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The letter

Cliff Spence

There once lived a stalwart serf by the name of John Smith who laboured diligently over his small plot of land, paid his taxes on time and enjoyed a solitary life in the company of his good wife.

One evening, the farmer and his wife were startled by a messenger bearing a letter from the king. Much perplexed, the farmer placed the letter on the table and stared at it.


“Thou shouldst open the thing, husband,” said his wife.

But still he sat. “The seal appears difficult,” he mused, “and what shall befall us if I cannot understand the contents? The king is mighty and speaks in eloquent language. I may shame us both in attempting to reply.” And so the letter remained sealed that night.

Finding it propped against his cup as he sat at breakfast the next morning, Smith pondered the thing and was about to take it up when thoughts of his daily chores came to mind. “The kings knows nothing of farming,” he said aloud to no one. “Will this letter help me till my field and sow my seed? I think not.” Thus saying, he set off to work and thought no more of the troublesome letter.

Returning home at eventide, however, the man found the letter posted to the door of his cottage with a dab of pitch. “That woman of mine,” he muttered. “She has such delusions. What good news can we expect from the king? He will want me to go to war. He will raise my taxes. He will seize my land. I am a simple peasant, but one with ears. These things have befallen others more noble than I.” Seized with a sudden trembling, the man fled into his cottage, bolting the door behind him.

At daybreak, the poor fellow awoke to discover the now bedraggled paper woven into the ceiling of straw above his bed. Pulling it down with a deep sigh, he said, “Thou shalt have thy way at last, wife. No good can come of this, but since thou cannot rest until the contents be known, I will read the thing. Draw a pint of ale after we have supped this night, and we shall open it together.”

A strange silence pervaded the countryside as the farmer set off to plant his fields. It seemed that he alone had come forth to work the land. “What lazy fellows I have for neighbours,” he thought. “The sun shineth, it is not the Sabbath, and yet they are still abed!”

Back at the cottage, the wife peered out her window at a sudden sound of footsteps and beheld the inhabitants of the village hurrying down the road laden with belongings. Consumed with curiosity, she ran to join the company.

The farmer in his field heard different footsteps, loud, pounding, marching in unison. At first, he thought it was thunder and made haste to complete his work. Then he saw them, row upon row, spear points gleaming in the morning sun.

Reaching the village, the marauders were taken aback to discover that not a living soul could be found. Searching one deserted home after another, they came upon an unopened letter bearing the seal of their mortal enemy. The letter, which surely carried word of the king’s forces and weapons of war, was borne quickly to the commander, who broke its seal and read the contents aloud:

“Our enemy hath set forth upon an errand of war and shall doubtless reach the village on the third day of the new moon. The king wishes to extend his gracious protection and opens his castle and bounteous stocks of food to all until the danger is past. Let every man bring what is dear to him in both person and goods to the house of the king on the appointed day, and he shall be granted refuge.”

“We were anticipated,” muttered the brigand, crumpling the letter and throwing it to the wind. “’Tis a shame to have come so far and naught but one slave to show for our trouble.”

Cliff Spence teaches English and Bible at Prairie High School in Three Hills, Alta. This article is reprinted, with permission, from the Winter 2000 issue of Servant magazine, a ministry of Prairie Bible Institute.

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Last modified November 16, 2000.

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