There was a coinmaker, well versed in his art. He fashioned
delicate dies and cast them well. Each coin he made with such perfection and
care. He would sit in his work room, day after day making coins for the
kingdom.
One day his young son asked whose face was on the back of
the coin.
“My son,” he replied, “Everyone knows that the face on the
coin is the face of the King.”
Years passed, and his son was now grown, had fallen in love,
and a child of his own. The kingdom to have grown, it seems, and the nobles fought
over petty things. And when the King passed they clambered and jockeyed, each
with designs to become the new King.
Lords and Ladies sent their stewards to beseech the
coinmaker to cast in their image, for everyone knows that the face on the coin
is the face of the King.
So he minted these coins, and for some was well paid. For others
he was held at the honour of the privilege. But each and all soon forgot the
coinmaker, none honoured his art or remembered his name. But he minted his
coins and now with no model made his changes here and there, and perfected his
art.
One day his young grandson came into the workshop and asked
his grandfather of the face on the coins.
“Dear grandson,” he replied, “everyone knows that the face on
the coin is the face of the King.”
There was a knock at the workshop door and the old King’s stewards
and guards entered.
“Sire,” they said, “the pretenders have fallen on each other’s
swords, will you return to your duties?”
“No,” said the coinmaker, “I am too old for such things. But
my grandson, my heir, will soon be of age. I will regent in his stead until the
time comes.”
“Very good sire,” the stewards replied, “how soon can you
have the new dies ready?”
“Tomorrow,” the coinmaker answered, and they bowed and left.
The coinmaker winked at his grandson and tossed him a silver
coin from the bench.
For everyone knows that the face on the coin is the face of
the King.
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