The Code of Kings
Markus stood naked as the old man examined every important marking on his body. There was a total of six that would each count differently depending on what substance was placed on them. The ritual was known only to the old man, the King’s Vizier. “Thank you; you may dress now,” he told Markus. While Markus did as he was told, the grand vizier continued: “Apologies for my attitude earlier, but I didn’t believe you. You should have been killed during the purge that His Majesty ordered years ago. May I ask how you survived?”
“From what I understand,” Markus began as he clothed himself. “My father had an inkling of what William…”
“King William,” corrected the vizier.
“Right,” Markus affirmed with a twinge of sarcasm. “My father had some idea of what His Majesty had planned when he took control of the throne. So, he kept my birth secret and gave me to your predecessor to hide and keep safe.”
“I’m not surprised,” the vizier told him. “The old vizier did not get along well with King William. I could see him enacting this betrayal. No matter. You are of noble birth and, as is your right, have invoked the Code of Kings. Your fight for the crown will commence at dusk.”
Just before sundown, Markus faced King William in the courtyard. They were surrounded by some of the wealthiest merchants in the land. In the past, spectators would have all been of royal or noble blood but, because Markus and William seemed to be the last of that breed, the merchants were allowed to watch. Markus pumped himself up for the fight, having heard of King William’s battle prowess. William, however, had gotten old, fat, and complacent. Thus, when the grand vizier signaled the match to begin, all Markus had to do was rush the king, knock the sword from his hand, push him down, and pin him with one his blade against his throat. “I yield,” King William quickly said before Markus could slit his throat. Markus wondered if he should just kill him anyways. It was a fight to the death and, thus, mercy was the decision of the victor.
Markus took the blade away from William’s throat and said, “I accept your surrender.” He had gotten what he wanted; the throne was his now. The crowd cheered at the prospect of a new king. When Markus turned to accept his new reward, William reached for his sword and stabbed Markus in the back. He died before he could realize what was happening.
“Trusting piece of shit,” William said to the bleeding corpse. “Vizier, make sure this body is fed to the cats.” He then turned to a small gathering of guards and said, “Guards, arrest anyone who cheered at this mongrel’s victory and mark them for execution.”
The guards hesitantly started mobilizing toward the shocked and frightened merchants until a single voice cried out, “Stay where you are!” It was the grand vizier.
William was aghast: “You dare defy your king?”
“I defy you, peasant,” the grand vizier told him.
“What did you…”
“When you yielded,” the vizier explained. “You abdicated the throne, making Markus the rightful king. To reclaim the throne, you needed to invoke the Code of Kings yourself. Since you did not, you are guilty of the greatest crime in our land: regicide.” The vizier then turned to the same guards who were to arrest the merchants and told them, “By the ancient laws of this land, and the oaths you have sworn upon them, it is your duty to arrest this man for the murder of the rightful king and mark him for execution.”
“They won’t listen to you,” William said. “I am their rightful…” His words were paused by the approaching guards who surrounded him and dragged him away from the arena. “Get away!” William shouted. “I am your king. I am your king.” He kept repeating the words all the way to the castle dungeon.
The crowd was silent as the former king was carried off until one of the merchants asked, “What now?”
“According to the laws,” the vizier said. “If there is no king by code or birth, the next in line is the vizier. Oh. That would be me I suppose.”
Murmurs among the crowd showed doubt as to the law’s veracity but, ultimately, one of the merchants began a chant: “Long live the king.”
Others soon followed: “Long live the king.”
Then the whole crowd in monotonous repetition: “Long live the king.”