The Man with the Crown
“He
says he’s their king,” a soldier said. Claude went on with his work, fingers
moving over the woven leather vest until the hole closed up. He nodded in
satisfaction. It was finished. The armor was repaired now.
Laughter
burst from outside the courtyard. Claude tried to ignore it. As long as it
wasn’t at him, he didn’t mind. Today they had found someone else to torment.
Yesterday had been different when one of the big soldiers had taunted Claude
about being too weak to lift a spear. Claude had wished he had the strength to
stand up to the man. Instead, he had tried to make himself small enough not to
be seen. Then the big soldier had stumbled forward as their captain slapped the
back of his head. The captain had then reminded the company that Claude was
touched from the gods with his talent for repairing the things that they all
broke. Those soldiers had the best armor in Jerusalem thanks to Claude so they
should show respect, lest their leather weave become weak with holes.
Claude
focused on inspecting his work and heard another eruption of laughter. There
was a prisoner on trial who claimed to be the King of the Jews. Another
revolutionary, Claude supposed. Just another man trying to lead others against
Rome. Just another man who would die on a cross and be forgotten.
“You,”
a voice said. Claude looked up to see his captain grinning at him. “I have a
task for you, boy,” he said. “Come.”
The
captain led Claude behind the barracks where the scrub brush grew thick on the
slope. He pointed to the dry plants that formed the barb-like thorns that could
pierce leather armor.
“Take
some of those thorns there,” the captain directed. “Use your skills to weave
them into a crown.”
“A
crown?”
“Yes,
a crown like what a king would wear on his head. Make a crown from these
thorns. Do it right away. I want it as soon as our king arrives.”
Claude
put on his gloves and was careful taking cuttings from the thorny plants. He
heard more shouts as he carried the items back to his work bench, this time
from the crowds. They seemed to be furious about something. Perhaps they didn’t
like this man who called himself king. Well, they would be pleased when they
saw him suffer and die. Claude didn’t care for executions. He hoped he would be
allowed to return to his normal work once his task was completed.
Claude
wouldn’t rush this work. He went slow, bending the sticks and twigs around each
other. The thorns pointed in all directions, including inward. This King of the
Jews would feel the thorns going into him, but Claude dismissed that thought.
The man was a criminal. He deserved what Rome handed down. What’s more, he
would welcome death as a release from the suffering.
A
thorn penetrated his glove and Claude winced in pain. He pulled off the glove
and sucked at his finger for a moment. There was a drop of blood on the thorn
and he cursed at it. Then he sighed and put the glove back on. The thorn was
only a dry bit of wood. It had no malice and didn’t know what it was doing. It
was one of many thorns being shaped into a crown. He worked at it until it was
done.
Claude
smiled at his finished product. His captain was right to charge him to this.
This crown was large and sturdy. His efforts had made something good. He stared
at the thorns. Once he wiped the blood from the single one that got him, he
couldn’t tell one from any other. They were all alike.
Finally
the doors burst open and a group of soldiers marched into the courtyard. They
were pulling along a man who held his head up. The man seemed to want to come
along. He wasn’t resisting, but they hurried him anyway.
Claude
stared at the face of the man. He didn’t look like a king or even a criminal.
He looked like any other Jew in the land. But his face, the more Claude looked
at the man’s face, the more the man perhaps did look like a king. What was
this? Then Claude realized it. This criminal looked like he knew each of these
men’s names. When the criminal’s eyes fell on him, Claude shuddered. This man
looked at him as if he knew his name and everything about him. Claude dropped
his gaze to his work table. The crown was gone.
The
captain had hooked the crown with the end of his whip and was carrying it to
the man. He lifted the end of his whip and dropped the crown on the man’s head
where it sat lightly.
“Hail,
King of the Jews,” the captain said, the last words coming out in a laugh.
Then
Claude watched as his captain put his whip on both hands and pressed the crown
of thorns down hard on the man’s head. Through the guards cheering, Claude heard
the man cry out in pain. But when the captain pushed the criminal to the
ground, Claude was astounded. The man looked up at the captain into the
captain’s eyes with a look of pity. The cheers died down, replaced by angry
shouts.
Claude
was ordered from his workbench to stand in formation. The man was beaten.
Claude tried to watch as little as possible. But all the while, he could never
shake the feeling that this condemned man was the one in charge. The captain
called orders and the strong men worked the whip. But this man who could barely
stand after a while never lost the look that he knew everyone’s name and if he
wanted to, he could just walk away.
