The Bad King John Problem

I was woken early one morning by a hammering on my back door.

 

I rushed downstairs to find Alun waving a five pound note.

 

“What is it?” I asked. We rarely use mainland money here on Happy Island, Alun and I preferring a system of favours and barter as the main means of exchange.

“It’s Bad King John, Jed,” he said.

“Bad King John, what’s he done now?”

 

“This Jed, the new five pound note – look he’s pulling a funny face and making a rude gesture.”

 

It was true. Rather than the traditional image of a refined monarch in regal pose, the picture of Bad King John involved him gesturing his fingers in an unholy manner and pulling a face that would fit better on a jester than a monarch.

 

“Well, we may not use many five pound notes here, but it’s still an inappropriate way for a king to behave.”

 

“It’s not just the five pound note, Jed, it’s every note and coin in the new print run, he’s pulling faces, making gestures, and you should see the new stamp!”

 

He showed me the new stamp. I decided then and there to stop writing letters, I certainly wasn’t going to lick the back of that.

 

“It’s not just the coinage, Jed, it’s the random taxes. Every time he wants something he just introduces a new tax: The ‘I need some new shirts tax’, the ‘Villa in France Tax’, the ‘spare pair of Oven Gloves Tax’, he never pays for anything himself.”

 

“He really is a bad king,” I said.

 

“Exactly,” said Alun, “which is why myself and the other barons in the kingdom plan to bring him to order.”

 

I sometimes forget that Alun is a baron: Alun holds the title of Baron Happy, which his great, great, great grandfather won in a game of Happy Families.  

 

“So what are you going to do? Fight him?”

 

“Alas, no, the King’s armies are too great, unless we want a civil war that renders the whole kingdom asunder. Plus he has the pope’s backing.”

 

“Pope Innocent? But he’s the nicest, most godly pope there’s ever been. Why’s he backing an evil king?”

 

“King John has tricked him, Jed, that’s why. It’s why he’s known as Pope Innocent, he’s very naïve – his real name’s Brian.”

 

“Where’s Bad King John now?” I asked.

 

“Hull.”

 

“Hull. Who in there right mind would go to Hull?”

 

“I know, Jed, but foul as it is, Hull itself is made fouler by the presence of King John.”

 

Alun left that morning to meet with his baronial peers and devise a scheme to temper the worst excesses of Bad King John’s endeavours whilst avoiding outright war.

 

A few days later I was woken early one morning by a hammering on my back door. It was Alun.

 

“It is sorted Jed,” he said, “the king is meeting myself and the other Barons here on Happy Island and we have a plan to bring about a peaceful solution.”

 

“The king’s coming here? But the whole island is a mess. I shall have to clean the goats.”

 

I spent the whole day rushing round the island cleaning. Every fence, outdoor toilet and goat pen was graced with a fresh coat of paint.

The kingdom’s barons arrived on the morning boat the next day. It had been agreed that we should meet the king in the empty house, the former church that doubled up as a banqueting hall and charter-signing lounge.

 

“So what’s the plan?” I asked Alun.

 

“Simple, we get the King to sign this Charter.”

 

I skim-read the Charter, in which the king promised to issue no taxes without the approval of the barons, and not to imprison his baronial rivals without their having access to a fair trial by their peers.

“The king will never sign this,” I said. “Why, if he’s not able to introduce taxes without baronial approval he’ll have to …”

 

“He’ll have buy his own shirts and trousers, yes Jed. But don’t worry, we have a plan. We’ll get him drunk, then he won’t know what he’s signing.”

 

“What if he refuses to get drunk?”

 

“We’ll trick him, we’ll switch his apple juice for cider.”

 

The king arrived to great fanfare, having brought his own personal fanfare orchestra (paid for by the Fanfare Tax).

 

“Welcome King John to the humble land of Happy Island,” Alun said, bowing and grovelling.

 

“Oh get on with it,” King John said, quite rudely I thought, “I’ve got a kingdom to run. Where’s this charter you want me to sign?”

 

“Before we start perhaps you’d like to join us in a glass of Happy Island apple juice, to toast the good welfare of the kingdom.”

 

“Apple juice?” the king said suspiciously.

“We’re all drinking it,” one of the barons said, and indeed they were all drinking apple juice and took swigs of their drinks to demonstrate.

 

“Oh go on then.” I poured the King a big jug of Magners Cider.

“To peace and prosperity,” one of the Barons said, and they all took big gulps of apple juice. “Oh, go on then, to peace and that other thing,” the king said, and downed his cider in one.

 

I topped up the king’s glass, as the barons proposed toast after toast. In no time at all, the king was completely rat-arsed.

 

“Let’s get him to sign while he can still stand,” Alun whispered, and the barons guided his majesty to the table, where the Charter awaited the king’s signature.

 

“Let me read this,” the king said, and he stared non-comprehendingly at the paper, which had been written in Latin just to make sure the king had no idea what he was signing. Aware that the barons were staring at him, and not keen to admit that he seemed to have forgotten how to read, he hastily took out his mark with which to authorise the document.

 

“The King’s seal, Jed,” Alun whispered.

I looked out of the window and there, sure enough, was the King’s seal, splashing around in the ocean. I remember the King buying the seal, as it had had to be paid for by the Seal Tax.  

 

With the king’s mark added, the Charter was authorised and became part of mainland law.

“We will call this the Happy Island Charter,” Alun said after all the kings and barons had departed, “that way our little island will be forever remembered for its role in history.”

 

“Hurrah,” I said, and we toasted the charter’s memorable name with glasses of Magners.