“How do you pick a good judge?” asked the king of his most trusted monk. The monk was not quite listening, lost in thoughts of love.
“What sayeth thou?” said the monk, his mind rolling over the memory of the young woman.
“I have to put someone up to join the council of judges. I am torn. Do I choose someone who walks with me along the paths of my mind, knowing my wishes, and with an understanding that what I hold dear is likely to be correct, or, do I choose one of independent mind, unpredictable in sentiment, with a veneer of evenhandness.”
“It would seem, dear king, the latter.”
“But does not everyone really carry their own biases in heart and mind, interpreting the law writ centuries ago in the manner that is molded by their present circumstances and existence?”
“To be honest? Indeed my Lord. Nobody is pure and without bias.”
“So it would be better to choose the wise man with the bias I know, than the wise man with the bias I don’t?”
“I would say, simply, choose the wiser man, and the one who holds truth above all, without deep curves and detours in their path to that truth.”
“Well said. But I can tell you are not with me. What is it that vexes you?”
“Oh nothing worthy of a king’s attention. I am but a servant in this court, advising, healing, listening. It’s not my place really to bore you with the meanderings of my mind.”
“Bore me anyway. I’ve all the time in the world, and politics do not stir me.”
“I think I am in love with a woman who I have seen, but who has never seen me.”
“Oh ho ho. Now this is a tale worthy of a tale. And I thought the floods in the south were the end all. Did you see how the rabble made me fire my commissioner for mishandling the floods? I was supposed to be the fortune teller, and know of great damage by the gods…”
“By God.”
“Whatever. Whomever. The gods. They told me that I should have sent a thousand horses and carriages there, when Lord Neamire himself, who ruled the area, ran around the area in circles, letting thousands of wagons be swept away. The very same wagons that would have well carried my subjects to higher ground. The ass. The common donkey is without rump, for it is Neamire himself. But go on. The personal is far more than the greatest tale of disaster or the political. My monk in love. Go on, go on.”
“Well there is not too much to tell, but that she has never seen me.”
“Pray tell then, how do you find yourself in love, and I take it the love flows like the river in one direction?”
“Well, it is a complicated story. I was away, remember, at your bidding, meeting with the kings in the northern regions. Before leaving I stopped for an ale at…”
“Hmm, drinking on behalf of the king no doubt.”
“Pardon my Lord. I was of thirst, and stopped for a drink before journey. I carried a book–the book–that is filled with my life and all that I have encountered. I rose early in the morning forgetting this book. The proprieter of the establishment had a daughter, who found my writings, read them, and in time sent word to me that she thought I was of a type she had never met.”
“Ah, she reacheth for the high fruit by reaching for you, no?”
“I am not too high, dear King, for the lowest of the low, and rather, upon corresponding with her, it seems that I am doing the reaching, trying to move the stars across the sky with my heart.”
“Ha ha, drunken bunny you are. I ought call my archers to put you out of your misery. Ho there, staggering about it the fields, what is it?”
“Dare I ask?”
“Well yes you must. That is your heart, walking, point in air, stiff and waiting to be touched.”
“King! I think you read me wrong.”
“Well she is beautiful according to your words. And you have been what? The virgin for thirty seven years? My own sons have–on the dark’s side, mind you– tilled many open fields, yielding fruit far and wide and they are but half your age. You monks will be the death of me. Which is good since you can heal, and no doubt bring me right back to life so I can laugh again and roll right back over into death.”
“See, your mind is better formed around floods and judges, and not this small little matter in my mind. I told you as much.”
“Oh no. Take no offense. If I know you, and I do, your words and mind are true, if not wise in matters that concern your own heart. So how is it that you have grown to, as you say, to ‘love her’?”
“Well, she wrote to me, and I out of curiosity watched from afar to see who it was that showed such interest in me. And I saw that she was of great beauty.”
“I had no idea the “vintner” has such beauty from his loins. Perhaps I ought to bring them courtside?”
“I could not bring myself to go near, for I am just a monk, and not comely to look upon. I am a man, and not young. I am strong, weathered, indulged by years of non-labor.”
“You are not so bad, of a sort. You would make quite the king of a small nation.”
“Uhm, thank you. But I am not a king, nor a lord, or knight. I am a man with convictions, and a weak will. I have a few meager talents, a little wisdom, and no wealth to speak of. I am not outwardly strong. There is nothing that would make her see me and see her heart’s desires confirmed.”
“Well then, that is a problem. Ought I make you instantly wealthy? I have some unsettled lands, provided you come back whenever I need your skills.”
“No. That would not make a difference. I would want her to want me, not what I might have, beyond what I have created from my own hand and the power of my own mind. Then again, I don’t know that she might, deep down, really want what I am, and that my doubts are all internal. I go back and forth, like waves on the shore, or birds before flight to greater lands.”
“In other words, you are no good to me in choosing my judge. Well I have decided anyway. I will go with the wise man I know, rather than the wise man I don’t. I suspect he may not be up to the task, and rejected, but so be it. In any case, a wise man will take the law into his own hands and rule in good faith. As for you, I would say that you must let her see you. Go to her place and sit down and order a meal, and pay her no mind. She will either, eventually, come with a yay or nay. Life goes on. The world is full of everything. The world is full of wise men, one wiser than the next to the point where you cannot say who is the best, you must simply choose by their spirit. The world is full of disaster, and one cannot anticipate each one and say, “Yea there is the storm.” And, the world, too, is full of wenches and doves and delights, and when you have thought that this is the last best delight, lo, there another appears, and, ever more beautiful, another. Fret not over any one thing. Pick something to believe in, for the Dark One thrives on your indecision as much as your sin.”
“Well, it seems you have been of more use to me than I to you. Though, your advice is not fully pleasant to my ear, for I think I want this one woman.”
“Well then, plot it out and take her and make her yours. Time is magic, dear monk. Do not worry whether she sees the sun to her left, or the moon to her right, or the highest hill in some distance. Just show her by deed what true love can be.”
