The Uncrowned King
The Uncrowned King is a short story about honesty, inspired by Harold Bell Wright’s book of the same name, in celebration of its 100-year anniversary. (Wright was a bestselling author of several novels, including The Shepherd of the Hills.) In this poignant allegorical tale, a lie from the imposter on the throne tarnishes the kingdom, as the true king waits on the magic of the crown. It answers an ageless question: does truth prevail? A person can read the story in ten minutes, but the message will remain for a lifetime. Thus, we urge you to read Hawk's adaptation of The Uncrowned King, and receive a free e-book of the original Harold Bell Wright book.
The Uncrowned King
Adapted by TJ Hawk
Years ago, the queen died, leaving her husband to raise two sons, Truman and Coyote, identical twins. No one could tell them apart. Only the king and the two princes knew that Truman was born first. After the king died, Truman would occupy the throne, not Coyote.
A huge wall surrounded the kingdom. People could enter or exit the kingdom through two gates.
Notably, in those days, a crown shimmered in brilliance. It was ancient. From the outset of the royal reign, this splendid crown had passed from king to king. Each ruler had added a jewel to it, that priceless emblem of royalty.
Things are different today. The crown is gone. And this is how it happened . . .
One day, Truman and Coyote discovered a rusty door to a stairway. The curious twins climbed the steps to the top of the tower. Far below, they saw the roofs of the palace complex and the entire wall surrounding the kingdom. Moreover, they could see, far away, the sea to the west and the dense forest to the east.
“Look, brother,” cried Coyote, poking Truman with excitement. “What’s that gleaming in the sun?” He was pointing to the middle of the forest.
“I cannot tell,” answered Truman, squinting. “It sparkles like glass.”
“I think it’s a palace,” cried Coyote.
“It must be huge,” exclaimed the firstborn prince.
The boys hurried down to plead with their royal father. They asked to explore the dense forest, to investigate the shining building seen from the tower.
The old king was sad. It would be a long journey, perhaps perilous. He’d miss his boys. Nevertheless, he gave his royal consent. He presented each son with a horse from the palace stables, stallions of noble breeding.
Early the next morning, Truman and Coyote waved farewell to their father. They rode bravely out of the kingdom and into the forest.
Hateful to me as the gates of hell,Is he, who, hiding one thing in his heart,
Utters another. (Homer)
The forest was thick and abounding with wildlife. Tall trees shut out the sun. Though foreboding, neither twin expressed apprehension.
After two days of travel, Truman and Coyote entered a clearing. Hidden from the world, this little hamlet was in the heart of the enormous forest. As they approached, friendly people came to greet the royal visitors. They prepared a delicious meal for the young men.
After finishing their feast, a young maiden entered, proclaiming, “My job is to show you our land.”
She was beautiful. Her golden hair radiated. Captivated by her charm, neither prince could speak. Truman finally muttered, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“What is your n-n-name?” stuttered Coyote.
“Phantasy,” answered the fetching girl.
In the morning, she showed Truman and Coyote the sights. They rode through a paradise of beautiful gardens and waterfalls, as Phantasy kept pointing out fresh scenes of wonder.
Next, Phantasy led the royal visitors to the temple in the center of town. Dismounting, Truman and Coyote stood speechless, intoxicated by its blazing, blinding glory. It was dazzling and majestic. The royal twins had seen this very temple from the tower heights back home.
“What do you call your god?” asked Coyote.
Phantasy replied with a beam, “He is God-Without-Shadow.”
“Why call him such a strange name?” blurted Coyote.
“Please excuse my brother,” remarked Truman.
“No worries,” whispered Phantasy. “I’m honored to tell. Our deity is unchanging and dependable. He cannot lie. Being the source of light, he has no shadow.” Now with a huge smile, she exclaimed, “He is indeed God-Without-Shadow.”
Phantasy dismissed herself to worship alone, leaving the twins in the outer sanctuary. Coyote, seeing a golden candlestick, pointed and croaked, “Let’s take this candlestick as a token of our visit here.”
Astounded, Truman growled, “No, Coyote. How could you say such a thing? We’re guests in this holy place.”
Coyote squawked, “But no one will know.”
“I’ll know,” exclaimed Truman. Shaking his head in disgust, he added, “God-Without-Shadow will know.” Truman had never seen such darkness in his brother.
No one could tell the twins apart. They looked and sounded the same. But this perceptive girl had discovered that the hearts of the twins were quite different.
Phantasy fell in love with Truman. Soon they were spending much time together, even planning to marry. Coyote grew jealous. The twins had shared everything. Yet, now Truman had a precious treasure that he would never share with Coyote.
One day, Truman and Coyote saw a messenger from home. Recognizing him, the brothers knew something must be horribly wrong for him to journey so far.
“Give us your report,” muttered Truman.
The messenger opened his mouth, but uttered no sound for grief. Finally, he whimpered, “Your father is dead.”
