Epilogue
Belinda
Inside the walls of the Hall of Kings stand seven marble figures, each lit by the warm light of torches. Etched in the stone, at the base of the statues, is a king’s name and the years of his reign. King Mansa’s figure is powerful. Carved ten years ago, when the artist could take as much time as necessary, it’s sat waiting. The plaque is new. That’s how many governed over Mozia since the independent nation was established.
Zan reminds me, in the long march of history, we are just witnessing the birth of a nation. It’s hard to believe I’m part of the story now. Or that our children will be. How strange life is. I’m actually watching Queen Ayana as she stands before the king. As Queen Consort, I sit behind where Zan stands, on one side of Her Majesty, The Queen’s throne. Prince Kwai sits on the other.
It’s a solemn occasion, and the faces and postures in the gallery reflect that. There’s a select audience present for the Coronation, but the television cameras bring the ceremony straight into Mozians’ homes.
Zan looks every inch the king. Central casting would have put him in the film. He stands tall, wearing the deep blue dress uniform of the military. He carries a traditional saber and lance. I almost start laughing picturing him standing naked in our bedroom with his props.Stop it!
It was moving hearing him take the Constitutional Oath. He promised to defend the rule of law and the interests of his subjects. Most importantly he vowed to safeguard the realm.
The queen slips the diamond-encrusted ring onto Zan’s finger. It had to be sized from when it belonged to King Mansa. Then the imperial vestments are placed around his shoulders and neck. And now the crown. It’s so beautiful. Gold with encrusted gems of every color. I’m not even sure what all of them are. He kneels. Queen Ayana lifts it from the white velvet pillow it lays on and places it over his head.
“And now the torch of leadership passes to King Zan. May God guide your days.”
She crowns him with the words and a contained smile. His face is so expressive. He holds her gaze and smiles back in the same way. This is one of those moments that are too big for emotions like tears. It’s beyond that.
Zan stands and a few words pass between them that I can’t hear. But whatever she’s said makes the corners of his mouth lift.
* * *
The king and I are escorted outside by a parade of notables chanting, “Blessed be the king!” Once there, units of mounted police flank our carriage, which will take us beyond the gates. The sound of masses of people waiting in the street makes such an impact. This is emotionally powerful.
“Come on, let me help you up,” Zan says, taking my arm. I step into the carriage and slide over to the far side. He follows me in. The horses clippity clop toward the gates.
“How’d I do?”
“Honey, you were magnificent. I’m proud to be your wife, and so happy to experience this day with you… King Zan.”
I bow my head as I say it, and he laughs and pulls me closer.
“Is this behavior befitting a king?” I ask.
“King or not, I will never stop touching you, or wanting you. Or loving you.”
He takes my face in his hands, and as we pass through the gates, he kisses me. The crowd lining either side of the street roars its approval. Mozian flags and banners lift above the smiling faces.
“Here we go baby, you ready?”
Holding on to my hand, Zan waves to the adoring crowd. He’s so effortlessly himself and the world loves him for it. Then he looks into my eyes. Yes, my love, I’m ready.
