After School

2.28 Wilson I

September 1, 1246

Wilson Stevenson the First arrived at the Church of Willesden, his lips curving into a playful smirk.

He trodded past the luscious green grass as his royal red mantle billowed in the autumn breeze. The chapel that rose above the ground was beautiful, made of pristine ivory stone and colourful stained glass. The early morning blue sky shone down on the statue of the virgin and her child, a sign of love, hope, and chaste. The exterior was in the shape of a cross, while a spire made of glistening ceramic bricks directed his eyes towards the heavens. This inspired a range of thoughts and emotions to swirl in Wilson.

He recalled his coronation ceremony that took place in this Holy cathedral, a year ago. The entire kingdom was present at the prestigious ceremony, but only the wealthiest of his family and friends were invited to witness the Prince receiving God's blessings and transforming into a King. The peasants and women simply stood outside the chapel, peering through the stained windows. Such lowly life was not allowed to witness a divine ceremony like that.

His royal guards pushed open the heavy iron-bound doors, and Wilson entered, gracing God's presence. His light brown hair that sometimes appeared blonde in the sunlight swished dramatically when he entered. Wilson adjusted the heavy gold crown that always adorned his head, a symbol for his status. His jewel green eyes glimmered amongst the candlelight of the parish, as his heartbeats matched the rhythm of the children's soft hymns. It was as if his presence told God, 'I am here, Father. I am above the people, but I am below Thou.'

Moving through the passage, the quiet air tinctured with the scent of incense, burning candles, and the fresh smell of Anglican prayer books flooded his senses. The brightly lit passage with a floor of encaustic tiles and white-painted walls ran through the west end of the church. The vestry was the first room on the left, and the central nave of the church was straight ahead.

Wilson grinned as he approached the altar of the nave, greeting the Cardinal of the Church of Willesden. The wide room was decorated with Norman arches, with tall and proud marble pillars supporting them. The sunshine shone through the colourful stained-glass windows, casting an illuminating glow onto the sacred altar. His footsteps sounded graceful against the ceramic tiles, as they were the only ones that echoed.

As he passed the empty wooden benches that faced the altar, he scanned the room for the singing children. Their voices were like angels, high and graceful notes soaring over the clouds, singing for God only. Not here? Perhaps they are harmonizing in the vestry room.

"Your Majesty," the Cardinal said, bowing down to his King when he arrived. "To what may I owe the pleasure of thy company?" he asked, a lopsided grin plastered on his wrinkled face. The old man wore a simple white cap, although a fringe of grey-white hair around his mottled scalp was peeking out of the rims. His floor-length white cassock draped over his feet, gliding against the varnished ground in swift movements. It was attached to a red pellegrina and girded with a fringed white fascia, reflecting his lavish lifestyle.

Wilson solemnly nodded, one arm raised to his chest, and the other resting on the sheath of his sword. "Cardinal Wichard IV," he greeted, adjusting his belt made of gold. "I have come to ask thou to do me a favour," the King began, scrutinizing the Cardinal's wizened face and his hunched back.

"I serve thou and the royal family, Your Majesty. I shall do anything for thee. Although, do remember that I am God's messenger. Thou art merely a King. A young one at that," Cardinal Wichard IV gloated, flashing Wilson a toothless smile.

God's messenger? Thou art not a Pope yet, he internally scoffed. Wilson masked his disgust towards the old rag of a man by clenching his jaw and forcing a smile. "Of course!" he heartily chuckled, twirling the gold cord that strung his red surcoat between his thumbs. He twisted and pressed against the cord harshly, imagining the Cardinal's face in between his thumbs.