The Royal Tomb
Young Prince Adelbert surreptitiously wiped a tear from his eye as he knelt beside his father's body in the great cathedral. Although barely on the threshold of manhood, the prince was no stranger to death. At the age of eight, he lost his mother. The following year his older brother, the heir to the throne, was killed in a tragic hunting accident. Then on the eve of Adelbert's fifteenth birthday, his father, the king, succumbed to the cancer that had been ravishing his once strong body for more than a year.
As the prince prayed at his father's bedside, the late king's advisors met in the council chamber to discuss the succession.
"The prince must be crowned immediately," Lord Ferdinand, the kingdom's defense minister, declared.
"More importantly, we must hasten to bring Princess Isadora here, so the wedding can take place as soon as possible," argued Sir Rupert, the deceased king's advisor on foreign affairs.
The other men concurred with the proposed course of action. The prince must marry as soon as possible since the kingdom needed a male heir.
Like nearly all royal unions, the marriage of the young king to Princess Isadora was one of political expediency. Along with a substantial dowry, the new bride brought with her to the marriage lands that would make the realm much richer than it had previously been. When the match was arranged seven years earlier, the prince and princess were both young children, and no one had taken their feelings into consideration. Adelbert accepted his obligation without question and agreed to marry his betrothed even though he had never met the young woman.
The boy king had, up until the time he ascended to the throne, led a lonely, solitary life, one marred by the deaths of his brother and parents. When he saw the demure, beautiful princess with her slight, petite frame and fair features, he immediately lost his heart to her. The lands and riches the marriage brought with it were nothing to Adelbert compared to the love he felt for his wife. At last, he was happy.
For the next three years, Adelbert's kingdom thrived under his reign. It was a time of peace, prosperity, scientific enlightenment and cultural enrichment. The only dark cloud to hang over the land was the absence of the royal heir. Then, into the fourth year of the young couple's marriage, the king and queen were overjoyed with the news that Isadora was with child.
Not being a particularly strong woman, the queen had to forego all duties of state and amusements at court while she was pregnant. The king, unless necessity demanded his presence elsewhere, spent most of his time with his wife in the confines of the royal apartments.
"You mustn't stay here with me all day," Isadora said, as the joyful sounds of yuletide celebration wafted up to her bed chamber. "It's Christmas, after all, and there will be much merrymaking this year."
"I prefer being with you, my dear."
"I appreciate your devotion, but there is no reason for both of us to miss the holiday season."
The king remained adamant. He would not leave his wife to join in the festivities of court.
Yet despite the constant attention of her husband and the efforts of the royal physician, the queen became weaker with each passing day. Finally, when the cold winter surrendered to the warmth of spring, the queen went into labor. The king's subjects waited for news of the birth, eager to celebrate when word came of a new prince or princess.
"It's a boy, your majesty," the physician proudly announced, as though the sex of the child had been his own doing.
"And my wife? How is she?" Adelbert inquired.
The doctor lowered his head and admitted, "She is not well, your highness."
With barely a glance at his newborn son, the king rushed to his wife's bedside.
* * *
Another death. Once again Adelbert had lost someone near and dear to him. The young king was bereft. He lay alone, prostrate with grief on the floor of the great cathedral, staring up at the icons of his faith.
"Why?" he questioned God. "Why have you taken from me everyone I ever loved? What have I done that I deserve such a bitter life?"
But there were no answers and no comfort in the church, only the echoes of unanswered prayers, lifeless statues and the trappings of the religion he had lost faith in.
"You mustn't grieve so, sire," the king's finance minister advised. "After all, God has seen fit to bless you with a strong, healthy son. You must think of him now."
Adelbert was well aware of the obligations he had to his son, but he swore never to open his heart to the child. For surely, if he allowed himself to feel affection toward the prince, the child would die like all the others he had loved.
Having exhausted his supply of tears, King Adelbert got up from the floor and walked to the stairs that led down to the royal crypt. In the cavernous cellar were dozens of catafalques and coffins that housed the remains of generations of rulers and their consorts. Adelbert felt the familiar stab in his heart when he saw Isadora's casket, which had been placed next to his father's.
"How could one so beautiful end up in this cold, dark, damp place?" he cried.
From the depths of his misery there arose an obsession that would grip the young king for the next twenty years.
"I will not have you here underground with the dead," he swore to his beloved wife. "I will build a tomb that will rival the finest palaces in Europe. It will be a monument to you and to our love that will last long after you and I are dust."
