Standing in its stall on his three good feet, the horse considered its lot. It had always just assumed that the stables in which it, and other horses, lived, had been there forever. The stables were a feature of its world, like the forests, the fields, the hills, the rivers and the distant mountains. Its mother, however, had witnessed humans building those same stables - first, there was nothing but grass in that field, then, over time, walls emerged, made from bricks, growing higher day by day; then a roof was put over those walls, and doors added.
The old mare knew that 'stables' were part of a different group of things to that group which included hills or rivers - but she could not communicate this important insight to the foal to which she gave birth and which she nurtured. That foal, which grew up to become the King's horse, did not give any consideration as to where stables or palaces or forests or mountains came from - they were just there.
The King's horse had woken that morning with a stabbing pain in its lower left foreleg and remembered what had happened the previous day. The stable boys came to feed it, accompanied by the Farrier, who checked the bandaged leg. The horse mused once more about its own existence - why was it so special? Why did the human fuss over it, compared to the indifference that they so often showed towards other horses? "If I were not special, I would not be," the horse reasoned. "But then, was I brought into this world to be special?"
Meanwhile far away in another part of his estate, the King, accompanied by his Equerry and Confessor, was deep in philosophical conversation that precisely echoed the horse's musings.
"Why do horses do come into being?" asked the Confessor. "To carry us, to draw our carts and carriages - " replied the King. "And why do cattle come into being?" asked the Confessor. "To provide us with meat and milk - for butter and cheese."
"My father would say 'No legs - no horse' whenever he looked upon a second-rate animal" the Equerry added. "A lame cow would still provide milk - in the worst case you'd slaughter it and eat it. But a horse that moves not is entirely without worth - useless."
"All true," replied the Confessor to both King and Equerry. "But now ponder this - why do bears and wolves come into being? Not only are they useless to us - they are a danger to us."
"Yes they too come into being." said the Equerry. "Not in as large numbers as horses or cattle - when you see many hundreds of horses on a battlefield, or many scores of cows grazing on a field..."
The King, who knew well how his Confessor's mind worked, cut to the chase. "Horses and cattle meet our purpose. We people meet our Maker's purpose. That is why we come into being."
"Yes!" the Confessor shouted, and then probed the King further: "If so, what is our Maker's purpose for us? Our purpose for the horse is to transport us; our purpose for the cow is food. And we? We neither carry our Maker, nor feed Him..."
"To praise Him?" suggested the Equerry.
"Consider the entirety of Creation," replied the Confessor. The Creator cannot do without our praise?"
"To advance in wisdom, in the Arts and in the Sciences," said the King, who'd heard this before.
"So it is, so it is. Our advances make life better, richer, longer, for coming generations. That is what our Creator expects of us. And our Creator expects more from Kings than He does from the rest of us."
*************
Over the next few weeks, the King's horse felt the pain easing, it felt the joy of healing, as nature slowly returned the bone to its former strength. The King even came to see the horse a few times, bringing it parsnips and carrots. But the King would not even attempt to mount it; the Farrier and the Equerry had decided that for the King's good, a new horse would need to be found.
But given this one's excellent characteristics - its strength, its flawless appearance, its fleetness of foot, its gentle temperament - bar this one accident which could be ascribed to blind chance - the best solution would be to turn him to stud, to sire foals with the choicest of mares; some day, one of these foals could grow into a horse fit for the King, carry him into war, parade him through the streets in front of cheering crowds.
And so, the King's horse spent the rest of its days mounting mares and siring foals - but from time to time, it felt pangs of nostalgia for the glory reflected upon it by virtue of its rider.
This time two years ago:
On to the ice, onto the frozen ponds
[4.3C outside as I write; no frost at all so far this January]
This time three years ago:
A walk through lights-out London
Mid-Jan pictorial round-up
This time seven years ago:
UK migration and the NHS
This time ten years ago:
Miserable depths of winter
This time 11 years ago:
From - a short story (Part 1)
This time 12 years ago:
A month until Lent starts
This time 13 years ago:
World's biggest airliner over Poland
This time 14 years ago:
More pre-Lenten thoughts
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