“You have not said a word for quite a while.”
“I am thinking.”
“Would you like to pick my brain as well?”
“It’s James.”
“That much I could tell on my own.”
We’re back in the hotel room, and we’re lying on opposite sides of the bed. I don’t know how long we have been in this position; it could be a minute or an hour.
“I’ve finally found out the truth, and it’s shocking,” I say, on the verge of tears, and seek his contact as comfort. The moment I reach for him, he jerks away as quick as a cat.
“I would hold you in my arms and lull you to sleep, my dear—unfortunately that would only make your situation far worse, as you would be frozen. But I can provide you the comfort of hot chocolate,” he adds, conjuring my favorite mug filled with the dense, soothing drink. He passes it to me and then repositions himself on an armchair opposite to the bed at a safe distance.
“Thank you,” I say, savoring the strong flavor of the cocoa mix.
The genie lets me finish the hot chocolate before resuming his interrogation. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”
“I had a long vision. It must have been a stream of memories. James was doing a mental recap of the events that led to the end of our story…” I launch into the narration of what I just witnessed, and the genie listens to me without interrupting. After I am finished, we stay in silence for a long moment.
I crack first. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”
“I am sorry. It must have been a hard truth to become acquainted with,” he remarks. “At least now you know, and you can leave him in your past.”
“Leave him in my past?” I repeat, thrown, the tone of my voice rising. “Have you been listening to what I said?”
“It seems to me that you have not been paying attention to your own words.” He is getting as worked up as I am; we both get up from our respective positions, facing each other in the middle of the room. “From what I gather, you are pining after a greedy man who did not think twice before tossing you away to preserve his wealth.”
“It wasn’t like that,” I snarl, barely able to contain myself. “It was his mother—she made him believe he had to do it to honor his dead father’s memory and to save the people who work for him.”
“How old is he that he has to do his mother’s bidding?” the genie sneers. “If he loved you he would have stayed with you.”
“I was up against a ghost, can’t you see that?” I hiss, simmering. “And he does love me! I felt it, but he feels guilty. He feels responsible for his employees, and he thinks he owes it to his dead father to save the company, as if he had some sort of debt of honor to repay. I thought you would have understood that.”
“Honor? You talk to me about honor? Pray tell me, where is the honor in abandoning the woman you claim to love to string another poor maiden along, marrying her solely for her family name?”
“Vanessa is anything but an innocent maiden. And he does love me!”
“Not enough, apparently.”
“What do you know about love? Your last lover cursed you for eternity,” I snap, enraged.
His blue eyes light up with anger.
“Never dare say I do not know love!” he roars. “I had loved…and nothing, not family nor honor, could have kept me from her.” His every word sizzles with cold wrath.
As he finishes talking, his teeth clench with anger. His whole face transfigures into a mask of pure rage; his cheeks turn blazing red with passion, his lines harden like iron wires, and his thick eyebrows meet over his nose in a deep scowl. But his eyes scare me the most; not for the rage in them, but for the pain flaring behind. And it’s that look of agony that makes my own anger evaporate in a second.
“I’m sorry, Genie, I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t talk about things I don’t know.”
“No, I am the one who should apologize, milady,” he says, regaining some humanity. “My temper got the best of me.” He sounds a lot calmer.
“Genie?”
“Yes?”
“What happened to you?” I ask simply.
“Maybe the time has come for me to tell you my story…”
I do not respond, afraid he may change his mind, as he looks like he is still pondering whether to go ahead or not. I simply reposition myself comfortably on the bed, ready to listen to his tale. He sinks back down onto the armchair, gazing at the ceiling as if it was a gate to another time, and he begins to talk.
“I was a man of great fortune—fate had been kind with me. I am the son of Geoffrey Plantagenet, fourth son of Henry II and of Konstanza, Duchess of Brittany. I was Duke of Brittany and Earl of Richmond. Richard the Lionheart himself had named me as his heir. After him, I was first in line for the succession to the throne of England.
“I never knew my father. He died during a joust before I was born, but his Plantagenet blood runs strong in my veins, and my mother’s love was more than enough while I grew up. She raised me to be a king, and I became the man of the house very quickly, even for those times.
