In a development that has sent tremors through the chancelleries of Whitehall and the gins of Soho, Marius Borg Høiby, the 27-year-old son of Norway's Crown Princess Mette-Marit, faces a verdict in a trial that has the British diplomatic corps positively vibrating with interest. For what is a mere rape allegation when it involves the progeny of a Scandinavian throne? A legal precedent! A diplomatic minefield! A jolly good excuse to dust off the attaché cases and book a flight to Oslo, preferably with a stopover in Copenhagen for a decent schnapps.
The charge, for those not au fait with the crime du jour among Nordic royalty, is that Høiby did, on a date between April 2020 and August 2021, engage in sexual intercourse with a woman who was either asleep or incapacitated by alcohol. A state, I might add, that describes half of Westminster after PMQs. The plaintiff, a woman in her twenties, claims she was in a deep slumber after a night of heavy drinking. Høiby's defence? He believed it was consensual. A classic case of 'the lady doth protest too much, methinks' or perhaps 'the lady doth saw logs too loudly'.
But why, you ask, should the British diplomatic corps give a tinker's cuss? Because, my lovelies, the British diplomatic corps cares passionately about legal precedents everywhere, especially when they involve royal son-figures and the letter of the law. It's a matter of principle. Also, it gives them an excuse to wear their morning suits and sip aquavit while pretending to take notes. The Foreign Office has issued a statement: 'We are following the case with interest and reaffirm our commitment to the rule of law, provided it doesn't interfere with our trade deals.' That last bit might be mine.
Let us examine the facts. Marius is the son of the Crown Princess from a previous relationship, making him a sort of half-royal, a demi-monarch, a prince in waiting for a kingdom he will never inherit. In Norwegian circles, this makes him a tad less sacred than full-blooded royalty, yet still too posh to be left to his own devices. The trial has lasted two weeks, with the prosecution painting a picture of a young man who took advantage of a sleeping woman. The defence, meanwhile, has argued that the complainant's memory is as hazy as a Tory's economic plan.
The British diplomats are particularly interested because Norway, though not in the EU, is a signatory to the European Convention on Human Rights, and this case may set a precedent for how 'reasonable belief' in consent is interpreted. In Britain, we have our own problems with consent, what with the likes of Huw Edwards and the ever-revolving door of scandal at Westminster. But a Norwegian precedent could ripple through the fjords of jurisprudence and lap at the shores of the English Channel. The diplomats, therefore, have been dispatched to observe, take notes, and occasionally send back a postcard: 'Wish you were here. The herring is divine.'
Marius has pleaded not guilty, insisting that the sex was consensual. His mother, the Crown Princess, has remained stoic, as has his stepfather, the Crown Prince. The family has issued a statement expressing 'respect for the judicial process,' which in royal-speak means 'we hope this blows over before the skiing season.' Meanwhile, the Norwegian press is having a field day, comparing Marius to various historical scandals, none of which involve a throne that will ever be his. The trial continues, the verdict looms, and the British diplomatic corps sips its gin, awaiting a result that may or may not matter in the grand scheme of things, but provides a jolly good story for the gossip columns.
In conclusion, this is more than a trial. It is a morality play set in the icy north, a cautionary tale about the dangers of mixing alcohol and entitlement. And for the British diplomatic corps, it's a chance to look busy while on an all-expenses-paid trip to Oslo. Will Marius be convicted? Will the precedent be set? Who knows! But the gin is flowing, and the world is watching. Or at least the bit of the world that cares about Nordic legal precedents and the sexual proclivities of part-time princes.
