Authors: Suzette Hollingsworth
After a long pause, King Don Bartolomé deigned to reply. “It is not for me to decide what I want or don’t want,” he retorted, his eyes steely and determined. “Nor for you. Alejandro, you are the crown prince, you were born to serve your country, and you have no say in the matter. You
will
fulfill your destiny and be the king you were born to be.”
“I will be…
king
…if you wish it, Poppy.” Reluctantly he presented his best offering with every ounce of strength left to him. Barely able to speak the words, which tasted like poison on his lips, he added, “But why can’t I go to school here and live with you and Mummy? You always said…”
“I will be the judge of what is best.” The king’s expression was stern.
As he looked up, King Don Bartolomé’s large stature towering over him, Alejandro had never before been so aware of his father’s height. Under the king’s harsh and unrelenting expression, Alejandro’s hands shook as he realized the unthinkable was happening and that there was nothing he could do to stop it. With no warning and for no reason, his power was now gone. And far worse, he was no longer loved.
He suddenly felt dizzy and started to sway. He bit his lip hard in order to maintain his balance, and he wanted to cry out from the pain. But he must…he
must
impress his father. Maybe then he would be allowed to return home to live with his mummy and poppy.
* * * *
King Don Bartolomé studied his son. Alejandro was large for his age, with dark-brown hair, large chocolate-brown eyes, long eyelashes that were too feminine, a perpetual half grin on his face, and a sparkle in his eyes. He had a mischievous disposition, as any young man adored from birth and born to advantage would have. Any young man born a
king
.
He and the queen had spoiled the prince in all the wrong ways. That was at an end as of this moment. Fortunately, Alejandro was also uncommonly driven. He had an enormous amount of energy for anything that pleased him, and it pleased him to do anything that was set before him. The young prince would exert himself to excel at every task.
King Don Bartolomé thought with satisfaction at the brilliance of his plan. Alejandro would prove a useful tool. It was true that there were excellent reasons for Alejandro to be schooled at the palace, as he had always ordained the heir to the throne would be, in terms of the prince’s education. But there were other, more significant, factors to consider.
The sons of the “favored” societal leaders would be taught with the prince. Naturally the boys couldn’t be brought to the palace. The association with the monarchy and the impression of elitism would be too strong.
No, the prince would move among the people and be one of them. He had to be taken from the palace. Prince Alejandro would then proceed to military school at the appropriate time. He would be
the people’s prince
, the people’s
choice
, and the monarchy would be saved.
King Don Bartolomé reflected that he was the supreme ruler of a once-great imperialist country that had claimed fully one-third of the globe. It was now the year 1884, and sixty percent of Spaniards were illiterate, the country was poor, and Spain was behind other European countries in industrial advances. There was much unrest in Spain, and the country was torn between parties of the far left and the far right.
There was no middle road in Spain. Spaniards were too passionate a people to adopt a neutral position. True to his heritage, the king embraced a path.
The monarchy was threatened, and King Don Bartolomé de Bonifácio knew his greatest tool was the crown prince. Everyone was enamored of the heir to the throne. Don Bartolomé would use the prince to court desirable factions, playing one side against the other.
He stroked his moustache. Possibly a false threat to the crown prince’s life…whatever it took to keep the Spanish people behind the monarchy.
“Alejandro, you listen to me. We have been given a great trust. I will
not
bear the humiliation of having my name go down in history as the ruler who lost the throne. If you let that happen, you will prove to me that you are not worthy of the Bonifácio name. Do you understand me, Alejandro?”
“Yes, Poppy.” Alejandro nodded, his words barely audible.
“Alejandro, remember that, above all,
the monarchy must be preserved
.” King Don Bartolomé observed his son swaying and turning red. He frowned. The boy must perform his role. Everything depended on that. He placed his face close to his son’s and boomed, “The Bonifácio family
is
the monarchy. If the monarchy dies, your family dies. If you do not do as I say, Alejandro,
you will have destroyed us all
.”
A tear escaped from the boy’s eye, which infuriated the king. “Do not cry before me!” he growled between clenched teeth.
Alejandro made no sound, but he nodded. As King Don Bartolomé observed the flash of determination that crossed his son’s face, his pulse slowed down a bit. As he prepared to send his precious child away to school, he felt hope rather than regret. The thought of
not
ruling terrified King Don Bartolomé. He was
supposed
to rule. Anything else was unfathomable. He studied his oldest son and never considered what his son might need.
He
might rule, but his son would
serve
.
Chapter Three
You think to hold it, it avoids you
You think to avoid it, it holds you
Love is the child of the Bohemian
It has never known any law
—
Georges Bizet,
Carmen
A celestial three-tiered crystal chandelier sparkling like a pirate’s treasure hung from the magnificently painted domed ceiling. Seeking to both steady himself and to escape anywhere his mind would take him, his eyes took refuge in the depiction of Mozart’s
The Magic Flute
through endless glistening pieces of crystal. The dancing chandelier lights merged with
Prelude to the Afternoon of the Faun
in white,
Romeo and Juliet
in green,
Firebird
in red,
Giselle
in yellow, and
Swan Lake
in ice blue, absorbing all the colors in a beauty so intense he could only be in heaven.
