Zeus announced a contest among the birds: the most beautiful would be crowned king, he said. (Zeus had a thing for hierarchies. And contests.)

Birds travelled from far and wide to claim the honour. The swan, the peacock, the kingfisher, and pink flamingo, these were among the favourites, although the scarlet macaw, late arriving from the tropics, had something to say about that. Jackdaw turned up too.

The other birds mocked him. ‘You’ve wasted your journey,’ they said. ‘Even if you came from down the road.’ It was true his small, pale eyes and grey hood pointed more to the role of executioner than king. Nevertheless, he felt he deserved the title as much as any of them.

The birds primped and preened by the riverbank. They barely gave Jackdaw a second glance as he went about collecting their feathers. It seemed to them quite fitting that he should clean up after them and they took it that he had accepted his proper place in the pecking order.

With great fanfare, the pageant began. The birds presented themselves to Zeus each in their resplendent glory. Impressed by what he saw, the king of the gods wondered how to make his decision. He was inclining toward the classic elegance of the swan when Jackdaw took the stage.

No one recognised Jackdaw. He entered unannounced, in a coat of spectacular plumage, woven from the discarded feathers; an array so varied, vivid, and surprising the other birds were momentarily overwhelmed.

“Marvellous,” roared Zeus. “Extraordinary. My avian friends, I have made my decision. This bird—what are you? A jackdaw—will henceforth be your monarch. Come, bow your heads before his majesty. I have spoken.”

When they realised what had happened, the other birds were outraged. They set upon jackdaw, ripped away his motley feathers, and dragged him denuded back before the king of the gods. “See, he is a fraud, a fake. This is what he really looks like,” they protested.

Zeus was displeased. “Do you think that I, the master of disguise, was fooled?” he thundered. “Well, do you? Is that what you are suggesting?” The birds clucked and spluttered, but dared not reply. “I chose invention, imagination, daring. Do you wish to challenge me?”

In the awkward silence, Jackdaw stepped forward expecting to receive his crown, but Zeus—not for the first time—had lost his temper. “The contest is void,” he declared. “I want nothing more to do with you petty, mean-spirited creatures.” With that, the king of the Gods was gone.

© Richard Parkin, 2022