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46.

I’d barely recovered from Bodmin Moor when word came down from Granny. She wanted me togo to the Caribbean. A two-week tour to commemorate her sixtieth year on the throne, my firstofficial royal tour representing her.

It was strange to be called away so suddenly, with a finger snap, from my Army duties,especially so close to deployment.

But then I realized it wasn’t strange at all.

She was, after all, my commander.

March 2012. I flew to Belize, drove from the airport to my first event along roads throngedwith people, all waving signs and flags. At my first stop, and every stop thereafter, I drank toasts toGranny and my hosts with homemade alcohol, and performed many rounds of a local dance calledthe punta.

I also had my first taste of cow-foot soup, which had more of a kick than the homemadealcohol.

At one stop I told a crowd: Unu come, mek we goo paati. In Creole that means: Come on, let’sparty. The crowd lost it.

People cheered my name, and shouted my name, but many shouted my mother’s name. At onestop a lady hugged me and cried: Diana’s baby! Then fainted.

I visited a lost city called Xunantunich. Thriving Mayan metropolis, centuries ago, a guide toldme. I climbed a stone temple, El Castillo, which was intricately carved with hieroglyphs, friezes,faces. At the top someone said this was the highest point in the whole nation. The view wasstunning, but I couldn’t help looking down at my feet. Below were the bones of untold numbers ofdead Mayan royals. A Mayan Westminster Abbey.

In the Bahamas I met ministers, musicians, journalists, athletes, priests. I attended churchservices, street festivals, a state dinner, and drank more toasts. I rode out to Harbour Island in aspeedboat that broke down and began to sink. As we took on water, along came the press boat. Iwanted to say no thanks, never, but it was either join them or swim for it.

I met India Hicks, Pa’s goddaughter, one of Mummy’s bridesmaids. She took me along theHarbour Island beach. The sand was bright pink. Pink sand? It made me feel stoned. Notaltogether unpleasant. She told me why the sand was pink, a scientific explanation, which I didn’tunderstand.

At some point I visited a stadium full of children. They lived in abject poverty, faced dailychallenges, and yet they greeted me with jubilant cheers and laughter. We played, danced, did alittle boxing. I’d always loved children, but I felt an even keener connection to this group becauseI’d just become a godfather—to Marko’s son Jasper. Deep honor. And an important signpost, Ithought, I hoped, in my evolution as a man.

Towards the end of the visit the Bahamian children gathered around me and presented me witha gift. A gigantic silver crown and an enormous red cape.

One of them said: For Her Majesty.

I’ll see that she gets it.

I hugged many of them on my way out of the stadium, and on the plane to the next stop Idonned their crown proudly. It was the size of an Easter basket and my staff dissolved into fits ofhysterical laughter.

You look a perfect idiot, sir.

That may be. But I’m going to wear it at the next stop.

Oh, sir, no, sir, please!

I still don’t know how they talked me out of it.

I went to Jamaica, bonded with the prime minister, ran a footrace with Usain Bolt. (I won, butcheated.) I danced with a woman to Bob Marley’s “One Love.”

Let’s get together to fight this holy Armagiddyon (one love)At every stop, it seemed, I planted a tree, or several. Royal tradition—though I added a twist.

Normally, when you arrive at a tree planting, the tree is already in the ground, and you just throwa ceremonial bit of soil into the hole. I insisted on actually planting the tree, covering the roots,giving it some water. People seemed shocked by this break with protocol. They treated it asradical.

I told them: I just want to make sure the tree will live.