Aide De Camp

It was common knowledge that the Emperor hated the English.  His mother was English and he believed she was responsible for his withered arm.  When he asked the Pianist to bang out "I Do Like To Be Beside The Seaside" he was feeling sentimental about the superb show his sailboat had made so long ago at Cowes Week and what a pleasure it had been to thumb his nose at his English cousins. It was a shame they had fallen out.  It was the old lady’s fault.  There weren’t any half-English snobs invited to the hunting lodge that weekend where the Emperor and his cronies were celebrating a day of hunting.  They had bagged a brace of deer, five chamois, a baby boar, and enough woodcock to make the sideboard groan. But if the English relatives had seen the gusto with which the Emperor had slaughtered the noble animals, they would have said he was mad.  He thought the English were mad, starting with his mother.  It was a standoff nobody could win.  That evening, conflicts were forgotten as the entourage clamoured to join in on the tiddely-om-pom-poms and swigs of Dutch courage to bolster themselves for whatever came next.  The Emperor, whose confident tenor voice made sense of the assembled group's bad pronunciation, would occasionally pause his elegantly-cuffed directing arm, to sip fresh orange juice from a silver goblet.  

            When Sweetie the General, his overstuffed belly squeezed into a pink tutu, took to the floor, the Emperor shouted hurrah and whistled with two fingers. His entourage dutifully did the same, imitating their master, tipping their heads back in uproarious laughter.  The Emperor was familiar enough with his hunting companions that he dared to use the hand on his withered arm to clap like a child at the circus.  Sweetie pranced out in pink tights and ballet slippers, which showed off his slim legs and dainty feet as he jumped and pirouetted.  An ostrich plume in his hair trembled, and perspiration ran down his bright pink forehead as he beamed and blew kisses to the Emperor and the assembled court.  Everyone was laughing so hard, that when he did a particularly deep curtsey and his big bottom hit the floor with a thud, they thought it was part of the act.  The sight of his pink behind as he rolled over, produced even louder howls and whistles from the Emperor.  His Aide-de-Camp wasn't amused and stood quietly in the corner hoping nobody would notice him.  To his knowledge and upbringing, this was not a way for grown men to behave no matter how much they had to drink or how much it pleased their superior.  

            It wasn't Sweetie's first performance, nor was it the Aide-de-Camp's first sight of such a spectacle.  When he assumed his post, the outgoing Aide had told him about the Emperor’s taste for unseemly shenanigans. These entertainments had started on cruises to the Norwegian fjords that the Emperor had taken as a young man.  No women were ever allowed on his ship so the men had to find ways to amuse themselves. "I don't care for women," the Emperor declared, though he had long since married and produced offspring. "Women should stay home and look after their children,” he said to imply he was an enlightened modern man and didn't discount females entirely.  On these summer cruises, the Emperor brought along a dozen of his closest friends and a few high-ranking officials of his Empire.  He kept them entertained by organizing games, exercises, and mock theatres. 

Before breakfast every morning, the crew and the visitors were required to do army callisthenics. The Emperor was delighted to see his more portly guests, men of intelligence and stature, rolling around on the deck like they were captive walruses.  If the ship was at anchor there might be rowing contests between crew members where one team, to the Emperor’s delight, always finished in the water.  After lunch the Emperor would take a nap of precisely ninety minutes, and when he got up there were more exercises.  Often during the afternoon session, the recharged Emperor delighted in snipping his guest's braces so their trousers fell down, and as they rolled about the deck trying to pull up their pants and make themselves decent, he would sit on them.  Later in the evening when the majority of the company had consumed enough wine and schnapps, a Count and rear-admiral nicknamed Yvette, wearing long black gloves and a slinky dress, would proclaim his way through some bawdy French lyrics to hysterical laughter from those who could understand.  The Emperor didn't like the French either, so he was thrilled to see their etoile of the moment made into a figure of fun. When news had arrived that Yvette's wife had been openly frequenting another man and Yvette had done nothing about it, the Emperor had banished him and stripped of his rank.  

