For a moment, as a new King acceded to the throne, confusion reigned — over his name.
The royal formerly known as Prince Charles was first described simply as "the King" in the fateful tweet from the Royal Family account, which beat all newscasts in announcing the death of Queen Elizabeth II. Continuity was established.
But King what, exactly? And why were some royal watchers convinced it wouldn't be Charles?
The new monarch, in his first statement, didn't reveal his name. It was left to Prime Minister Liz Truss to introduce us to King Charles III for the first time. (Well, first time unless you count 18th century Scotland, but we'll get to that.)
Truss being new in the role, and a politician who has had strained relationships with the truth and the law, the matter was in doubt. Not until the BBC confirmed it with Charles' staff at Clarence House did the world's media agree. King Charles III it was.
How could it have been anything else? For the answer, let us travel back in time. A short hop first, to 2005, and a little Christmastime flurry of stories in the UK press claiming Charles was considering one day ruling as King George VII.
Now, name-swapping was within the realm of reason. Charles' full name is Charles Philip Arthur George. He was able to bring any one of those names to the throne with him. Just like his great-uncle David, who chose to rule — briefly — as Edward VIII. Or his grandad, Bertie, who became George VI at the moment of abdication, when David became David again.
Even as Clarence House strenuously denied those conversations had happened in 2005, it issued this statement: "No decision has been made, and it will be made at the time." The door was left open to a name change many years hence. And to take them at their word, the new King simply decided to become Charles III in Balmoral Castle on the afternoon of Sept. 8, 2022.
So what of the other contenders: King Philip, King Arthur, or King George? Why did they not get the rose? We do not and may never know the King's thinking, but based on the royal history drilled into him from birth, we can guess: Charles, the name of the only English king ever to be tried and executed, was a bad option for optics. But it was still the best, barely, of a really bad bunch of optics options.
Philip was a nonstarter. Sure, it was Charles' dad's name, but Philip of Greece was just a prince (and prince consort). England's last encounter with a King Philip was when Philip II of Spain technically co-ruled the country with his wife, Queen "Bloody" Mary, in the 16th century. Philip not only abandoned Mary, he tried to come back after she died to take the country from her sister Elizabeth. Beloved Liz the First beat back Philip's Armada; now Charles is going to replace beloved Liz the Second with a King Philip? Unthinkable.
King Arthur! Now there's a name to conjure with. If you felt that the British monarchy is going down in flames anyway, and you may well be the last to lead (in 14 Commonwealth realms, at least,) this is the one you'd choose. In the social media age, of course, you'd have to lean into the memes to make it work: meet only at round tables, appoint a court magician, pull golden Excaliburs out of stones and present them to charities, etc.
Sadly, Charles at 73 is too old and too sensible to play the role of a modern myth. (As for the myth, there's little proof he existed — so Charles would have to be styled as the first official King Arthur. Talk about big boots to fill.)
So why not George? George VI stayed in London through the Blitz, even when Buckingham Palace was bombed, rallying the people and becoming a national treasure. He fought a stutter. Colin Firth played him in the movie. Maybe, again, these are too big mythological shoes for his grandson to fill. Or maybe it's that Charles is cognizant of all those other Georges.
Take a quick trip in our time machine, and there they are: George I, a mediocre German prince who spoke no English. George II, chiefly remembered for his army's brutal treatment of the Scots (for which God Save the King was composed). George III lost the American colonies, and his faculties. George IV, a.k.a. Prince Regent during dad's madness, is remembered as a brainless scion of privilege (as played by Hugh Laurie, above, in Blackadder). He was pretty much treated that way by society at the time.
"When from the Earth the Fourth descended," wrote a Victorian poet, "God be praised, the Georges ended." Except they didn't. Just a long break for Victoria, a decade's worth of Edward — and then two more Georges, each one bringing a World War in his wake (with another Edward, who turned out to be a Nazi sympathizer, sandwiched between them.) Let's not even get started on George V, the consummate Imperial, and owner of what is easily the scariest mustache in royal history.
TL;DR: British history is still a bit Georged out. Something else that may have changed Charles' thinking since 2005: there'll be another George along in a couple of Kings' time anyway (pending the continuation of the monarchy, Prince George of Cambridge and Cornwall is now second in line). And so the choice turned out to be no choice. Here he is, saddled with the same name as the headless King, the King of many mistresses, and the King who wasn't one.
As we exit the Elizabethan era and blink in the dawn of a new Carolinian age (that's how you call it, get used to it), it's time to get our knowledge of the Charles prequels up to speed.
Most interesting thing: To quote Monty Python, "the most interesting thing about King Charles the First is that he was 5 foot 6 inches tall at the start of his reign, but only 4 foot 8 inches tall at the end of it." Charles lost his head at the end of not one but two Civil Wars that upended everything about England in the 1640s.
His crime? According to a court appointed by Parliament, "tyranny"; believing in the divine right of monarchs to be assholes, basically. Charles thought he could rule without Parliament, or only assemble one when he needed the money. He was also suspected of Catholic sympathies at a time when the country was very Protestant, bustling with Puritans and Quakers and a bunch of new sects and utopian cults.
But yeah, mainly the tyranny.
The final straw for war: Charles sent his guard into Parliament to arrest MPs. The Speaker of the House had the door barred, and if you've ever seen the annual ritual of the Queen's (soon to be King's) Speech, where an official known as Black Rod has the door to the House of Commons ceremonially slammed in their face, this is what it signals: Love you, monarch, but we did not come to play.
How the Civil War was won: Parliament controlled the military. A Cambridgeshire MP named Oliver Cromwell helped build and command a terrifyingly effective New Model Army. The other army that rallied to the King's banner, mostly Scots and Cavaliers, held plenty of strongholds like Oxford, but wasn't so great on the battlefield. After Charles was captured and killed, many Cavaliers fled to America, often to the Carolinas, so named for their King. Sorry, America.
