The Ancestors of the King

Once, a king asked his court conjuror to summon up the spirits of his ancestors for him.

 

“I would like to meet them”, he said, “They must surely have been great, noble men. Wise warrior chiefs; imposing orators and statesmen”.

 

And so the conjuror agreed to do so but he warned the king that he may not like what his ancestors had to say.

 

This only made the king angry, however.

 

“Do as your king commands you, you impudent rogue”, yelled the king, “And be quick about it”.

 

And so the conjuror began his spells and incantations and, suddenly, in front of him, there appeared a luminous white mist as thick as ermine and, out of the mist, there stepped a tall ghostly figure.

 

However, to the kings disappointment, this apparition was not dressed at all like a king but more like a peasant in ragged clothes.

 

“Surely you are no ancestor of mine”, said the king, “Perhaps a servant to some other spirit. Where is your master spirit?”

 

“I am your ancestor”, replied the ghost, “And every inch a peasant”.

 

The king was revolted by the idea,

 

“You lie”, he said, “A king cannot be descended from peasants. I have generations of noble blood flowing in my veins”.

 

“All men were peasants once until the most brutal and physically strong among them terrified and beat other weaker men into obedience”.

 

The king put his hands over his ears, pulling his crown down to cover them.

 

“Conjuror”, he complained, “Send this lying devil away at once. He has no respect at all for a kings authority”.

 

The ghost only threw his head back and laughed a hearty laugh,

 

“The only Authority a king has is brute force and terror; the wealth of all kings is stolen and has the blood of the innocent upon it”.

 

But, before the ghost could say any more, the conjuror said something in an arcane and foreign tongue and, suddenly the ghost disappeared.

 

But then, in his place there stood another ghost that looked even more horrible than the last for though he was atleast dressed in the garb of a gentlemen, his clothes were blood stained, his face looked grim and terrifying and he had 4 daggers sticking from out of his back.

 

“Pray tell me, ghost”, asked the king, shivering, “How you came to have those daggers between your shoulder blades”.

“A bloody conspiracy by my own wife, my own brother, my own son and my own trusted lord chamberlain”, said the ghost, “I was murdered by them in cold blood”.

 

The king was horrified,

 

“Oh how terrible”, he said, “The murder of a king is surely the greatest crime”.

 

However, the ghost seemed to have little ill feeling against those that had murdered him,

 

“Oh no, I deserved it”, he said, “And if they hadn’t killed me then I probably would have killed them. That is how kings achieve power and hold on to it. The story of power has always been a brutal, cold, cruel bloody one”.

 

The king covered his ears with two plump, velvet royal cushions.

 

“More lies! I will not hear such wickedness spoken about the honourable and necessary institution of monarchy”, he said, “And the ruling classes are among the most moral of all men”.

 

Then, after being prodded by the kings symbolic royal staff, the conjuror spoke some magical words and made this ghost disappear.

 

“No more of your knavish tricks, conjuror”, said the king, as red as his royal robes with anger, “You summon me up the ghost of some ignorant peasant and a villainous rogue, now show me one of my true ancestors; one of the great orators and generals of old; noble, dignified, bold, brave and intelligent”.

 

The conjuror sighed,

 

“I will try my very best, your majesty but the spirits come and go as they wish and will not bow to conjuror or king”, he said.

 

And then, speaking once more in some obscure and ancient tongue, the conjuror brought forth from the mist a man drapped in a long flowing white toga with a laurel wreath around his head and the king felt sure that this ancestor would be the kind of great man that he imagined being descended from.

 

But when this ghost opened his mouth it was only to belch noisily and then he started to giggle hysterically like a child or madman, drool pouring from the left side of his mouth as he did so.

 

“You look silly”, said the ghost pulling a face at the king and sticking his tongue out, “You look like a silly, fat old man and I don’t like you, infact I hate you and I’m going to have my daddy feed you to the lions”.

 

“What is wrong with this one?”, asked the king, “He sounds more like a raving lunatic or an imbecile than a king”.

 

“Well sire”, replied the conjuror, “There is a history of madness and imbecility within your family”.

 

The king put his head in his hands,

 

“Oh take it away. Take all these monstrous apparitions away. All you’ve shown me are peasants, rogues and imbeciles. Is that all that my family have been?”.

 

But, just then the conjuror remembered something,

 

“You did have one great ancestor, sire”, he informed the king.

 

The king wiped away his tears of self-pity and a smile returned to his face.

 

And then the conjuror made some strange gestures, muttering more mystical words before, suddenly, an old, bearded, dignified looking man stepped from the glowing mists.

 

“Behold, sire”, your great, great, great grandfather, “Zadok the wise”.

 

“Ahh”, said the king happily, “Now this is better. Tell me oh wise ancestor have you any sage advice to give to me”.

 

“Only one thing”, said the aging spectre with a dour expression, “Give up your wealth and power, they mean nothing. Live your life in the service of your fellow man. Love and cherish all human beings and  living things because they are the things that really matter”.

 

“Oh, send this one away too”, said the king, “You said that he was wise but he is not wise at all. I have never heard such nonsense”.

 

The ghost started to bellow and become so angry that his pale ghostly cheeks even started to become red as flame,

 

“You are a fool”, it said, “Give up your throne and change your life before it is too late”.

 

But then, before the ghost could say anymore, the conjuror spoke some more strange incantations and Zadok the wise vanished out of sight.

 

Now, however, the king became enraged with the sorcerer and threatened to have him put in the tower and stretched upon the rack for insulting his monarch.

 

But, just at that moment, the king heard a loud commotion from outside his palace; the sound of voices angrily screaming and yelling and chanting, “Down with the king! Down with the king!”.

 

“What is that outside?”, asked the king, becoming frightened, “That terrible noise”.

 

“Well you should be afraid, sire”, the conjuror replied, “For it is the spirit that all tyrants fear which has been awakened, the spirit of the people”.