"Playing dress-up is one thing," the Emperor proclaimed, "but a man who can't defend his property is no man at all.  He has forfeited the right to be in my company."  He would be surrounded only by real men, handsome and upright, men like himself.  Any sycophantic friends and minions who strayed outside his concept of masculinity, deserved the humiliation he imposed on them.  The Aide forewarned newcomers on board that they would be expected to participate in an initiation ceremony, the Emperor's version of the mariner's equatorial baptism, though they were nowhere near the equator.

            Ingo, the Emperor's current Aide-de-Camp, was not amused by his superior's games and had only participated once, as a near naked cup-bearer.  If he wished to maintain his rank as a personal attendant to the Emperor, he would have to go along with them to some extent, but unlike Sweetie, he was not the first one to jump onto the stage.  Ingo's father was an Earl so he was raised in a strict and proper family, and like the Emperor, was sent to military school when he was twelve.  It had been a terrible time for him because he was close to his mother, but his father had insisted it was for the lad's good. If he didn't attend the school his father had chosen, he would never make the right friends and couldn't hope to ascend in rank. At school, Ingo learned to suppress his sadness and pretended to be like the other boys who seemed to be happy to participate in games, rough sports, and bullying.  

Ingo's intelligence didn't hurt his military career but after the sacrifices he had made to pursue his father's dream of being promoted to the upper echelons, it was because of an act of personal bravery, the rescue of his commanding officer in the War of Unification, that had landed him at the side of the Emperor.  Ingo wasn't married and had no desire to rush into it, but his new boss chided him for not taking a wife so he could reproduce his Nordic good looks to keep the Empire strong and manly.  The Emperor considered them both men of action, but instead of doing things to keep his military skills sharp, the Aide-de-Camp was pulled from one distraction to another by the Emperor who expected his Ministers, Generals, Princes, and Managers to keep up with him.  Sometimes this took the form of excursions into the countryside where the Emperor whipped his horses into a frenzy, lost control on sharp corners, and crashed through gates.  Anyone who had been cajoled into getting aboard his carriage put their lives at risk.  In the evenings the Emperor was fond of staging spectacles like the one Ingo had just seen in the pink tutu.  Sweetie, the Pianist, and Yvette, had been on most of the Baltic cruises and on voyages round the Greek and Turkish coasts where the Emperor first picked up the idea for his Byzantine court. Some of the guests were reluctant to participate, but the inner circle knew that by humouring the Emperor they were keeping him happy and their prospects positive. The Pianist was often an instigator of these cabarets as he had a strong singing voice, and a convincing way of talking people into things.  He was the man closest to the top and even addressed the Emperor privately as Darling.  The Emperor never asked the Pianist to put on a costume but was happy to let him play and sing because he could imitate any musical style and voice, including a convincing female warble. For the Emperor, he was a jolly good friend to have around to direct the fun, but for others he was a figure of suspicion because he had the Emperor's ear.

It was on a Mediterranean cruise that Sweetie first worked his way into the Emperor's good books by dressing as a poodle. His improvised getup was more like a shaved and naked poodle than a fluffy one.  He entered the room on all fours, straining against a leash that was held by a circus clown with a white face and pointed hat, who was actually the Secretary of the Navy.  Sweetie had floppy bangs of white wool in front of his eyes, long white gloves and socks, but the rest of his pale round body was naked except for a rubber tail that was plugged into his anus and wiggled when he wagged his behind.  A fig leaf that dangled between his legs didn't hide the fact that he was a male sheep. When he barked, rolled over, or sat up on his hind legs, the Emperor was on his feet, clapping wildly, beside himself with pleasure. Sweetie didn't look cowed or humiliated and seemed to relish every fresh peal of laughter he could squeeze from his beloved Emperor.  All agreed that it was not Sweetie's skills as a General that kept him in the Emperor's good books, but his demonstrated willingness to do anything to please his commander.

When the pink tutu ballerina number was over, the Aide de Camp noticed that Sweetie hadn't picked himself up after his ungraceful fall.  He rushed to the floor, and with the help of the Pianist dragged Sweetie by his legs off the floor as if it was part of the act.  The Pianist returned to his instrument to keep the party lively with a rousing rendition of 'Prussia's Glory' while Ingo ran to find the ship's doctor who never attended these entertainments. The Emperor overlooked the doctor breaking the rules because he was a wise and capable physician who once had the courage to contradict the Emperor's mother.

