The King was not a happy man. His complaints were many. His clothes didn’t fit him the way he thought they should. The color was never right. The reds weren’t red enough, the blues too light or too dark.
His food was not right either. It was either overcooked or undercooked even when it was cooked perfectly. It was perfectly logical. He just didn’t feel like roast beef that day, he wanted chicken. Or if he was served chicken, he was in the mood for roast duck.
His counselors were always thinking of something for him to do. Laws to sign, foreign policy to consider. Did the neighboring country really own the land beyond the river, or were they trying to take something that belonged to him?
The people really didn’t appreciate him. There were all these protests about the latest taxes. Didn’t people know how much it cost to run a country? He really needed that new wing to the palace. If only the architects would agree to his exact plans.
He glared at the latest report. How dare the people object if he dammed the river and made a lake on the palace grounds. He liked to swim. What did it matter if the farmers depended on the river to water their animals? Couldn’t they come to the palace with buckets and fetch their water?
He stood up and walked to the window. Below him was the city, shrouded in darkness. As he watched candles appeared in the windows. He sighed. His people were preparing for the Christmas Eve celebration.
He hated Christmas. The boring church service. The feasting on all those traditional foods with all those tedious people. Everyone pretending to be happy and wishing each other good cheer. And the presents. Nothing pleased him. No matter how expensive, or how much time went into the gift, it never was enough.
He groaned. It wasn’t fair. People just didn’t care about him. If they did, they would do things exactly the way he wanted them done. He was such an unfortunate man.
For some unknown reason he looked up at the sky where a thousand little lights were twinkling. It was going to be a cold night; it was always so when the stars were bright in the sky.
“That’s what I want,” he said to himself. “A star. Any one of those stars would do. It’s the only thing in the world that would make me happy.”
One of the stars seemed to move toward him. He rubbed his eyes. Was he seeing things? No, that speck of light grew bigger and brighter by the moment, and it was headed straight toward his window.
He stared at it fascinated. Was his wish really being granted? Would he now be the owner of a star? He stepped back into a dark corner away from the window. It suddenly occurred to him that there might be some danger in owning a star. The light burst into the room illuminating all of it except for the place where the king stood.
He tired to step back, but discovered that he already was leaning against the wall. There was no place to go. This whole experience was somewhat disconcerting. It was as if he were looking into the light, but could not be a part of it. As he gazed, a being took form. For a moment he thought the entity had wings, but they quickly disappeared.
An angel. It had to be an angel. What else could live in such intense light? The king looked at this shimmering being in wonder and thought. 'What a wonderful man am I to be visited by an angel.’
The angel stepped out of the light into the darkness and raised his hand in greeting “Hail great King. I have come to grant you a wish. You have only to say it, and it will be granted.”
“A wish? Any wish?” The king was delighted. His self-esteem rose up to the ceiling.
“Your heart’s desire,” the angel said.
“That’s easy.” The king laughed. “I wish to be happy.”
“Oh little man,” the angel responded. “You have all the means in your power to be happy, but you are never satisfied. You should not waste a wish on something you could have gained for yourself. You are not worthy of being king.” The angel doubled in size as shafts of light shot around the room.
The king cowered against the wall. What was wrong with being happy? Why should the angel be so angry? The king couldn’t take his eyes off it.
The angel was changing its form. There was something very familiar about the shape of the head, the brown eyes, the style of the well-groomed golden hair, the well-trimmed beard. It was like looking into a mirror. With a wave of the angel’s hand, the King's robes fell to his feet and a tattered cloak replaced them. His fine leather shoes became rags tied on his feet, and his soft linen tunic changed into a coarse hairy shirt that scratched his delicate skin.
“What are you doing?” the King cried. “How dare you do this to me? I am king.”
“Look at me,” replied the angel. “Who will believe that I am not you? And who will ever believe a ragged beggar that he is king? Kindly remember your laws for people who are considered crazy. Now go, before the guards come and throw you in prison for trespassing.”
The king stumbled out into the courtyard where some workers had built a fire. Was it only this morning that he had ordered the stable roof repaired? Of course the work should have been done in the summer, but it wasn’t leaking then.. What did it matter if snow had to be shoveled from the roof? Or if the men working on it might fall because it was slippery? Where were the men? Warming themselves instead of working? How dare they?
He was about to give the order to put the fire out, when he happened to look at his feet. No one would listen to the orders of a beggar. Besides the fire was warm, he had not realized how cold it was. He joined a group of ragged men and stretched his hands toward the flames. An old woman stepped aside so he could stand near the fire.
“Ah, it’s a cold one tonight,” she said. She peered at the king. “I haven’t seen you before. You’ve come to our town at the wrong time of year. It’s nice enough during the summer as long as His Highness doesn’t spoil things with his stupid decrees. Have you heard the latest horror? He wants to turn our beautiful river into a lake?”