Bread gained by deceitIs sweet to a man,
But afterward his mouth
Will be filled with gravel. (Solomon)
The king had died. Now the brothers must hasten home. They planned to leave at sunrise. Truman went to bed, but Coyote could not sleep. He was too busy devising a scheme in his cold heart.
Phantasy saw someone in the courtyard. “Truman, is that you?”
“Yes,” answered the imposter.
She embraced Coyote, mistaking him for Truman. The liar, filled with lust and envy, kissed the beautiful maiden. The kiss made her sick. Without saying a word, she abruptly turned from Coyote and scurried inside.
Waking early, Truman was bidding farewell to his new friends. Hundreds came to hug the prince.
Phantasy whispered to Truman, “Did you kiss me last night in the courtyard?”
“No. Why?” answered the perplexed prince.
Phantasy told the sad story of how Coyote had pretended to be Truman.
“Where is he now?” groaned Truman. (Coyote had already crept away and was riding alone with frantic ambition.) Truman’s heart was grieving. How could his twin, whom he had cherished, attempt to steal his love, and his crown?
After one last kiss, Truman departed. Urging his horse, he hoped to overtake his brother in a furious chase through the thick forest. He didn’t even sleep, but kept riding in the darkness.
Suddenly, Truman was knocked from his horse. A large rock had hit him in the face, a rock thrown from the vile hand of his brother, who had been waiting in ambush.
Royal blood gushed. Before losing consciousness, Truman recognized his brother’s malignant howl. Coyote laughed briefly before riding away. The rogue was leaving his maimed brother for dead.
But Truman did not die.
The rightful heir to the throne knew that Coyote was riding for the crown. Remember, no one could tell the twins apart. The prince who first reached the kingdom would surely be proclaimed king.
Truman wiped blood from his eyes and struggled atop the saddle. “We must hurry,” he whispered to his horse. “Truth demands it.”
Meanwhile, Coyote came to where the road divides -- left to the brazen gate and right to the golden gate. Nearby, a gray-haired man lived in his cottage. Coyote did not delay. He chose the wrong way and rode toward the brazen gate.
Yet, when Truman arrived at the fork, he dismounted and approached the cottage. Truman smiled at an old man, asking if he had seen someone riding in haste.
“Yes, young man,” replied the elder with a grin. “Many would say that it was you who rode so hard.”
“It was my brother, my twin,” replied the prince. “Did you see which way he went?”
The old man, pointing, answered, “He took the road to the left. But he’s too far ahead for you to overtake him.”
“At least I must try,” answered the prince, turning.
The old man cried, “Wait. Is your brother Coyote? And are you Truman, the rightful heir to the throne?”
“Indeed,” the prince affirmed. “I must hasten or my brother will be crowned king, for you’re the only one in this kingdom who can tell us apart.”
“But you’ll gain nothing by haste. Coyote has already entered the city. People are hailing him as their king. Tarry and listen to my words. Discover the power of waiting.”
Truman recognized the old man’s wisdom. He entered the simple cottage and sat at the table. Taking massive books from his shelves, the wise man read from the ancient writings. He revealed to the unfeigned prince the secret of the magic crown.
From the last volume, the old man read, “If any prince enters the kingdom through the brazen gate, he shall forever be deemed unworthy of the throne. A king must enter through the golden gate.”
The old man closed the book, asking, “What have you learned?”
“The crown is not the kingdom,” Truman announced, “nor is one a king because he wears a crown.”
With bowed head, the elder saluted the unfeigned prince. “What will you do now?”
Truman replied, “I’ll obey the sacred writings. I’ll wait on the magic of the crown.”
The two men rose in unison. After embracing his guide, Truman rode away slowly, pondering of wisdom of the ancient books.
Coyote, who rode so fast, entered through the brazen gate. The imposter was received by the people as their king. Sadly, they were unaware of the ancient writings about the brazen gate.
With pomp, the false prince ascended to the throne. With pageantry, he was laurelled with the precious crown. Coyote rode in grand procession, surrounded by soldiers, clothed in regal splendors, with the crown on his head.
Royal trumpeters were proclaiming his power, as multitudes were shouting loud chants of loyalty to their king, the deceiver. From the shadows of the palace tower, he smugly decreed that never a maligned word should be uttered against his reign.
Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again;The eternal years of God are hers;
But error, wounded, writhes in pain,
And dies among his worshipers. (William Cullen Bryant)
Truman took the road to the right. As the pretender was amusing his subjects with festivals, Truman quietly entered the kingdom, unnoticed, through the golden gate. He slept in a tiny room under a deserted temple.
Truman worked hard daily, alone, restoring the dilapidated temple. He planned to present it to his future bride as a wedding gift. Phantasy would need a temple to worship. Truman hoped to join her in exalting God-Without-Shadow.
One evening, Truman was sitting against an old building after laboring all day on the temple. The high captain saw him and sighed. Truman was dirty and smelly, with tattered, old garments, long hair and a full beard.
Pointing, the captain whispered sadly to his army, “That pathetic man is a prince, and should live in the palace. Our merciful king would gladly welcome him, but this twin is still bitter at being second born. I know this is true, for I’ve heard it from the mouth of the king himself.”