With a renewed sense of purpose, Adelbert emerged from the shadowy realm of the dead and walked out into the sunlit world of the living.
* * *
After an exhausting search, the finest architect in the known world was selected for the job of designing Queen Isadora's tomb. Then the most skilled craftsmen in the land were assembled to take on the monumental task of constructing the elaborate mausoleum. Not content with mere stone, Adelbert insisted the tomb be made of marble. Statuary and elaborate fountains were prevalent throughout the formal gardens that surrounded the tomb.
"I thought that above the coffin we could place a simple ebony cross," the architect suggested. "It would create a sharp contrast against the white marble. All eyes will be drawn to it. Mourners will be comforted by the reminder of the ever-watchful presence of our savior."
The king's eyes blazed with anger.
"Where was that watchful presence when my beloved wife lay dying?" he cried. "I want no crosses or any so-called holy relics in my wife's tomb. Instead, above her coffin will be a likeness cast in gold of my beloved as she was on our wedding day. Around this carving I want a frame of jewels: rubies, emeralds, sapphires and diamonds."
To pay for the tomb, the king taxed his people unmercifully. The prosperity that had existed before the queen's death soon vanished, replaced with poverty and oppression. Seemingly overnight the benevolent boy king turned into a hated despot.
* * *
More than nineteen years after Queen Isadora died in childbirth, her magnificent mausoleum was finally completed. The king called for an official day of mourning when his wife's body was moved from the royal crypt beneath the cathedral and placed in her newly constructed tomb. Those of his subjects that came to witness the re-interment were more resentful than sorrowful. Poverty, hunger and disease were rampant in the once affluent land and all because the king had chosen to honor his wife's memory with a worldly shrine.
"It's not right to spend so much money on a dead woman," one man was heard to grumble.
"That's for damn sure," another agreed. "Think of how many people could be fed with the money the king wasted on this place."
Adelbert, however, was extremely pleased with the royal tomb and did not regret the exorbitant cost. His only concern was that someday another memorial would rise that would be more impressive than his queen's.
"There is no need to fear that," Lord Ferdinand assured him. "Only one man could design a building as magnificent as this one, and that's the architect who designed it. His skill is unequalled."
"That's true," Adelbert agreed. "Only the men I hired to create this masterpiece could ever make one greater."
But Adelbert would not risk another king or wealthy nobleman hiring these same men to outdo his wife's memorial. On the day following Queen Isadora's reburial, the king hired an assassin to kill the architect on his journey back to his homeland. He was somewhat more merciful toward the artisans who constructed the queen's tomb. He at least spared their lives. Instead of having them killed, he had their hands cut off so they would never be able to work again.
* * *
With his wife's tomb completed, there was little to interest the king in life. He often wandered about the palace aimlessly, talking to the dead queen as he did. The royal advisors noticed the change in him and were troubled.
"Perhaps you should get more rest, your majesty," Sir Rupert tactfully suggested. "You're looking tired lately."
"I can't get any rest. That's my problem," the king cried. "Every night I'm hounded by nightmares in which I see disembodied hands grabbing at my clothes, my legs, my throat."
To suggest to the king that it was his own guilty conscience keeping him awake at night would have been exceedingly foolish, so the minister wisely held his tongue.
"Aren't dreams supposed to be portents of events to come?" the king asked with a crazed look in his eyes.
"I've heard that said, your highness."
"What could it mean? Is someone thinking of grabbing my throne?"
The king paled as a new thought entered his tortured mind.
"No, not my throne. It's my life someone wants."
"I assure you, sire, you are quite safe. The palace is well guarded."
"I cannot take any chances. The guards may be involved in a plot. I shall have to issue a royal decree: henceforth no person will be allowed in my presence without his hands firmly secured behind his back."
"But, your highness ...."
The minister's objection died on his lips when he saw the angry glare the king gave him.
"Yes, your majesty. I shall issue your decree at once."
With the king's new edict making it an offense punishable by death, no one showed his hands in the royal presence. All meals were served before the king entered the dining hall. The royal tailor was not allowed to fit the king's clothes to his body. No musicians played. It was a court without joy and without hope in a kingdom where despair filled the hearts of the subjects. It was a land ripe for revolution.
* * *
In the two decades the king had relentlessly pursued his obsession with his wife's tomb, his son, the young prince, had grown into a fine man. Tutored by men of knowledge and principal, Nicholas had all the makings of a just and munificent ruler.
