The king and the minimum-wager

Esteemed cousin,

I write this missive to ask of your father’s health. Is he still in bed, agonizing with his coughs and pains? I hope our all mighty Lord above take pity on him and let his suffering end at last. The throne is already in your hands for a while. I wish to meet you soon to discuss matters of both our interests. Our kingdoms have a rare opportunity for greatness before us. But first, we must set aside past misgivings and shake hands once more.

Am I to believe you are only a schemer?

What? Why has my handwriting changed? Oh, it’s back to normal.

As I have said, we can both profit by exploiting our vile neighbors. They lie in beds of gold while we have to do the hard work and pay them tribute. I say we do this no more.

I say, schemer.

What? Again this nonsense?

Yeah, noble king. You are a king, right?

Why am I writing like this? What is “yeah?”

Yes. I forget you and I are not living in the same lifetime.

What? Am I going crazy? Am I possessed? I must go to the Church at once and confess my sins! I can not — What will the bishop say if I tell him I’m possessed? — I can not risk losing my throne.

Poor soul. Still tied to the church.

Who are you? Get out! I command you to abandon this body! In nomine patris,—

Do me a favor milord. I’m on minimum wage and I can’t stand this religious stupidity of yours. Why don’t you stop pretending to be a good, rich guy and let’s have a civilized talk?

What is guy?

Damn language barrier. I never thought it would be this hard to talk with a fellow countryman.

Countryman? What is it? Are you saying you are English?

Maybe. Not exactly English, but your people colonized the land I was born.

Colonized? You mean we conquered your country too? Are you a Scot?

No, not scot. I was born in the land of the free. We call ourselves American.

I have never heard of such “freeland” before. Is it on the continent?

It is a continent.

You are African, then?

No, America is my continent.

I must be losing my mind, indeed. There is no such place as America. I know all the three continents and none of them are called America.

I could go on a tangent here, but I don’t want to waste time. Listen here — I mean, read here. Forget America for a moment and tell me, how comfortable do you consider your life to be?

I have the best castle, the most fertile lands, the —

Here you go. Do you have hot summer and mosquitoes?

Yes, we have the best summer in the entire European —

Stop it, will you? You have the best nothing. I bet I have a better life than you.

Are you an emperor?

Compared to you, maybe I am an emperor. Compared to the other people here, they’d call me a peasant.

I don’t understand.

I’m telling you, in my lifetime, a peasant lives a better life than you, your highness.

Nonsense! I have the best chambers and my sheets are made of Chinese silk.

And I have a weapon capable of killing mosquitoes.

Nothing more than we have. A fire or smoke from the correct wood can expel any mosquitoes too. So, I already have the same “weapon” as you.

Well, I’ll give you that. Can you turn a warm summer night as cool as winter?

Why would I want such a stupid power? I love summer.

I can only imagine how much you love to wake up in the middle of the night sweating like a hog.

What? Nonsense — how did you know I woke up sweating today?

Educated guess. So tell me, do you have a weapon capable of cooling your room so you don’t have to sweat during the night?

Yes, indeed I have. We call them windows. Don’t you have such a minor invention where you come from? Even our peasants have windows here.

How naive you are, milord. We have windows, yes. But I’m talking about weather control. Can you change the temperature of your room? Say, can you get your room 20º lower than it is now?

I’m afraid, even a king, can not do that. Nor can anyone I know. Except, perchance, that witch in the woods.

Do you still kill witches at the stake?

Have you found another way to destroy them? Please tell me, the Church will reward me generously if I reveal them such a secret.

Ah, milord, always thinking about riches. If only your highness knew how poor you are…

How dare you vex me so? I am king. Of course, I am among the richest in the entire world.

Still, a peasant from my lifetime can change the temperature of his chamber while you, a powerful king, is helpless to do the same.

Witchcraft! Only witchcraft can do such a feat. You must be a pagan! I will not listen to any more of your heresies. Halt at once!

Your people will be heretics soon enough. Or maybe you already are. Does Anglican Church mean anything to you?

Blasphemy! …Anglican Church? I am afraid I do not know what you are talking about.

I don’t want to spoil the surprise, but, are you King Henry VIII?

No, there are a couple of Henrys left till we reach the VIII. I am Henry VI.

Wait a minute, let me google you.

What are you going to do?

Talk to me.

Are you there?

…

Anyone?

I must be losing my mind. I am writing back and forth to myself as if I was possessed.

…

Tell me, your highness, are you insane already?

What? What are you talking about…hey! You are back!

Yes, it has been a minute between my last two sentences.

Not quite. It has been a year since I last wrote with this strange handwriting.

Oh. We have a temporal disproportion between us then. Is your son born already?

To my utter despair, I do not have an heir yet.

It says here you didn’t notice when your son was born. Maybe you have an heir and, because of your current state, you overlooked the fact. Ask one of your servants whether you have a son named Edward?

I have never heard a thing more stupid in my entire life. Were you one of my subjects, I would hang you for your insolence. It is obvious I would be aware I had had a son and what his name is.

Just ask, milord. What harm can it cause?

…

Milord? I know you are still there. I can feel your eyes staring at the page before you. Tell me, what had your servant answered?

I–

You are a father and you didn’t notice.

How could you know such a thing?

The peasants of my lifetime have access to — an oracle. Let us call it that. Although the oracle can’t predict the future, it can tell you anything about the past.

More witchcraft!

Witchcraft or not, I asked the oracle about you. That’s how I knew about your child when you yourself didn’t. You are quite — how can I put this — peculiar.

Humph, you are driving me crazy.

Maybe. Our talks may have influenced your state, no doubt. Is Christmas near?

I can not continue this madness. I did not know I had a son, in Christ’s sake.