Turning to Truman, the captain pleaded, “Oh, prince, you should be living in the palace. Return with me today. Your disgusting appearance brings disgrace on our blessed kingdom. You look like a pauper, not a nobleman.”
Truman declared with a smile, “A man’s integrity, not his appearance, is the true mark of nobility.”
Coyote was living in luxury, but soon that would change for the imposter . . . because of the crown. (That wonderful magic crown!)
The court jester noticed it first. “Oh, looky at the crooky,” squealed the jester in his most amusing voice, dancing in circles. “The royal crown is diminishing, blemishing. It’s happening, zappening. Looky-looky at the crooky-crooky.”
Coyote laughed royally, long and loud. All the court laughed with him, for this jester was a most whimsical fool.
It did not stop with the jester. Soon others noticed it. Servants and soldiers kept whispering.
Yes, the jester was not joking. The priceless jewels of the crown were indeed losing their brilliancy. The precious gold was becoming dull.
Coyote commissioned the workers in gems to report to the palace with haste. A host of experts arrived and toiled for hours. Despite their skill, they failed to restore the beauty of the crown.
“What is the meaning of a tarnished crown?” people kept questioning.
The royal officers had a private meeting with the counterfeit king. “Oh, king, you must answer the questions of our people. With the fading glory of the precious crown, they wonder if you’re legitimate.”
Coyote called the citizens before him. He held up his right hand toward the heavens and affirmed with deep conviction, his voice vibrating, “I swear on all that is holy: I am indeed the firstborn son.”
With such convincing oratory, people believed him. Yet, when they again beheld the pale crown, their doubts returned.
Filled with dread, poor Coyote tried to hold the failing confidence of his court. With frequent festivals (carnivals, games, parades), the pretender tried to keep the waning loyalty of his people.
Soon nothing could prevent people from looking with disdain on their ruler. Coyote, that foolish charlatan, was losing his power, as the beauty of the magic crown was fading.
Meanwhile, Truman completed his restoration of the temple. He was now living in simplicity in his basement home. Rather than present an appeal to the royal court (demanding them to oust his brother), he waited. Believing in the magic of the crown, he patiently waited.
People began to love Truman, the man in ragged clothes and no crown. It started with small children. They ran to greet him with laughter. Soon all peasants, young and old, pressed around Truman as he walked quietly in the street.
The magic crown, now tarnished and dull, was a mockery. People wept at the shame. As the pretender passed, they no longer shouted chants of loyalty, but stood in silence, or even snickered.
In secret, the corrupt king went to his brother, pleading, “Please, Truman, live with me in the palace. We’re twins, sons of our regal father. Let’s rule together. When you wear royal garb, no one will tell us apart. And when you put on the crown, its glory will return. All will be well.”
Yet, the real king answered sadly, “No, brother, in the ancient scriptures it is written: a king cannot share his throne with one who is false, lest he himself be deemed unworthy.”
Coyote departed in dismay. In the morning, a few beggars found him lying in a dark alley. His own sword was protruding from his naked body.
The imposter was dead.
Citizens gave Truman time to grieve the ghastly fate of his deceiving brother. Oh, but then, with shouting, the entire kingdom gathered to pay homage to Truman.
And it happened. (Oh, that magic crown!) On coronation day, all was ready for Truman to ascend to the throne. The royal musicians had lifted their trumpets, ready to proclaim Truman as the king. The multitudes were ready to break forth in a glad shout, “Long live the king.”
The high chamberlain reached to take the magic crown from the hands of the prime minister. Even as he was reaching, the crown vanished.
And, behold, it was gone. And gone forever.
In alarm, the chamberlain whispered to the royal officers, asking what should be done. Imagine! The crown was gone! What could they do now? Whoever heard of a coronation without a crown?
The officers asked Truman. For a second, everyone froze in an eerie hush. Then, with a smile, Truman proclaimed with joy, “The crown is not the kingdom, nor is one a king because he wears a crown.”
People cheered. With trumpets blaring, they cried loudly with one voice: “Truman is king! Truman is king! He is a king who needs no crown! Long live Truman! Long live our uncrowned king!”
The true king ascended to the throne. Trumpets continued to blast for days. With a mighty shout, people kept proclaiming, “Truman is king! Long live the king who needs no crown! Long live Truman! Long live the uncrowned king!”
And still there is no crown.
Truman and Phantasy are now married, living happily with many children. They worship in the temple of God-Without-Shadow.
Mystics think all the promises of Truman will someday be fulfilled, and the glory and splendor of his kingdom will fill the entire world. To these believers, everything (every bird, every plant, every wave, every cloud, and every living thing) seems to join in whispering: “Truman is king! Long live Truman! Long live the uncrowned king!”
Though the crown will never return, these mystics accept it with gratitude. Indeed, the crown is not the kingdom, nor is someone a king because he wears a crown.
Long live the uncrowned king!