“I had lands, castles, servants, and an army at my command. I had everything a man could desire. I was rich and powerful, young and arrogant, strong and handsome. The world lay at my feet, and I thought everything was mine for the taking, be it a horse, a country, or a woman. I could do all that it pleased me, as I was above the law, and hell seemed too far a threat to actually preoccupy me.
“I lived a reckless life, constantly on the edge. I spent my days drinking, fighting, and conquering both lands and hearts. Many were the women I ensnared—I did not care if they were innocent, married, prostitutes, or simply naïve enough to fall for my deceptions. I would use all my powers of seduction to lure them into my bed, promising the world at dusk, and unfailingly disappearing at the first light of dawn, leaving behind me a trail of broken hearts and ruined lives, not once caring about the consequences of my deeds. I am not proud of what I did—I was selfish, and I brought pain to too many souls. I deeply regret my actions to this day. Mind you, I never took anyone by force, but I understand now that a false promise can be more hurtful than an act of violence in many different ways.
“At the time my story really began, I was sojourning at my mother’s castle in Brittany. I had been there for quite a long time, and I occupied my days as usual with futile activities. It was during those lazy times that I first noticed a peasant girl. She was a servant in the town’s tavern—she was beautiful in a compelling way. She had red lips the tint of blood, fair skin underlined by a deathly pallor not of this world, eyes as green as venom, and flaming hair of such a vivid color they appeared to have flames from hell-fire itself blazing in them.
“I should have known better and kept my distance from that infernal creature, but I was young and stupid, and she was too much of a tempting prize for me to let go, especially after she adamantly refused my first overconfident advances. I pursued her day after day…she became an obsession. I was consumed by her sortilege. I didn’t sleep at night, brooding over her, and when I finally collapsed into unconsciousness, exhausted, she visited me in my dreams, turning them into nightmares of unfulfilled desire. I couldn’t see any other woman; she was the only one.
“I used all my charms on her, never imagining that I was the prey and not the hunter, and when she finally gave way we were devoured by an unyielding passion. I was with her every night, and when we weren’t together all my thoughts would go to her anyhow. I lost myself in her without reservation. I believed I was truly in love. My friends warned me—they told me that I was not myself anymore, that I seemed hypnotized. But I wouldn’t listen to anyone, not even to my mother.
“It wasn’t until the outside world collapsed that I awakened. It was the time when my Uncle Richard, the King of England, was suppressing a revolt in Limoges. The chronicles of the times report that he, I quote, ‘devastated the land with fire and sword’. However, it was during that rebellion that he met his downfall by an archer’s arrow.
“It was only by chance that when the news of Richard’s death reached my mother and me, my other uncle, John Lackland, was staying with us as well. Being the son of an elder brother, I should have inherited the crown by right of succession, but John was not too keen on leaving it to me without a fight. He left immediately for Chinon Castle to put his hands on the royal treasury that was housed there. At that point, the leading barons of England betrayed me and declared their loyalty to John. They feared that, given my upbringing across the English Channel, I was too close to our French enemy.
“It is true that at the time I barely spoke the language of my subjects, but my heart was English. However, on my side were the Breton Lords, the nobles of Maine and Anjou, and Philip II of France. To claim my seat on the throne of England, I had to raise an army and descend into battle, beginning a fratricidal war. Not even Morgene’s sorcery could have kept me from fighting for my birthright.”
“The girl’s name was Morgan?” I can’t refrain myself from interrupting; he pronounced it in a different way, but the name was definitely Morgan. “Like in the legends of Camelot?” I ask, bewildered.
“Every legend springs from a seed of truth,” he replies calmly.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. Please go on,” I plead.
“I had to leave my mother’s castle in haste. I bade my farewell to Morgene, assuring her of my undying love, and promising to come back to her as soon as I would be able to, and for once I truly believed my words.
“I marched with my troops relentlessly for two days. The farther away I got from her, the more my senses seemed to regain capacity, as I was out of reach of her spell. She, our passion, were quickly becoming a distant memory that I regarded as a dreamlike blur out of reality. I never knew if she bewitched me on purpose, or if it was just a consequence of her being what she was and of her own obsession for me.
