The Four Famous Knights
Once upon a time, there was a kingdom that had fallen upon desperate times. Disease infected the land. People turned on one another and became outlaws, stealing from their own neighbors. Enemies stalked the borders, threatening to attack and spread war across the land. Those were dark days, indeed.
Just when things seemed to be at their worst, the king himself rode forth. He undertook a heroic journey and – hazarding his own life – he braved the very darkest places to bring back that which could put all things right. Upon his return to his capital city, as the matter of first importance, he took the secret that he had won, copied it down four times, and placed each of the copies into a clay jar.
Then he gathered together his knights.
He chose four of them. To each, he gave a jar. Then the king commanded them to ride out to the four corners of his kingdom. They were to stop at each town and village and to share the secret they carried. He told them to let nothing distract them, for each was to ride toward one of the four points of the compass until they reached furthest border of the kingdom. That done, with their mission complete, they were to return for their reward.
Each swore to faithfully obey.
And so, on a bright, clear morning, the knights set out upon their mission. The wind whipped at their banners as the first three knights – who were famous across that land – rode forth with their squires and their attendants. Their great chargers pranced through the streets of the capital to the sounds of cheering crowds, and the king himself came out and met them by the great gates.
As they rode past, the king charged each knight, saying, “Share my secret with one and all, and guard your jars!”
* * * * *
The first knight to pass the gates, who was famous for his dexterity and agility in all of the tournaments and contests that the knights would hold amongst themselves, held his jar aloft as he rode forth. His attendants laughed and cheered as he entertained them all with his feats of skill and daring.
His road led north, up, up, and away from the capital into the mountains. The high mountain passes were treacherous, and in some places, only narrow bridges spanned enormous chasms that plunged down hundreds of feet to where rapids churned and boiled with white foam over weathered rocks.
As the nimble knight’s party came to one of these, he was jesting and juggling with the jar perched precariously before him in his saddle. When his squires urged him to hold it more tightly while crossing the bridge, he flashed them a dashing grin and began to juggle the jar itself. He urged his horse forward.
The knight rode onto the bridge, which began to sway dangerously back and forth. Incredibly, the jar did not drop at once. He crossed to the halfway point, still juggling the jar. He proceeded forward. On the very last step, as he turned to salute his watching admirers, a gust of wind tore down the valley, caught the jar and its precious secret, and hurled it over the side, never to be seen again.
Humiliated, he returned to the capital in disgrace.
* * * * *
The second knight, who was famous for his strength and skill at arms in all of the tournaments and contests that the knights would hold amongst themselves, hid his jar safely in the strongbox that he carried on the back of his very own charger. He and his attendants rode out in grim silence, eyes open for any danger that might beset them along the road.
His road led south, down into a great forest in which many battles had been fought over the years. Beyond the southern boundary lay the land of their sworn enemy. The forest was deep and dark and riddled with winding paths. Around each bend in the road might lurk a desperate bandit or a hostile enemy patrol.
The strongest knight had no fear of any of them. Instead, as they approached each crossing, he would set his lance, lower his visor and charge boldly forward. As the days passed, one after another, he met and defeated little knots of outlaws and small groups of enemy soldiers. Each time, he would ridicule the fleeing foes, daring them to come back and face him once more.
One night, as they made camp, his squires asked timidly whether they should post a guard and make no fire since they had met so many foes in the forest. He scoffed at this, bidding them to build the flames high, boasting that they were cowards and that none would dare challenge him.
But challenge him, they did. That very night, his camp was attacked by a strong force of both bandits and enemies, many of them survivors from his previous battles. It took many, many men to overpower him, but, at last, they did. They tied him up, stripped him of his armor, and plundered his goods. With a sneer, his foes left him trussed to a tree and rode back toward enemy lands with the humiliated knight’s strongbox bouncing along on the back of his own captured charger.
Once free, the knight refused to return to the capital, but instead turned outlaw in shame.
* * * * *
The third knight, who was famous for his wisdom, intelligence, and shrewd dealings with all of the merchants and tradesmen of the capital, carried his jar safely in one of his wagons. With his own hands, he wrapped it securely and set it amongst the bundles of supplies that he’d provided for the long journey.
His road led east, where large market towns had sprung up along the trade route with the kingdom’s neighbor, and where bustling bazaars and caravanserai had mushroomed at every crossroads.
He swaggered through the stalls and displays of all of these merchants, eager to test his wits against the most cunning of them. At each stand, he would boast that he carried a treasure greater than all of their riches – a treasure that had been given to him by the hand of the king, himself. But when they would ask to see the treasure so that they could judge its value for themselves, he would raise an arched eyebrow and merely scoff at them.
Over dinner, his squires would ask him why he would not reveal the king’s secret. Awkwardly, he confessed that he knew all too well that most people judge by outward appearance alone and that he was ashamed of the humble show that a simple clay jar would make. It was better, he said, to entice them with the promise of something of great value, rather than to reveal reality, which they might find to be a bit of a disappointment.
He continued along in this way until he arrived at a great border-city – the greatest market of both lands. Here, ambassadors from the neighboring kingdom approached him and offered him wealth, honor, status, and security in exchange for his jar. By now, he had convinced even himself that he carried nothing of great worth, and he took the deal.
Then, while this faithless and foolish knight feasted and flaunted his own wisdom, the king’s secret was carried off into obscurity, where it was hidden in the dusty warehouses of an enemy land.