“Hush, old woman,” one of the workers said. “The king’s spies are everywhere. It is treason to talk against the king.”
"Ah well. Perhaps I have lived long enough.” The old woman pulled a thread bare shawl around her head. “I go to the market place where perhaps some kind soul will give me a crust of bread. There will be no food here for the likes of us. May the rich ones choke on their Christmas feast while the rest of the world goes hungry.” She shuffled away into the darkness toward the courtyard gate.
The king stared up at the palace. The lights from the windows mocked him. The court would be sitting down to the Christmas Eve feast. He could almost taste the succulent roast beef, the Yorkshire pudding laced with gravy, the smoked ham, the apple sauce, the Christmas cake, the plum pudding, the mince pies. He forgot that an hour ago, he had not wanted any of the traditional feast. He was famished.
He thought of the hall filled with laughing men and women eating and drinking, wishing each other Christmas greetings. Of the uneaten food being cleared away to the kitchens. Even the servants would have plenty to eat tonight. He knew there was always food left over, but not one crust would find its way to the court yard.
It didn’t use to be like this on Christmas Eve. When he was a child, he remembered great fires with people dancing around them and long tables of food. Why didn’t that happen now? Oh, yes, now he remembered. When he was first king, he had ordered the Christmas Eve celebration stopped. Why? Because the cooks had been too busy to prepare his favorite Christmas cake so he ordered the gates to the palace closed, and let the fires die. Why should the rabble celebrate when he was deprived of his Christmas cake?
He never thought that he, the king, would be deprived of any food. He would die if he didn’t eat something. He carefully picked his way across the court yard to the door that serviced the kitchens. Perhaps one of the cooks would give him something to eat.
The door flew open revealing Bethena, the head cook, and a young woman. Behind them the most delicious mouth watering aromas teased his hunger and the warm fire beckoned him inside. But the portly woman in the door way was anything but welcoming.
Bethena shook her spoon in the young women’s face. “Maryanne, how dare you forget the salt in the kings dish of mushrooms? Do you know how long I had to listen to his great and noble majesty complain? I won’t have it, I tell you. You’re out of here, girl. And don’t come back. There’s no place for any thing but perfection in this palace.”
Opening the door wider she saw the beggar king. “And you!” She yelled. “Get down into the town where you belong. The king will turn his dogs on you if you are here after the gates close!” She slammed the door and the wonderful warmth of the kitchen disappeared.
The girl brushed pass him as she ran out of the court yard gate. Slowly the King followed her down the rocky hill into the town. Where could he go?. Where could he stay? He had no money. When he was king, all he had to do was order a place to stay. It didn’t matter if the inn was filled, someone would have to give up his bed so the King could sleep. He slowly wandered down the twisted streets toward the marketplace. Flickering candles were in every window in honor of the Christ Child’s birth. Inside he knew people were laughing and feasting and making merry. Outside the wind pierced his patched cloak and nibbled at his fingers. He longed for the fur lined gloves he wore when he traveled out side the palace in winter.
He stopped in front of a shop window and stared at the display. A fur coat was there as well as hat, gloves, boots everything one needed to keep warm in the frigid weather. What would be the best way to smash that window and take the garments inside?
A muffled sob interrupted his thoughts of larceny. His eyes focused on a heap of clothing in a dark corner near the door of the shop. “Here” he said. “What’s wrong?”
The heap of clothing moved and the head of a young woman appeared. It was the same young woman that had been thrown out of the palace. She stared up at him for a moment, then she said. “I lost my job today up at the palace. Just because I made a stupid mistake. I forgot the salt in the king’s favorite dish of mushrooms.” Slowly she stood up.
“Just because of that they fired you?” But the beggar king knew the answer to that. He had thrown a really unreasonable fit when he had tasted those mushrooms. Threw the dish across the room and ranted and raved at the cook. And the cook had gone back to the kitchen and punished the one who had forgotten the salt. He had never considered the consequences of his rages. Never. After all, he was king. He could do as he liked.
“I was so concerned about the Lady Alice,” Maryanne said. “Her baby died today. He had been sick for the last week, and I’d been trying to help her take care of him when I was not needed in the kitchen. The Lady Alice has been good to me. It is so sad to lose a child at Christmas.”
The Lady Alice? The King had not even noticed that she was pregnant. No wonder the Lord Raymond did not seem himself today.
“Have you no place to go?” the beggar king asked. “No place to get out of the cold?”
“No,” the girl replied. “My parents died years ago. The only place I had to live was the palace.”
The church bells rang calling people to the Christmas Eve Service. A trumpet from the castle announced the coming of the king. The gates swung open and the angel king dressed in velvet and furs with all his lords and ladies rode out of the castle to the church. As the riders rode through the town, the doors of the houses opened, and the people, dressed in their best clothes joined the procession.
