There was once a king. A good king. He worked hard for the good of his people. He worked every day, through the weeks, past the months and into the years.
One day the king woke in the grey dawn of day as usual and went over to the basin of water waiting for him and began to wash his face. As he stood washing his face a strand of the night's dream crept into his mind and he stood smiling, remembering. When the memory faded he looked down into the basin to continue washing his face. The water had stilled and there reflected in the water was his own face. It was the first time the king had looked at himself in a long time and he was surprised by what he saw. Instead of the young man he still thought himself to be, an old man looked back at him. His hair had turned to silver and crows had left their footprints at the corners of his eyes.
The king didn't mind becoming old, it came to everyone eventually, but one thing worried him. He had been so busy ruling the kingdom that he had never found time to get married or have children and so there was no heir. Who was to he the next king? The king thought through all the people he knew - the ministers, the courtiers, the musicians, the cook, the kitchen maids, but no one person seemed more qualified than anybody else.
Then he decided on an answer, he was going to hold a competition, a competition that would he open to anyone, rich or poor, male or female, young or ... well, younger than him!
Messengers were sent out to all the far reaches of the country proclaiming the date of the competition and that anyone who wished could enter. As the day of the competition drew nearer, more and more competitors gathered at the castle, each hoping to he the next king or queen. The warriors were there because you need to he strong to be a king, don't you? They rode on great war horses and jousted in the tournament fields. All the wise men and women, the councillors had come, because you need to be wise to be a king, too, don't you? They sat underneath shady trees, sparring with one another at chess and testing each other with riddles. People came from all walks of life, all dressed in their finest clothes. Excited chattering and laughter filled the air.
Squashed in amongst that great crowd was one person who wasn't laughing and felt unhappy rather than excited. He was a boy about seven years old. He too was wearing his best outfit, but as he looked around he felt small and insignificant and he began to wonder why he had come, why he had possibly thought that he, out of all the people in the kingdom, could become king. He turned and started to push his way out of the crowd to make his way home when suddenly a hush settled over the crowd. He turned around to see the buglers trooping out onto the parapets. As they began their fanfare, slowly, the great oaken doors of the palace opened to reveal the king himself.
"In my hand I hold a bag of seeds," said the king "and I will give one of these seeds to anyone who wishes to become the next ruler. Once you have one of these seeds you must take it away and care for it for the next six months. At the end of that time I want you to bring the fruits of your labours back to me and then I will make my decision.
For a moment there was silence and then a dull muttering filled the air: What sort of competition was this to decide a kingship?
Where were the riddles?
Where were the daring adventures?
Where were the dragons to he killed?
Everywhere were complaints and questions.
However, there was one person who was delighted when he beard the competition - the boy. His parents were farmers and if there was one thing he knew how to do, surely it was how to grow a seed!
He took his place in the queue that was forming and when he drew level with the king held out his hand shyly. As soon as the king had placed a seed in his hand, he wrapped his fist around it and started to run. He ran and ran until he came to his own home. He left the seed carefully on a window sill. He found himself a pot and began to mix the finest compost he could manage. He filled the bottom of the pot with gravel for drainage, then some top soil from the best field and last of all he found plenty of rotting leaf mould in the hedgerow that had been rotting for a while. He rolled up his sleeves, added a bit of water and stuck his hands in to mulch it all together. Finally, he made a hole in the middle and dropped the seed in. He found a place for the pot by the farmhouse wall that was not too hot and not too cold and then he waited.
Each day the first thing the boy did was to run outside and see if the seed had started to grow. For the first week he didn't expect to see anything. However one week grew into two and then three weeks. Patiently, he waited.
Each day he would be outside to inspect the pot to see if there was any sign of the smallest green shoot, but everyday there was nothing except the unbroken surface of soil. A month passed by, two, three, four, five months seemed to fly by and still the seed had not begun to grow. The boy tried more sun, less sun, more water, letting the pot dry out. Nothing worked. Anxiously, the boy waited.
Six months passed by and it was the day of the competition, six months since the boy had been given the seed. The waiting was over. With a forlorn hope he checked the pot one last time, but to no avail. He walked back into the house and quietly sat down to breakfast with his parents.
"Isn't today the day of the competition? asked his mother.
"Yes."
"Then why aren't you in your best clothes - you'll miss it if you don't hurry."
"I'm not going - there's no point - I have nothing to show the king but a pot of dirt."
"But you've worked so hard for six months, what difference is one more day going to make?"
Finally the boy consented, he changed, picked up his pot and began to walk to the palace. The closer he got, the more and more people there were on the road and each of them also carried a pot. Some had small, fragrant, delicate white flowers; some had long green trailing vines; others still had huge bright blossoms that swayed in the breeze of the breath from the chattering owners. He was the only one with nothing in his pot but dirt.
The closer the boy got to the palace the more he stooped over the pot so that no one would be able to see its contents and the slower his feet dragged on the ground. So it was that he was one of the last to arrive. As he joined the edge of the crowd he could see the buglers filing out onto the parapets. They began their fanfare and once again the great oaken doors opened to reveal the king. The king looked out at the huge crowd gathered with their pots and said,
"Let the competition begin!"
One by one the competitors filed past the king. The king inspected the contents of each of their pots and he smiled and nodded at each hopeful face. However, he spent no more time with any one person than the one who had gone before and it could he seen that his smile was becoming a little worn about the edges and a frown was beginning to crease his forehead.
Right at the back of the line was the boy and at last it was his turn to walk with his pot past the king. He shuffled quickly by bowing his head over the pot, hoping the king wouldn't notice that he carried no plant at all. But as he passed by the king, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Fearfully, expecting retribution for not having tried hard enough, he turned round and looked up into the face of the king. To his surprise, the king was smiling!
"You will be the next king!" said the king.
"'B..b..but I don't understand," said the boy, "all those other people have such beautiful plants: flowers, vines and….."
The king began to laugh.
"I don't know where they got all their plants from," he chuckled, "but it wasn't from me! Before I gave out those seeds I boiled them for a night and a day. Those seeds were dead, not one of them should have grown as much as a daisy!
Out of all these people you are the only one who had the courage and the honesty to come before me bringing nothing but a pot of earth. And so, you will be the next king."