* * * * *
The fourth knight that had passed through the gates of the kingdom’s capital on that day when the king’s messengers had first set forth was famous for nothing at all.
In fact, he himself had only been raised to the knighthood recently. He had been given his spurs on the very day that the king returned from his great journey.
Before then, he had lived and served in the capital. He, himself, had been afflicted by diseases, beset by bandits, and threatened by the king’s enemies. But, at the king’s return, all of this had ended. Now a newly-created knight, he had volunteered at once to carry the message to the far edges of the kingdom, eager that all of the others in the land should discover the secret that he, himself, had learned.
Since he had been the last to ride through the gates that day, most of the cheering crowds that had lined the way for the three famous knights had already dispersed by the time that he and his attendants rode forth. The hooves of his old mule clipped and clopped through nearly-silent streets. But the king had remained, and – just as he had done with the other three – the king laid his hand upon the fourth knight and charged him, saying, “Share my secret, and guard your jar!”
Now his road led westward. No high mountains blocked the sunset. No great forests rustled with adventure. No teeming markets bustled with opportunity. Instead, the dusty, rutted path stretched ever-onward across vast prairies, and the huge horizon was unbroken, except by the barns and outbuildings of small farms and towns. It was vast, daunting, and drab. With a sigh, the fourth knight set spurs to his mule and loped forward, followed only by an old hunting dog and a few good friends who had agreed to ride along with him.
Day by day, they traveled west. At each farm and village, they stopped. Around innumerable farm-kitchen tables, at many a tavern hearth, and by dozens of village wells, the fourth knight brought out his clay jar, opened it, and shared what it contained with those who would listen. Most of the time, the only ones who paid him any attention were those who were sick, or who were penniless, or who were spies of the enemy, for any who thought themselves well kept their distance from one like him who might carry disease. Those who were wealthy were afraid of his armor and weapons of the dangers that one who carried such things must face. Meanwhile, the king’s enemies simply sneered at him and at the poor show he made, riding along on an old mule, accompanied only by a flea-bitten hound and a few dusty commoners.
Even so, day by day and mile by mile, the fourth knight journeyed onward. Time and again, he opened the jar and shared the secret that had been deposited with him. Evening by evening, he set his face toward the sunset as he rode on toward the next town, village, or farm.
At last, after a long time, there were no more settlements. He, his mule, his dog, and his friends came to a cliff’s edge from which they looked out at the limitless, flashing diamonds of a great ocean.
Here, he stopped, for he had gone as far as he could go.
Here, he turned back.
Now, the rising sun greeted him each morning as his road led eastwards. Day by day, he retraced stretches of the road that he had ridden before. Little by little, he began to notice something about those who came out to greet him.
They were well. They were happy. They were safe. The little villages that had huddled defenselessly against the looming threats were thriving. Farm gates that had been shut and locked stood open in welcome. The difference grew and grew, becoming more and more obvious as he rode on and on.
Everywhere he rode, he found signs of peace and prosperity as the king’s secret spread across the land. He rejoiced as he rode and he pointed out to his friends the evidence of their king’s victory at work everywhere he looked. Mile by mile, they drew nearer and nearer to their journey’s end.
Finally, the day came. There was only one more ridgeline to cross before he would see their destination. His old mule brayed out a trumpeting call, echoing his own excitement. His old dog frolicked around his feet and his road-weary companions laughed and teased each other as they labored up the last slope.
Then, they all saw it. The capital city. It shone with white and gold in the morning sun, and its gates stood open. They whooped and hollered as they rode down the last hill toward their home, and as they rode, the sounds of whooping and hollering grew and grew.
In a moment, they could see why. A great crowd had gathered to welcome them. This crowd was cheering and yelling and applauding the formerly-unknown fourth knight as he rode back up to the gates. When he reached the gates, he stopped.
He looked around and saw many familiar faces. Here were the friends he’d met along his journey. There were the friends that he’d left behind in order to follow the king’s command. All wore smiles. All were well. All were happy. He looked again and saw the face of his king, who also smiled in welcome.
The knight dismounted and dropped to his knee on the paving stones beside his mule as the king came forward to greet him. Strong hands gripped his and pulled him to his feet as the king swept a hand in a wide gesture at the gathered crowd, who all fell to an immediate hush to hear what would be said.
Then the king proclaimed, “Welcome home, my good knight! Look around you. See what has been accomplished by my will at your hand. You have kept faith with me, and because of that there is great rejoicing. Now come! Enter my city with honor. Take your place beside me! Come and rest. Well done.”
Michael Somerville is the author of several short stories, as well as an in-progress high-fantasy series called the Tales of the Broken Realm. He loves telling stories of hope about ordinary characters doing their small part to help heal a broken world. By day, he pays the bills as a hands-on storyteller and project manager, leading and envisioning professional teams in the "real-world", even as he is busily building and illustrating imaginary worlds in his evenings and on the weekends.
Outside of work and writing, he enjoys a wide range of hobbies, including playing music with his family and friends on keyboard or guitar, drawing, sculpting, painting, sewing, and blacksmithing, or walking the length of the Appalachian Trail in his home neighborhood in the Shenandoah Valley, where he serves as a Board member on his local civic association.
Most important to Michael are his family and his church. Michael and Jessica celebrate their 20th anniversary in 2026 and are happily raising three wonderful daughters. He serves actively in his local church, playing music on Sunday, teaching the older elementary kids, and leading a small group of wonderful saints. He hopes to hear "Well done" one day, and plans to keep serving his true King until then.
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