An ambitious prince, eager to discover what the future had in store for him, went to consult a renowned astrologer. He handed the old man the details of his birth and waited while the scholar scribbled impenetrable notes beneath the book of celestial movements.

“Good news,” the astrologer announced when he had finished his calculations. “Your future is assured.” “Assured? What does that mean?” asked the prince. “Will I gain wealth and power? Will I be wreathed in glory? Am I destined for great things? You must give me more than that.”

The astrologer indulged the young man, guiding him through his birth chart, describing the advantageous position of the planets, the auspicious conjunctions, the proofs that he did indeed have great things to look forward to.

The young man’s head was spinning with visions of the future when he left the astrologer’s study. Gazing up at the night sky, brimming with stars, he thanked the benevolent constellations. Then he promptly fell into a trench that had been dug along the side of the road.

The astrologer woke to a banging at the door. He found the prince on the step, smeared with dirt and blood, glaring at him. “You scoundrel,” the prince growled. “Why didn’t you warn me about that ditch? Huh? You could, and should, have predicted this accident.”

“You asked me to divine your future and that is what I did,” the astrologer countered, stifling a yawn. “An hour ago, it was the future, you wretch!” spluttered the prince. “I ought to beat you all the way back to next last week so you can make amends.”

“But I won’t,” the prince continued. “Because from now on I will seek advice only from those who would steer me away from the obstacles in my path, not dream-selling sycophants like you.” “Very wise,” said the astrologer as he moved to close the door. “Your future is assured.”

© Richard Parkin, 2023