The Queen's Corgi

‘Not magic,’ said Winston. ‘It comes from within.’

He shot a glance over his shoulder towards Margaret and I realised that he was drawing me into his confidence. ‘It evolves quite naturally over time. Of course, some of us are more receptive than others. We need to be open to it.’ Margaret, I gathered, was not open.

We emerged in a hallway at the bottom of the stairs that led up to the Queen’s private apartment. They were the very same stairs that Tara had ascended when she’d first brought me to Windsor Castle. The figure in the hallway had his back to us when we arrived, but hearing the sound of our paws on the carpet, he turned. ‘Ah, the welcoming committee!’

He was a substantial man, tall and broad shouldered, but the most immediate thing I noticed about him was the lightness he conveyed. Perhaps it was the enlivening quality of his very clear, blue eyes. Perhaps it was the inviting warmth about his features. As Winston scampered briskly towards him, Margaret bypassed him, seeming more interested in a newly-installed pedestal table. ‘And you’ve joined them!’ It was as if he recognised me from somewhere before. ‘What fun we’re all going to have!’

As he bent to pat Winston and me, I nuzzled his hand, taking in his scent. It was an herbaceous and strangely compelling aroma that seemed to connect him to an ancient, more pastoral time. His appearance was that of a mature man, with snowy hair and a lined face. However, as I looked directly into his eyes for the first time, I felt drawn to a state of timelessness. Along with the lightness was a feeling of ineffable peace. Even in those first few moments, I realised that Michael was unlike anyone I’d ever encountered.

He began making his way up the stairs to Her Majesty’s apartment. Pausing on the landing, he regarded the soldier in chain mail with solemnity, the two acknowledging each other with respectful inclines of their heads, before Michael continued upwards. We entered the private apartment and made our way to the door of the Queen’s office.

Before Michael had even knocked on the door, we heard Her Majesty’s voice: ‘Michael, is that you?’

‘Indeed, Your Majesty.’

‘Do come.’

As he stepped into her office, the Queen rose from her desk. Her visitor bowed. ‘Your timing is, as always, impeccable,’ she said.

When other people had come to her office, she would show them to one of the armchairs, before sitting on another. But she made no attempt to suggest where Michael should sit. Instead, she returned to her chair at her desk, watching as he stood at the window looking out at the swirling grey mist, his back towards her.

‘Difficult week?’ There was a gentle understanding in his rich, bass voice, as he looked out over the shrouded landscape.

‘Like wading through treacle,’ said Her Majesty. ‘Sometimes one can’t help questioning why one’s doing this.’

‘Hmm.’

‘Would people, in fact, prefer it if we weren’t here?’

At the window, her visitor nodded slowly.

‘It’s about relevance, Michael.’ I had never heard the Queen express her doubts so freely. In fact, had I not been sitting at her feet, I wouldn’t have believed anyone who told me that she could even entertain such dark thoughts. ‘One sometimes feels like such an anachronism,’ she continued. ‘From a rational point of view, there is no place for a monarchy at all.’ She sighed. ‘It is utterly undemocratic. There is no logic to it. And yet . . .’

After a pause, he turned from the window to face her, his blue eyes seeming almost luminescent in the darkness of the room. ‘And yet,’ he repeated, ‘reason gets us only so far. Few of our life’s most important decisions and none of mankind’s grandest undertakings are driven by reason alone. The greatest works of art; the most important scientific endeavours; the building of empires; the pursuit of love, dreams and passions—none of our most significant endeavours is propelled by mere logic. You, my Queen, are so much more than what you can or cannot do. Your mere presence is one of the most universal and powerful symbols of mankind.’

Just as I had never heard Her Majesty voice any reservations, I had never heard anyone speak to the Queen with such sweeping authority. There was respect in his voice, to be sure, but a guiding purpose that seemed almost fatherly. ‘You are the embodiment of continuity and the wellbeing of your people. You represent stability and hope. Whatever your own personal reservations, as sovereign you are a beacon for the forces of light in a degenerate age.

‘This land and the culture that springs from it have been a cradle of ancient spirituality since time immemorial. For thousands of years, our people strove to live in harmony with the spirit they found in everything. God was present in nature and they sought Him in holy, healing places: in caves, springs and mountains, in rituals and pilgrimages, through which they placed themselves in resonance with those who’d been before.

‘Most Christian experience has been of this same, intuitive nature. The Mass chanted in a language that only the priests knew; the soaring spires, the stained glass and the incense—what was all this if not an invocation to experience a more transcendent state of consciousness? Divine presence?

‘In only a few hundred years, most of it has been lost. The current obsession with the material world, with consumerism, can make one feel that somehow our people have taken the wrong turning.’

‘Haven’t they?’ interjected the Queen, her voice cool as stone on that grey morning.

‘Complete immersion can be useful to discover something’s limitations,’ Michael said wryly. ‘And we are already witnessing the return of the pendulum to a greener and more balanced way of being. Spirit is being redis

covered.’ His voice was tremulous with feeling. ‘No longer called spirit, but energy. Einstein and the quantum scientists have shown that matter and energy co-exist. That energy is in everything. Our true purpose in life . . .’ he paused, ‘is to awaken to our own energy and use it for the wellbeing of all.’

In the stillness, we considered the importance of what he had just said, before he told Her Majesty, ‘You already know this, of course. Your special role is to inspire it in others. You do it so well, holding up a mirror to them, inviting them to see how they match up to their own purest nature.’ The Queen reflected on this in silence.

‘You play the most vital part in an esoteric lineage which reaches back for a millennia. Like your ancestors, you do so through symbols and ritual. Is it a coincidence that the language and culture of this small island has such a sweeping influence on the rest of the world?’

There was a lengthy pause before Her Majesty finally spoke, somewhat wryly. ‘Thank you, Michael, for reminding me of my most awesome responsibilities.’

It was at this precise moment, when I was listening to the most profound words I’d ever heard spoken, that I felt a sudden and unaccountable urge. Getting up from under the Queen’s desk, I walked some distance towards a bookshelf, where I squatted and began to relieve myself. And it wasn’t just a puddle.

As it happened, both Winston and Margaret were dozing next to the Queen’s desk. But Her Majesty and Michael both looked at me. ‘Oh, dear,’ said the Queen.