It was a Christmas custom that the king was the first person to enter the church on Christmas Eve. He was the first person to see the church in all its glory, decked with candles and evergreens in honor of the Christ Child.
The beggar king and the young woman followed the crowd into the Church. The ex-king started down the aisle toward his accustomed place in the front, but Maryanne caught his arm. “You can’t go there,” she whispered. That’s for the nobility. We worship the Christ Child in the shadows.
“But you can’t see anything from here,” the beggar king said.
“No," agreed the girl, “but you can be safe from the wind for a little while at least.”
The service had never seem so short, the music that the king had never really listened to before sounded so beautiful. Before he realized it the organist played the final hymn. The Angel King and its retinue left the church followed by the rest of the people. The young woman tried to follow, but the king held her back. Surely to be under a roof was better than spending the night in the frigid streets.
No one noticed the intruders as the priest extinguished the candles, locked the doors and went to bed. The Beggar King and the girl were alone in the empty building; their very whispers seemed to echo. The cold seeped through the cracks under the doors and through the stained-glass windows. They wandered down the aisle and huddled in front of the altar.
“I’m so cold,” the young woman whispered.
"Here,” said the Beggar King. He took off his tattered cloak and wrapped it around her.
“No” she protested. “You need it.”
“I will keep moving. You rest now.” The woman was too tired to protest further. The King looked down at her, rubbing his bare arms to keep the blood circulating. It was too cold to sleep. He wandered around the church and found some heavy velvet drapes covering a window. He pulled them down. He used one as a blanket for the young woman, the other he threw around his shoulders. They would probably kill him for sacrilege in the morning if he lived that long. It didn’t matter.
Even covered with his cloak and the drape, the girl was shivering. He lay down beside her, trying to warm her with his body. He was so tired.
The beggar king knew nothing until the next morning when he awoke to see sunlight streaming through the stained-glass windows. He was alone. The young woman was gone. He replaced the curtains on the window and stood back to admire his handiwork. They did not look much worse for their night’s occupation. 'Not too bad,’ he thought, 'for someone who had never before had hung a curtain.’
Now that it was light he noticed a small door on one side of the building. He tried the knob and it opened. It was Christmas morning.
Suddenly someone stood beside him. The beggar king turned and recognized his features. It was the angel. He wanted to grab him, tear off the royal robes, and join the castle folk at Christmas breakfast. But something stopped him. As he looked at the image of himself, he thought, 'Here is a man who could do so much to ease the misery of this world and he does nothing. Here is a man who has the power to make life a little better for those around him, and he abuses that power. How could he have been so blind?’
“I don’t deserve to be king,” he said to the angel. “You take my place. Everyone will be better off.”
“No,” said the angel king. “It is not my purpose to take your place.” It took the Beggar King’s hand and in the blink of an eye they were standing back in the palace.
“Now,” said the angel king. “I am empowered to grant you one more wish. What is it?”
The beggar king fell to his knees. “To have another chance. To do something to make life easier for the people I was suppose to rule.”
“Granted.” The angel was king no longer and the king wore his own clothes. The angel became very bright, until it was a shaft of light. “Remember,” It said. “Remember this Christmas Eve,” and then it vanished.
The king pulled a cord that summoned his servants. “Build Christmas fires in the court yard,” he ordered the astonished retainers. “Then go though the town and invite everyone to a Christmas feast.”
“But my King,” Bethena stammered. “It will take a week to prepare that feast".
“Don’t worry that it’s not a proper Christmas feast," the king told his cook . "We can do that next year. There are people in the town who have nothing to eat; just set out what food we have for them."
“Great King,” the Lord Raymond faltered. “Are you well?”
“I have never been happier,” the king answered. “One more thing. There was a girl working in the palace yesterday. I think her name is Maryanne. She’s somewhere in the town. Find her. Bring her to me.”
“I can do better than that, O King.” The Lord Raymond said. “The girl is here at the palace. This morning she came to the door wrapped in an ragged cloak asking for help. She said a beggar had saved her life, that when she awoke she thought he was dead, he was so still. My wife insisted that she stay.”
The king bit his tongue. He had almost ordered Raymond to throw the girl out and call the guard to escort that noble Lord to the dungeon. At least that’s what the king would have done yesterday. Well, that would have to change. He looked at Lord Raymond. “You have done well.” The words almost choked him. They sounded so strange to be coming out of his mouth, but he continued. “Let the girl resume her duties in the kitchen, and” -- he paused. Lord Raymond was a good man, but this next order would make him doubt the king’s senses. “Bring me the rag she was wearing.”
Lord Raymond looked at him as if the king were losing his wits, but the nobleman obeyed.
The king smiled. He realized that to change into the man he wished to be would take some work on his part. He would hang that ragged piece of cloth on the wall in his bed room as a permanent reminder of the angel’s visit.