Ingo ushered the doctor through the kitchen to a stateroom where they had deposited Sweetie.  The doctor confirmed Ingo's initial assessment that Sweetie was dead. "No doubt a heart attack," he said

“Poor old guy.  Said it was a bit of fun to cheer him up after his sister died.”

"The way he ate and drank I’m surprised he lasted this long.  That red face was a sure sign, but you can’t tell those high and mighty gents anything."

"Nobody should know about this," the Aide de Camp said, assuming his role as protector of the Emperor. It hadn't taken long in his position to learn that more than needing protection from would-be assassins, the Emperor needed protection from his own worst instincts and the havoc they created.  It would not be well received in the halls of Empire if word circulated about the Emperor's twisted extravagances.  By the time Ingo and the doctor had tracked down Sweetie's stateroom, dragged him there, and found his uniform, rigor mortis had begun to set in.  Sweetie was a large man so the two of them almost exhausted themselves in rolling the body around to pull on his trousers, shirt, and jacket. When his death was announced to the company the next day, Sweetie was lying peacefully on the bed in his cabin, in full uniform as if ready for his next assignment. They would say he had died after a tense night of strategic planning for the future of the Empire.  He was given a funeral that fitted his rank and though he had no living relatives, the public were assured that he was a hero and had given his life in service to the Emperor.  "If only they knew," Ingo thought.

The Emperor was shaken by the news of Sweetie the General's death.   If the news got out it might cost him his reputation as a warrior.  A few years before, a socialist journalist had written articles exposing homosexual elements in the Emperor's retinue, and stated that the vice was rampant in the military schools these powerful men had attended.  The potential scandal was easily squashed with the arrest of the journalist and his confinement to prison, but it was irreparable damage narrowly avoided, and he had reined in some of his more extravagant tastes since then.  

.  However, rumours did circulate about the manner of Sweetie's death, and there were more allegations about degenerates in his circle, the Emperor took action and dismissed anyone in his inner circle who had a whiff of unmanliness about them, reassigning them to positions far away from the centre of power.

"Please believe me Sir," Ingo assured the Emperor, "that I am a loyal trustworthy servant who has only your Majesty's best interests at heart."

"Yes, yes, yes," the Emperor said, waving the Aide away because he was about to have a bath, a sacred ritual at which he permitted only a male attendant and masseur. 

Within a week Ingo was promoted to garrison commander in Dar es Salaam. Perhaps his presence had reminded the Emperor that the two of them had shared a bed on more than one occasion.  None of these instances involved traditional penetrative sex, but had been more like twelve-year-old cadet best friends wrestling naked on the bed.  While on cruises, the Emperor liked to drag others of his entourage to join him in his stateroom, insisting that anyone he judged to be insufficiently well endowed, had to keep his night-clothes on and serve the others.  Although Ingo had not spoken to anyone about these experiences, knowing that if he stuck his head above the parapet he would lose it, he had now lost it anyway.  With no wife or children to add to his burden, the only options the Aide de Camp had, were suicide like some of his colleagues, or to accept the Emperor's orders.   

'"I don't understand it my boy." Ingo's father could never know the reason for his son's fall from grace.

"Don't worry, old man," he said.  "I'll make good in Africa and be home before you know it to take up my family duties."  Secretly he hoped that one of the Emperor's hare-brained adventures would be the end of him and he would be out of Africa in no time.  

 When the war was lost and the Emperor was forced to step aside by men he called socialist traitors, he was exiled to an estate in a small foreign country he had once trampled on.  There he spent the next twenty years of his life chopping down all of the trees on the estate and died of old age in time to see one of his protégés try to resurrect the old Empire.  

Once the Emperor's war was over, Ingo returned with his Ethiopian partner to the shattered ruins of his family estate.  His connections to the old head of state didn't save him from the new regime's brutality when they threw him and his partner off the family property because it was too close to the border. 

"It's me," the Ethiopian said.  "You have broken not only the new rules about degeneracy but also the old Emperor's code of racial purity." 

"We have nowhere else to go. This is my home."

"Aren't you related to the Dukes of Savoy?" the Ethiopian asked.  "They have their big hands all over east Africa.  I suggest we go south and brush up on our Italian."

"As long as we don't end up holding the flag for someone as twisted as the old Emperor," Ingo said, not knowing how prescient he was.