Proverb

By James Yarwood

One day, the wealthiest king of the wealthiest kingdom decided that he wanted more.

The king had savaged his way through all the lands of all the world. He had solved every puzzle, defeated every Kraken, taken all things as his. The peasants beloved and worshipped him above all others. The king seemed a living god, perfection embodied; he had all and everything, but one day, he decided that he wanted more.1

He had the wealth, thought the king, he had the daring and the people who knew how! He could do it, he could make himself greater! He would start small; one does not joust before learning to tilt, and so he, the great and powerful king of the world, does not consume heaven before first mastering those wills of earth. He was a wise king, so he set to work thinking of ways that he could become greater. And then it came to him. He had mastered all the ways and wills of men; he had quelled great demons and menace beyond number. He ruled and was loved by all, but he was still slave to laws. Enslaved not the laws of his people, no, but the laws of nature itself. He could not fly, this great god-king, he could not bend time, could not walk on water, could not even turn lead to gold. And there, he had it.2

What did he seek in his early days of pillage? What did he love and cherish above all things? What was he himself adorned with at this very instant? Midas had been foolish, but he had not this king's fine mind and commanding step, and this king would do it better.3

Alchemy, he thought, is the way to go. He could understand alchemy, although he knew he could never grasp it. This king was a man of high intellect and humble grace. So he called for the alchemists, called for the chemists, the mathematicians, the soothsayers, the well-tellers, all these he called forth, all these would be needed, to make his gold, and he would have the best. 4

They were loathsome at first- impudent and lazy. But the king easily dealt with their impudent questions and their doubt. It did not take much convincing; he was beloved after all, even by these philosophers and learned men; and of course above all, our king was a warrior first. And so they started, tirelessly, days in, months out, until the king grew angry. He was not seeing his results; he was not happy with these prestidigitators. These alchemic charlatans were mocking him! He put them to death. The next batch would do better.5

The convincing was less involved this time, their tempers less haughty, their woes less grievant. Yes! Thought the king, they would do better. They did not do better, though, through months and years, and all of the kings fortune-- gone. Yet, he had land and title, no one need know his treasury was empty. He was an old king, a tired warlord, not weak, but not dominant-- not any longer. He would sell off some of his land, as there were other rising tyrants, lords and barons who would pay, long had they coveted the land. Just as he, the king, coveted god-dom, true deityship, and not his mortal-worship here. All of it would come to him, all of it would pass, if only he could turn the lead.6

There was no need convincing the third batch. Their wills were tired and stupid, and the king was no longer the only ruler of the world. Countries and continents were autonomous now, sold to the highest bidder. He still held much land, and great wealth, but the alchemists would help with that. Years upon years, the treasury came and went; it ebbed with every alchemic botch, and swelled with every scrap of land sold, until the great king fell. His lands gone, his treasury spent, the great king went insane. He stripped off his clothes and ran off one day in a fury, mad from years of disappointment and war. 7

No one saw him after that, after his nude cavort into the sunset. But everyone remembered him. All knew the story of the greatest king, of the greatest kingdom, who one day wanted more and spent all he had to get back all he had spent.