“However, during my campaign across the Loire I met Héloise. She was the only daughter of a local lord whose manor we were stationed at. She was everything Morgene was not. Her beauty was pure, delicate, and untainted. She had long, dark brown hair, amber eyes, and porcelain skin. Whereas Morgene’s skin was pale as death itself, Héloise’s had been equally fair, but as lively as the rosy blush that would so often surface on her cheeks.
“Then I understood what love really was. The love I felt for Héloise freed me of the last vestiges of Morgene’s enchantment, setting me free once and for all.
“My attachment to Héloise became evident almost immediately, and unfortunately not only to us. Her father was scheming to keep her away from me—he had secret plans to send her to a Carthusians convent in Provence. However, one of my most trusted men intercepted one of his messengers and informed us of the plot. I married Héloise in secret the following night. The full moon served as our sole witness as a young priest consecrated our union before God and mankind. In that warm spring night, we were pronounced as one for eternity.
“Of course, given my standing, I was already betrothed to another. She was Marie of France, the daughter of the King of France and his disputed third wife Agnes, and her father was without doubt my most powerful ally.
“As you can imagine, with a war raging I had enemies everywhere and John had many spies following my every move. It didn’t take long for him to come to know of my secret nuptials. He didn’t waste any time, and informed Philip II right way, depriving me of his support. In fact, that same year they signed a treaty in Le Goulet that recognized John as the legitimate heir.
“I was left defeated and without allies, but I had never been so utterly elated. I had Héloise at my side, and the entire realm of England didn’t seem too much of a price to pay for her. We were together for two years, away from the court ploys and maneuvers. It was just us and our love…we were content.” His voice cracks a little bit at this point. “My mother…if not wearing a crown, saw me happy before she died in childbirth.”
“That’s horrible.” The comment escapes my lips before I can catch it.
“It was very common at the time,” he says matter-of-factly, “and at least she was serene. I am glad for it. She never had to witness what was to come. Because, in a twist of fate, John fell into my same trap, and it was once again love, and not reason, to decide the course of the war for the throne.
“He fell deeply in love with Isabella of Angoulême and decided to marry her. Some said he had fallen for her beauty and youth, while others maligned that the union was merely a means to get a hold of the Angoumois lands that came in dowry with Isabella. Those territories were vital to John, as they would guarantee him a strategic land passage between Poitou, where he held the title of Count, and Gascony, significantly strengthening his grip on Aquitaine.
“In his schemings to marry Isabella, John cheated and offended many and lost the support of his French vassals. Some appealed their case to Philip of France, John’s own feudal lord as Count of Pitou. But when John was summoned before Philip to answer for his actions, he refused to suffer such a humiliation, and weakened his authority in western France even further. His French vassals did not like that he thought himself above their customs. And Philip, at his stubborn refusal, declared a breach of the treaty of Le Goulet, and in the aftermath of this squabble I was pardoned and all of John’s lands subjugated to the French Crown were reassigned to me. Philip had begun a fresh war against John. It was my time to act—I had to gain control of Normandy immediately.
“I summoned an army of rebels and marched toward the Castle of Mirebeau to besiege my formidable grandmother, Eleanor of Aquitaine, an implacable supporter of her son, my uncle John.
“As soon as John received the message that my forces were threatening his mother, he swayed his mercenary army rapidly to the south to protect her, flanked by his seneschal in Anjou, William de Roches, and took us by surprise.
“The Castle of Mirebeau rested in a clearing surrounded by green hills. It was shortly after dawn when a cloud of cold mist descended over us from the hilltop. It made its way toward our camp, drifting through the air with uneven swells, curling on itself as it advanced. In its race toward us, the fog seemed to transform from its natural greyish color to a hellish green. It came at us sinuous like a snake, inexorable, dense enough to turn the day back into night. It clung to our bodies with its clamminess, stalling our every movement.
“And then we saw them, and the enemy was upon us. John’s cavalry had surrounded us. The horses, their eyes ablaze like those of demons, were galloping in the mud sending gushes of dirt flying everywhere, their breath reeking of death.
“In a matter of minutes we were overcome, and I was taken prisoner.”