I see a throne room, a stir to the side:
“Sire, there are a group of people who will not enter the castle the usual way.”
“They will not come?”
“They say it is not necessary.”
“How so?”
“The usual process for those who want to enter is they are stripped of everything, and they enter as slaves, subjects of the King.”
“All who come to the throne room have done so. But they know it is not for Me to shame them—things and clothes often have bacteria! (This ruler had scientific knowledge ahead of his time.) Besides, when they come, they are given things to take their place.”
“Oh, Sire, I am not complaining. These robes, rulerships, priesthoods, and honors to serve with you are greater than our dreams!”
“But these people, they do complain?”
“Yes, Sire. But we will do all we can to have them change their minds.”
Outside the window gathered the group of nobles, wearing many medals on their chests. No doubt they had earned the respect of many, shown by their plumed helmets and gold-braided uniforms. They had brought their own stable hands with them to lead their steeds through the city.
The king, seeing one of these serfs, called out, “Lanny, is that you?”
The youth giving a drink to the pinto horse at the well pump looked up for a moment—he thought he heard his name being called. There was a scar from a whip lash across his forehead.
The throne room never saw such a stir before. “Get me that…that stable hand!” The king jumped off his throne and waved his arms wildly as he ran towards the window.
It took some doing, but when the king was calmed down, the story came out about a time when he was still a prince and the country was in unrest. A rival had found him in hiding and was about to lash him with a piece of leather, when Lanny, a young farm boy came along and got between him and the whip. The prince became king, and the lad who took the whipping? He became a stable hand.
By the time the king ended the story, Lanny had been brought in. When the king’s soldiers called him, they just pointed their spears at him, saying he had been summoned by the king. He came in trembling. What had he done to anger the king?
“Oh my king, I am your most humble servant,” Lanny began, looking down at the red carpet as he slowly came to the throne. Then, he raised his eyes to look into the face of the king: “Your…Highness?” It was not the face of anger but one of tenderness.
It does not take a lot of imagination to guess how this story ends.
The lords did not have to enter the castle the usual way; they did not enter at all. The king heard about these men’s brave acts; so after making sure more honor was given them, he sent them home. (They never did get to see the king personally.) Lanny, however, was asked by name to stay at the king’s stables.
Of course, from the start, the king didn’t plan to keep him a stable hand. Sometimes, when those lords went to nearby lands, the hamlet’s ruler, talking to them in the village dialect, through an interpreter, seemed to have the shadow of a scar that ran under his headband to his beard. Or when the lords had to do religious ceremonies, the priest looked like a youth with sandy-colored hair, hiding an old wound under the prayer hood…Lanny? No, it must be in their minds.
After all, they’d left their serf tending straw and food for the king’s horses, hadn’t they?
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