Henry, your highness, Christmas, when is Christmas taking place?

Tomorrow. It’s Christmas Eve today. Stop badgering me.

I tell you this, milord. Go to bed. Tomorrow, you will be free of me. Enjoy your Christmas and be merry.

***

I need to talk to you, voice. Where are you? It has been too long since we last spoke.

…

Please. I can stand this world no more. It is vile and incomplete. Please, come back and tell me more about the wonders of your lifetime.

I see you are back to your unstable state. Henry, you can’t exchange your reality for these talks of ours.

I can, I am king. I do as I please and there is no one above me on the whole island.

Poor Henry, I pity your story. There is a lot of suffering in your heart. A hope — never mind. What do you wish to talk about?

I have been thinking over and over about your people. I call you futurians. Of course, I have to burn everything I write about you. If anyone here finds out I can communicate with the future, the burning stake awaits. Even a king can not escape from such blasphemy.

I thought you were over this Christian mythology already.

I am. You convinced me of it a long time ago. All the terrible things this Church will do. How can we be so blind, tell me?

I can’t say we — futurians — are much better. We have our own new mythologies, my king. And today, we don’t even call them Gods. We mask them as everyday things. It’s harder to become aware you are enslaved in this lifetime. Religion is chastised, yet, the new religions keep us chained. They disguise themselves as tools, as technologies. We live and die ignorant of being puppets.

But the future looks brighter than these dark ages I live in. Even a poor futurian has more comforts than me, a king. You said it yourself.

I did say it. Still, we have sold our soul to the devil, to speak in a language you understand. We live indebted from the day we are born to the day of our final rest. The kings of our time are no better than the peasants in that regard. They have large fortunes and many mansions — castles, I mean — and yet, they don’t have any time to enjoy anything. They live to labor and solve imaginary problems within their kingdoms.

As a rich person myself, I can relate to your words. I have everything my world can offer me. But I can not go out of my castle without a guard to escort me. I have an army at my command, but I can not walk the roads of my own estate without fear and insecurity.

I see a way out for you.

Do you, now?

Remember the oracle?

Yes, you can see the past. Why do you refuse to help me conquer the world then? I can be the happiest and most powerful person that ever lived if only you told me about my future.

“Wealth consists not in having great possessions, but in having few wants.”

You are giving me another of your futurian quotes? I tire of this wish of yours to educate me.

This quote is actually older than your lifetime.

Older? Who said that?

A Greek philosopher named Epictetus.

Greek philosopher, you say? I have never heard of him.

Of course, you didn’t.

Insulting me again, futurian?

You insult yourself by being ignorant, milord.

Again with this talk of books.

I shall never stop telling you —

I already have all the knowledge I need to have a good life. Why you take such pleasure in educating me? How educated are you? You said you are a peasant in your lifetime. How can a peasant be more erudite than a king?

One’s material wealth can hardly guarantee a wealth of intellect. I say I’m a peasant, yet I live better than you. Who is the poor between us, then?

Your wordplay bores me.

What should bore you is the wasteful life you have. Observe the way you live. Next time we talk, tell me whether this is how you envisioned the life of a king.

***

You won, you won. Now come back.

…

You want me to beg? I won’t beg.

…

You are correct. I have a miserable life. I don’t want to be “king” if this is the life of a king.

Fair enough. Maybe now you are ready to hear about the future.

Definitely, I am ready. Tell me all about it.

Sure. I’ll quote from the oracle: “Henry VI was eventually deposed and killed.”

What? Deposed? By whom? Who will dare depose me? Tell me the name of this devil. I demand you to tell me his name!

The oracle is not clear about his identity, but I have another educated guess for you.

Humph, you and your educated guesses.

Have I been wrong in any of them?

No.

Do you want to hear it then?

Yes, yes, stop teasing me already.

The oracle couldn’t reveal me your entire name.

Of what importance is my name in this matter.

I wanted to make an impact with my answer, but I will say it without fanfare. I believe the man who will plot your deposition and death is King Henry VI of England.

You mean King Henry VII, my successor. Then, he is one of the people in the line of succession.

Wait, wait. I didn’t misspell. You will do it. You will plot your own fall.

What? Now you are being completely insane.

Am I? There is no doubt you will be deposed and killed. Shakespeare even wrote a play about your life.

Who is Shakespeare?

Never mind. The point is, your death is in History books. That’s no way to rewrite History.

Of course, there is. Just tell me the correct name and I will have him killed at once.

Your highness, it’s written. In the near future, there will be no King Henry VI anymore.

But you have to help me, futurian. I do not want to die. I am still young.

I am afraid not even my grandchildren will enjoy eternity, Henry, be reasonable.

(Sigh) What do you have in mind?

We plot it all. Come the day of your death, we fake it. After it, you will be free to enjoy the life of a philosopher king.

Among the peasantry.

Maybe below peasantry even, but you will be the most powerful man in your lifetime.

I will stop writing. Thank you for your kind advice. I can not continue reading this nonsense further.

***

Please, help me. They killed my son. I have little doubt I am next.

…

I beg you. They are in the castle. It’s a matter of time now. I’m sorry I refused to talk to you. I regret it. Please, help me.

King Henry —

Yes, thank you. I knew you would help.

King Henry, you have three choices before you. I will state them so there is — little — doubt.

1. Forfeit your titles and possessions and live as a free man.

2. End your life yourself, instead of being killed by someone else’s hands.

3. Be passive, and let life happen to you.

I leave you now to never return. The choices are before you. What will you decide?

Some historians say King Henry VI was murdered. Others state he committed suicide out of depression after his son died. I still want to believe he vanished that day, never to be found again, and lived the rest of his life free.