signed his letters to the King as ‘Davy, Your Majesty’s most humble slave and dog’, now had a rival.
An equerry, somewhat hesitant, sidled up to the King. ‘Your Majesty, the people are raising a clamour to see you at the great balcony.’ This impressive platform, known as El Balcon de los Sicofantes, had been built two hundred years before to show off King Henry 11’s much adored Spanish bride. It looked out over a vast mall on which more than two hundred thousand could gather to praise the monarch.
Zog sighed. ‘The people will never be satisfied until I take down my trousers and show them my arse.’
He walked off towards the great window and the balcony beyond, calling out to Bose Ikard casually, ‘Tell the young Materazzi to come and see me.’
‘It would send a wrong signal to many, including Pope Bosco, if you were to see Duchess Arbell personally.’
King Zog of Switzerland and Albania stopped and turned to his chancellor. ‘Indeed it would be a mistake. But you are not to teach me to suck eggs, my little dog. Who said anything about seeing Arbell Materazzi?’
Conn had barely returned to his wife’s apartments when Zog’s most important flunky, Lord Keeper St John Fawsley, arrived to command him to attend the King in two days’ time at three o’clock in the afternoon. The Lord Keeper was known to the older princes and princesses as Lord Creepsley On All Fawsley – like royalty everywhere, they demanded servility and also despised it. It was said that on hearing his nickname Lord St John was beside himself with delight at the attention.
‘What was that about?’ wondered a baffled Conn afterhe’d left. ‘The King kept looking in my direction and rolling his eyes at me with such distaste I almost got up to leave. Now he wants to have an audience with me on my own. I’ll refuse unless he invites Arbell.’
‘No, you won’t,’ said Vipond. ‘You’ll go and you’ll like it. See what he wants.’
‘I’d have thought that was obvious. Did you see him fidgeting about in Harwood’s groin? I could barely bring myself to look.’
‘Don’t fash yourself, my Lord,’ said IdrisPukke. ‘The King was badly frightened in the womb and as a result he is a very singular prince. But if he’s mad about you then it’s the best news we’ve had in a long time.’
‘What do you mean – mad about me?’
‘You know,’ taunted IdrisPukke, ‘if he looks on you with extreme favour.’
‘Don’t listen to him,’ said Vipond. ‘The King is eccentric, or at any rate, given that he is a king, we’ve all agreed to call it nothing more. Except for a certain over-familiarity with your person you’ve nothing to worry about. You’ll just have to put up with his strangeness for the reasons my brother has referred to.’
‘I thought I wasn’t supposed to listen to IdrisPukke?’
‘Then listen to me. This is a chance for you to do all of us a great deal of good. God knows we need it.’
Arbell, still plump but pale after the birth of her son, reached up from her couch and took Conn’s hand. ‘See what he wants, my dear, and I know you’ll use your good judgement.’
4
Kevin Meatyard might have looked like a sack of potatoes with a large turnip resting on the top but he was tack-sharp and his malice had a subtle ring to it. In other circumstances – if, perhaps, he’d had a loving mother and wise teachers – he might have made something remarkable of himself. But probably not. Murdering a baby in its cradle is, of course, something that should never be done – except in the case of Kevin Meatyard.
We all know we should not judge people by their appearance, just as we also know that this is what we generally do. And this weakness in us all makes this regrettable reality a self-fulfilling prognostication. The beautiful are adored from birth and they become shallow with the lack of effort required in life; the ugly are rejected and become angry. People rejected Kevin Meatyard for the
An equerry, somewhat hesitant, sidled up to the King. ‘Your Majesty, the people are raising a clamour to see you at the great balcony.’ This impressive platform, known as El Balcon de los Sicofantes, had been built two hundred years before to show off King Henry 11’s much adored Spanish bride. It looked out over a vast mall on which more than two hundred thousand could gather to praise the monarch.
Zog sighed. ‘The people will never be satisfied until I take down my trousers and show them my arse.’
He walked off towards the great window and the balcony beyond, calling out to Bose Ikard casually, ‘Tell the young Materazzi to come and see me.’
‘It would send a wrong signal to many, including Pope Bosco, if you were to see Duchess Arbell personally.’
King Zog of Switzerland and Albania stopped and turned to his chancellor. ‘Indeed it would be a mistake. But you are not to teach me to suck eggs, my little dog. Who said anything about seeing Arbell Materazzi?’
Conn had barely returned to his wife’s apartments when Zog’s most important flunky, Lord Keeper St John Fawsley, arrived to command him to attend the King in two days’ time at three o’clock in the afternoon. The Lord Keeper was known to the older princes and princesses as Lord Creepsley On All Fawsley – like royalty everywhere, they demanded servility and also despised it. It was said that on hearing his nickname Lord St John was beside himself with delight at the attention.
‘What was that about?’ wondered a baffled Conn afterhe’d left. ‘The King kept looking in my direction and rolling his eyes at me with such distaste I almost got up to leave. Now he wants to have an audience with me on my own. I’ll refuse unless he invites Arbell.’
‘No, you won’t,’ said Vipond. ‘You’ll go and you’ll like it. See what he wants.’
‘I’d have thought that was obvious. Did you see him fidgeting about in Harwood’s groin? I could barely bring myself to look.’
‘Don’t fash yourself, my Lord,’ said IdrisPukke. ‘The King was badly frightened in the womb and as a result he is a very singular prince. But if he’s mad about you then it’s the best news we’ve had in a long time.’
‘What do you mean – mad about me?’
‘You know,’ taunted IdrisPukke, ‘if he looks on you with extreme favour.’
‘Don’t listen to him,’ said Vipond. ‘The King is eccentric, or at any rate, given that he is a king, we’ve all agreed to call it nothing more. Except for a certain over-familiarity with your person you’ve nothing to worry about. You’ll just have to put up with his strangeness for the reasons my brother has referred to.’
‘I thought I wasn’t supposed to listen to IdrisPukke?’
‘Then listen to me. This is a chance for you to do all of us a great deal of good. God knows we need it.’
Arbell, still plump but pale after the birth of her son, reached up from her couch and took Conn’s hand. ‘See what he wants, my dear, and I know you’ll use your good judgement.’
4
Kevin Meatyard might have looked like a sack of potatoes with a large turnip resting on the top but he was tack-sharp and his malice had a subtle ring to it. In other circumstances – if, perhaps, he’d had a loving mother and wise teachers – he might have made something remarkable of himself. But probably not. Murdering a baby in its cradle is, of course, something that should never be done – except in the case of Kevin Meatyard.
We all know we should not judge people by their appearance, just as we also know that this is what we generally do. And this weakness in us all makes this regrettable reality a self-fulfilling prognostication. The beautiful are adored from birth and they become shallow with the lack of effort required in life; the ugly are rejected and become angry. People rejected Kevin Meatyard for the
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