Luring him in, the sharpened points suddenly turned toward him, their infinite beauty transformed into a deadly weapon headed straight for his heart.
Prince Alejandro de Bonifácio dug his toe into his shoe as he considered his new home, El Anselmo, from the front porch. It was a magnificent Mediterranean-style villa forty miles from Madrid. The grounds were like something out of a picture book with horse stables, a forest with climbing trees intersected by a river, a swimming lake stocked with fish, and a sky brimming with stars which seemed to go on forever.
He would have lived in a shack if it meant being reunited with his family.
His heart was aching and his head throbbing in struggling to decipher his father’s reasoning. Alejandro knew that he was somehow at the center of all these plans at the same time he was …
invisible
.
His classes were shared with a small group of boys—the son of an archdeacon, a vineyard owner’s son, a banker’s firstborn, the heir to a textile mill, a labor leader’s son, and an older royal cousin who seemed to resent him.
Alejandro had been determined to make friends, and he had, but they could not replace his mummy and poppy—who rarely telephoned or wrote—nor his brothers and sisters.
It was like they were gone forever.
Staring at the sky, he searched for some answer in the twinkling of the stars. It was as if they were speaking to him but he couldn’t hear them.
Just as he spoke and no one heard him. So strange. Like he was not there at the same time everyone was pushing him from every direction, wanting something from him. How could he be so important to everyone
and not matter to anyone?
Alejandro bit his lip. He thought of his brothers and sisters who were allowed to live with his mummy and poppy and each other. He would have given anything in the world not to be the heir to the throne.
But curse Spain he would not. He loved Her, he loved his family, and the two were now inseparable in his mind.
Alejandro’s first duty was as an altar boy at the 6:00 a.m. mass, followed by saying his allegiance with the raising of the Spanish flag. His education began in earnest after breakfast. He had a naval tutor who taught exploration, expansion, all the great war theories, and how to command at sea. He had art lessons from the famed
Carbonero.
Then English, Italian, French, and, of course, the dreaded mathematics.
The only recesses were the endless visitors, none of them his poppy or his mummy, and all attempting to ingratiate themselves with gifts. His favorite gift was an Andalusian stallion. He could ride and ride and pretend he was someone else. Other than that, he would have rather done without the gifts, which carried with them high expectations of conduct and endless insincere notes of thanks that must be written. He dreaded receiving yet another box of fancy chocolates.
There were, of course, sports requirements, which provided some relief from the regime, though relief was not the intent. In everything the young boys did, Alejandro knew, their goal must be perfection.
“Your Highness? Is that you?” Señor Esteban Xalvador, the fencing master and literature professor at El Anselmo, approached him in the unlit corner of the porch, his secret hiding place. His disappointment at being discovered paled before his pleasure at seeing his favorite teacher. Señor Xalvador was
different
. He was the best athlete among the teachers, and yet he dressed like…like…well, like no one else. It wasn’t that he was sloppy. No, the good señor was always immaculately dressed, and his suit was always pressed, so that wasn’t it.
Alejandro wrinkled his brow. Maybe Señor Xalvador looked like a stage actor? He wore a dark-black frock coat that reached the knees of his long, muscular legs, a narrow bow tie in black, and always a strangely decorative double-breasted waistcoat. Did this one have horses embroidered on it? Alejandro couldn’t tell in the darkness. Alejandro thought it might be gray striped with small red animals of some type.
He was sure that Señor Xalvador only had one suit, but his indulgence appeared to be his waistcoats. And his footwear. The young teacher had a pair of riding boots to equal his pop…the king’s. Even in the darkness Alejandro could see that Señor Xalvador’s black leather everyday shoes shone to perfection.
A pocket-watch chain trailed from Señor Xalvador’s vest to his pocket. He had short hair and a pointed beard. He looked like he should have been carrying an artist’s palette, Alejandro thought, and the reflection almost made him smile for the first time in weeks. And then his eyes moved to Señor Xalvador’s eyes. There was always a twinkle in his teacher’s eye.
Alejandro looked at the stars again. He wondered if
he
had ever had a twinkle in his eye.
* * * *
“Aren’t you supposed to be in your room, preparing for bed, Your Highness?” Esteban approached Alejandro slowly. “You need your rest.” He studied the boy hovering in the corner of the porch wearing a three-piece suit consisting of a coat, vest, and knee pants that were tight fitting and met high stockings worn at the knee. Not even one button of the vest was unbuttoned on the child, even at this late hour.
“Can’t you call me Alejandro, Señor Xalvador?” the prince asked, his wide eyes looking up, open to the world.
“In private, if you wish it, Your High—
Alejandro
.” Esteban’s heart bled for the boy as he realized in that moment that no one in the prince’s new home called him by his name. He added gently, “But only if you call me Esteban.”
“Yes, Señor Esteban,” he agreed. The boy seemed to be bracing himself for rejection. “May I ask a favor of you?”
“Of course,” Esteban replied haltingly. “It would be my pleasure, Prince Alejandro.”