craned forward.

When Aldus lifted the human heart and held it above him, several of those in the crowd gasped. A great murmur from them undercut the wind. The viziers themselves fizzled at this impossible treachery. The prince himself was unreadable. Aldus held the heart as high and for as long as his arms would allow. This was the heart of a man before them. The moment felt like a painting. Permanent. Unchanging. History was now over. We are all going to stand here until we die. He permitted a smile to form. He’d done right by his friend. History resumed when one of the viziers stepped forward and reached up for the heart, attempting to bring it down. Aldus resisted. “What in God’s name are you doing, man? What have you done?” the vizier hissed. Aldus let out a dry laugh and continued to play keep away with the heart. Why are you whispering? The secret’s out!

Prince Howard stepped forward and swept aside the vizier with ease. He placed a large hand on Aldus’ shoulder and with the other he lowered Aldus’ arm. Aldus wouldn’t be able to resist the giant man if he tried. The audience stood with rapt attention again, looking to their prospective king to smite the confusion. He had no trouble speaking above the wind.

“I would like to thank Sir Aldus, for he has uncovered something gravely concerning and has allowed us to proceed in the correct fashion. It is clear now that Jerome III was not, meant to be king. It is clear to me now, to all of us, that he was a bastard. Some result of infidelity from our late queen. I have no doubt that Aldus did not know or, if he did, was sworn to secrecy. Should that be the case I offer a pardon, for I am merciful.”

“That’s not -!” Aldus started, but the hand on his shoulder began squeezing. It would be child’s play for this man to crush his shoulder.

“However,” Howard continued, “I understand how it appears. Did our beloved kings ever have golden hearts to begin with? We did. We do. The true kings. I shall permit all of you to gaze upon the glittering hearts of our past kings in the great hall. They are true and real and Aldus knows this for he freed several of the hearts himself. And I ask that he not be cheated out of another, seeing how old he is. I ask him to perform his royal duty properly today. The people came for the Testimonium Regis. The people shall have it!” In a swift, brutal motion, the prince snatched Jerome’s heart from Aldus’ hand and threw it across the bailey into the crowd. The people side stepped it and only gave the dead thing a moment’s glance before fixing their eyes back to whatever spectacle was to unfold upon the platform. The prince, now king, snapped his fingers and gestured to the boy’s body. Men from his entourage lifted the stretcher and placed it on the floor of the platform a few feet away. The prince himself derobed to his waist and hoisted himself upon the dais. The viziers wheezed protests but the prince merely pointed to them and they were arrested by the entourage, knives to their necks. Howard gripped Aldus' robe. "There is a way to do this without killing me, yes?" he growled. "A way to show them my heart and keep me alive?"

"Of course, my king." Aldus said, unblinking. He gestured for members of the guard to hold down Howard, one for each limb. He retrieved a scalpel from his apron and, with a last look at Jerome, made his first incision into the new king.