The royal advisors, disheartened by their sire's gradual descent into madness, looked to Adelbert's heir as the solution to the kingdom's problems.
"But the king is still a relatively young man," Lord Ferdinand argued. "He could live for many years yet."
"That's true," Sir Rupert agreed. "And although his mind is gone, his body seems healthy enough."
"We cannot risk another ten or twenty years under his rule. The country is nearly broken by his crippling taxes," the finance minister prophesied.
"And the state of our army is deplorable," Lord Ferdinand added. "The men lack proper training and adequate weaponry, and troop morale is the worst I've ever seen it. It won't be long before a stronger nation invades our borders."
"God forbid!" Sir Rupert exclaimed. "Someone must speak to the prince. He must be made to understand the precarious position the kingdom is in under his father's rule."
* * *
King Adelbert could not believe the news one of his son's tutors had brought him.
"My own ministers tried to turn my son against me?" he cried in indignation.
"That's what the prince told me," the tutor confirmed.
Incensed though he was by his advisors' betrayal, the king was also deeply touched by his son's loyalty.
"I am sorry I've neglected my child all these years," he said, brushing a teardrop from his eye.
"It's not too late to establish a close relationship with him, your majesty."
For the first time since the death of his beloved Isadora, King Adelbert allowed the icy core of his heart to melt.
"Yes," he concluded, no longer bothering to conceal his tears. "I will be a father to my son. Send for the prince. I want him here at my side when I try my ministers for treason."
Within the hour, the king's advisors were led into the throne room with their arms bound securely behind their backs. Adelbert berated them for their disloyalty.
"If not for my son's allegiance, you might have succeeded in deposing me and ruining my kingdom."
The ministers remained silent. What good would it do to argue with a madman?
"I will show you no mercy. Each of you will die a horrible, painful death befitting your treacherous behavior."
Prince Nicholas, who had been outside the entrance of the throne room having his hands tied by one of the king's guards, entered the room and knelt on one knee before his father.
"Your majesty has commanded my presence."
"Stand up, Nicholas," the king ordered with warmth he had never before shown the boy. "You need not kneel before me. I'm your father."
Adelbert took a good look at his son and was surprised by the remarkable resemblance the prince bore to his dead mother. Why hadn't he noticed that before? The king was struck with a sudden desire to embrace his child.
"Guard!" he called to the armed sentry at the door—the only man in the kingdom not subject to the king's hands-behind-the-back edict.
"Untie the prince. There is no need for me to fear my own son."
Nicholas lowered his head respectfully.
"Thank you, father. You do me a great honor."
"My boy," the king said as he opened his arms wide.
The prince took two steps forward and was enfolded in his father's embrace.
"Can you forgive me for neglecting you all these years?" Adelbert whispered in his son's ear.
"Yes," Nicholas replied. "I forgive you for being an inattentive father, but I cannot, in all good conscience, pardon you for being a tyrant."
The prince's motions were swift. With his right hand he reached into his left sleeve, withdrew the dagger that was concealed there and thrust the blade into the king's back, piercing the heart from behind.
* * *
The coronation of King Nicholas was celebrated throughout the realm. Adelbert's advisors, who had conspired with Nicholas to bring his father's reign to an end, were rewarded for their unselfish duty to the people rather than executed for treason against Adelbert.
"Your first official act," the finance minister informed the new king, "ought to be to marry and produce an heir."
"No, that will be my second act. The first will be to reunite my parents."
With all the pomp and ceremony befitting a fallen ruler, King Adelbert was laid to rest beside his beloved Queen Isadora. Afterward, Nicholas had the door to the mausoleum tightly sealed.
"There will be no more such expensive tombs," he decreed. "From now on we will concentrate on improving conditions for the living rather than on empty monuments to the dead."
After the royal funeral, the newly crowned king went back to his throne room where his military advisor presented him with a gift.
Inside the elaborately carved box was the blood-stained dagger that had been used to assassinate his father, King Adelbert. It would remain a constant reminder to Nicholas of his duty to his people and to his kingdom, as well as a subtle warning of what might befall him should he fail to uphold that duty.
This story was inspired by a legend I once read of Shah Jahan who reputedly had the hands cut off the artisans who built his wife's tomb, the Taj Mahal.
Guess who left his crown lying around again? Hint: It's wasn't Prince William.
