Once upon a time, there was a land that had three kingdoms around a triangular lake. They often warred, and casualties were fierce. Tired of rebuilding their kingdoms after each war, they agreed to hold a tournament of all their champions, on an island in the middle of the lake, with the winning kingdom becoming the seat of power in the land.
The first, being rich and influential, sent twenty Knights, and thirty squires, with many horses and wagons laden with food and wine. The second, being well-off, sent ten knights and twenty squires, as well as several wagons of food and drink. However, the last kingdom had but one knight, who was very aged and rather decrepit, and had only one squire. They brought with them a single iron pot and a horse with food enough for the journey.
The first evening, much revelry was had - wine was shared and spilled in equal measure, great haunches of meat were roasted and cut, and all manner of tales were told. Being wise due to his advanced years, the old knight counseled foodstuffs should be moved off the ground, as the island was home to many rats, some of which could spread plague.
The Knights and squires of the first and second kingdoms disregarded his advice, saying "Pfah! What does he know? We are so many, no rats would dare bother us!"
But the squire of the third kingdom listened attentively to his old knight and hauled their old iron pot on a rope over a branch, preventing the rats from finding it.
In the morning, all the warriors of the first two kingdoms were ill, finding rat droppings in their food and sleeping-things, and several of them could barely even stand, let alone fight, so it was agreed to postpone the tournament until the next day.
That night, the partying was subdued, but still jubilant. Old grudges were settled by the fireside, tales of heroism told and retold, and many casks of wine were emptied and tossed aside.
Again, the old knight counseled the gathered warriors. He warned them that bandits had long preyed on dwellers of this island, making off with any valuables they could. "Pfah! What does the old man know?" They cried, well into their cups. "Surely, no bandit would trouble such an assembled group of warriors!"
But the lone squire from the third kingdom listened intently to his wise old master and hung a noose beside their pot, still dangling from the tree, so that bandits might see the penalty for troubling them and be warned away.
The day of the tournament came, and the Knights and squires of the first and second kingdoms emerged from their tents to find their fine armour and weapons stolen in the night by bandits. Amazed, they hunted around, but for naught. Even their horses were stolen. The Knights, still sickened, could not fight at all and only a very few of their squires had the skill to craft cudgels with which to do battle.
But the crafty squire of the third kingdom had warned bandits away, so his battered old pot helm, coat of metal plates, and dented old sword were still safe in his tent.
He took to the field under the gaze of his master, and although the other squires allied against him, he defeated those who were well and well-armoured enough to fight him.
And what's the moral to this story?