What happened next: Cromwell became a tyrant himself, which is perhaps what you should expect when Parliament gives you the title "Lord Protector". He'd already purged MPs deemed too loyal to the King, leaving the so-called Rump Parliament. Then, years into a Protectorate that was content to massacre the Scots and Irish, while issuing Puritanical orders like the banning of Christmas, Cromwell dissolved the Rump. After he died his son Richard became Lord Protector, making a mockery of that whole "we're republicans, really!" thing. But Richard knew he was no leader, and resigned inside six months.
After all of that, a hurriedly reconstituted Parliament voted to dissolve itself and call elections. And the resulting Parliament, about half of them royalists, voted to call in the emergency backup Charles.
Wait, where did he come from? Surprise! Charles I and his wife, the French Catholic Henrietta Maria, had a bunch of kids. Charles II was the strapping young heir. Age 20, he was defeated on the battlefield by Cromwell, disguised himself and hid out in an oak tree, was crowned King of Scotland in exile, decided he didn't like the Scots after all, and fled again to Europe. After a few more ditched invasions, he made nice noises to Parliament about religious tolerance and a general amnesty for the whole Civil War. That was enough to restore the monarchy.
Did he follow through? Mostly. There were a few people who'd signed dad's death warrant who got literally hung, drawn and quartered. Cromwell was exhumed and his head stuck on a pike. Charles didn't come to play either.
Meanwhile, religious tolerance turned out to work both ways, with Charles pushing pro-Catholic policies and secretly promising to convert to Catholicism. When his brother James turned out to have secretly converted himself, it kicked off a constitutional crisis and an explosion of conspiracy theories. Parliament kept trying to pass an act that would exclude Catholics from the throne, but Charles wouldn't sign. He ended up dissolving Parliament and ruling on his own, but was more popular and charismatic than his dad, so made it to his grave (age 54, thanks to kidney disease) without being beheaded.
Most interesting thing: The second Carolinian was packed with high drama such as the plague and Great Fire of London, but also new heights of human achievement. Charles freaking loved science and founded the Royal Society, featuring a young Isaac Newton. Christopher Wren built St. Paul's Cathedral and many more stunning buildings. No longer held back by puritanism, plays (now with women on the stage!), music and the arts flourished.
And yet! It isn't for this that Charles II is remembered so much as his 12-plus illegitimate children spawned with at least seven mistresses. His Queen, Catherine, who suffered three miscarriages, had to watch Charles shower the mistresses and their kids with wealth and titles, and was even forced to have one work in her bedchamber. (To add horror to insult, the Catholic Catherine was repeatedly threatened and targeted by those conspiracy theorists.)
In the past, this has earned Charles II knowing winks from historians who called him the "merry monarch" and "playboy King." These days, we're much more likely to see things from Catherine's perspective. So if Charles III seeks reflected glory from Charles II, he'd best be careful about standing too close.
Unless we're talking about the King Charles Spaniels made famous by Charles II. He's welcome to stand too close to those cuties.
What happened next: James, Duke of York (the one who took New Amsterdam from the Dutch and renamed it New York) took over from his brother as James II. His being a Catholic freaked everyone out, and when one of Charles II's illegitimate kids (the Duke of Monmouth) launched a rebellion, James had Monmouth and 250 rebels executed, and thousands more sent to penal colonies in the West Indies. So much for amnesty.
When James and his Queen Mary had a son and heir three years into his reign, Protestant nobles freaked out some more and invited power couple William and Mary — James' nephew and son in law plus James' daughter — to seize the throne. James' army dissolved and he fled to France. Parliament ruled that he'd abdicated, and in what was called the Glorious Revolution created the constitutional monarchy we know today. Power flowed through Parliament first.
James was still king in Ireland until he lost the Battle of the Boyne.
You think that's the end of the story? Oh, you sweet summer child. It was just the beginning. The Boyne is still very much celebrated and cursed in Northern Ireland today. James wasted away in exile. His son, whom the French King and the Pope both recognized as James III of England, tried his hand at a couple of Scottish rebellions and failed. Then it was up to his son …
If you're familiar with Outlander, the book series and TV show, you know something about what came next. Charles Edward Stuart or the young pretender or Bonnie Prince Charlie, as he wasn't really known in his lifetime, traveled to Scotland and set up court on behalf of his dad, the old pretender James III. Charles marched into England with 6,000 men. Worried that wasn't enough, he turned back, and the English finally caught up with him in 1746 at one of history's most consequential battles: Culloden.
It was a rout. As many as 2,000 of Charles' men were killed or wounded in one hour, versus 300 British troops. Brutal government crackdowns on highland Clans that had supported Charles began, and would not quit for decades. Charles himself, the "lad born to be King," was disguised as a serving maid and carried "over the sea to Skye" – which is why he's mostly remembered today in one of Scotland's greatest earworms, the Skye Boat Song.
Exiled again to France, then Italy, Charles passed his days in a blur of drink and a miserable marriage to a German princess. When his father died, Charles styled himself Charles III, but neither the kings of France or Spain, nor the Pope, would recognize him. Nevertheless, Charles III he would be to the remnants of the Jacobite (Latin for James-ish) rebellion in Scotland and Ireland. He died in 1788, exactly 139 years to the day after his great-grandfather Charles I was executed.
Now we have an actual Charles III, who would probably prefer we forget the pretend one, not to mention the beheaded ancestor. But bearing the same name as these tragic Charleses can at least provide this comfort to the new King: by comparison, his reign has nowhere to go but up.