At
last they had enough of the beating. The captain called for assembly to march.
Claude looked at the man, torn and hurt, struggling to his feet. The crown was
still secure on his head. He had indeed made it well for it to remain on the
man’s head. Now the man was beaten and suffering for his crime. It was a harsh
punishment indeed. Did this man deserve such torture?
The
captain stepped in front of Claude, blocking his view. “Your work was superior,
he said. “The crown is well made. You have earned the right to carry this.” The
captain handed Claude a sign written in three languages. All Claude knew was his
own, which read King of the Jews.
Claude
was put out in front and told to hold the sign high. This was the man’s crime. Everyone
would see the offence this man had committed and see the condemned man punished
severely for it. The population would be taught the consequences of crimes
against who ruled.
They
started off through the streets of Jerusalem. It would not take long to reach
the hills outside the city, but the condemned man moved very slowly. Claude was
astounded at how crowded the streets were. It seemed the whole city and more
turned out to see this man. Soldiers were positioned in front of Claude to keep
the way clear and he held the sign high for all to see. So many people, and so
many who did not seem to hate this man. Women and children were crying for him.
Several men too, cried for this criminal.
The
procession halted. The man had fallen. Claude glanced back and saw the crown
still on his head. Then his heart pounded in sorrow. The man would die with the
crown still on. Claude had only made it thinking about his craftsmanship and
how skilled he was. He had never thought about it being the last and only thing
a man wears while he bleeds and dies.
The
man spoke to the crowd. Claude could not understand the local dialect. Whatever
he said, it seemed to make the women even more sad. Finally another man was
pulled from the crowd to help carry the cross through the streets. The walk to
the hill outside the city still took a long time.
Once
at the hill the soldiers assembled in formation at the base. Some of the crowd
pressed against the line of men. Claude was called to the top of the hill with
the sign. He stood and held it, not so high anymore, while the man was laid on
the cross and nailed down. Claude handed over the sign and it too was nailed to
the cross above the man’s bloody head. Then the cross was lifted. Claude was
gestured in and he stepped up to assist his fellow soldiers. The cross rose up
and then dropped into place.
Claude
could not stop himself from looking up at the man with the crown. The man was
looking upward at the darkening sky. Then in short gasps, he spoke. Claude
wondered what the man said. The words were spoken with the same pity the man
had carried throughout the beating and procession. What words could this dying
man say? Claude felt he had to know.
Two
other condemned criminals hung on crosses and shouted back and forth. At one
point, the man with the crown spoke to one of them. When he did that, the
criminal, a thief according to his sign, had such a look of peace that Claude
wished even harder that he understood the local language.
Who
was this man who could give peace to a dying criminal? Who looked on his
tormenters with no hate, but pity?
Claude
glanced around. Most of the soldiers had been dismissed. There was still the
small formation at the top of the hill and now several of the locals had made
it up with them. Most of them paid no mind to the Roman Soldiers, only a few
looked warily at Claude and the rest. Claude recognized one of the men as a merchant
from Arimathea who had traded with them. He would know both the language of the
locals and of Rome. Claude considered stepping over to speak to him.
Several
of the soldiers shouted up to the man. They told him he may come down now. One
of them was wearing the man’s robe. Despite being midday, the sky was growing
even darker.
All
at once, the man with the crown cried out. At the foot of the cross an old
woman began wailing in earnest. Another man put his hand on her shoulder and
spoke to her. She shook her head. The man with the crown spoke once again. His
words were pained, but still carried strength.
Claude
slowly stepped over to the group at the foot of the cross. The sky rumbled. He
glanced at the merchant who backed away from him. The captain walked up
carrying his spear and looked up at the sky and frowned.
The
next time the sky rumbled, the man with the crown cried out. People all around
looked up to him and spoke among themselves. Claude looked to his captain who
looked concerned. Then the man with the crown shouted and everyone jumped in
surprise, even the captain.
“I
have heard cries on the battlefield before,” the captain said softly. “That was
not a cry for mercy. That,” he pointed up with his spear. “That was a victory
cry.”
Claude
looked from his captain to the man. Before he could speak he was knocked to the
ground. People everywhere cried out as the ground underneath shook. Claude
heard the city behind him rumble under the earthquake. He got to his hands and
knees and looked up, right into the eyes of the merchant from Arimathea.
The
captain offered Claude a hand and pulled him to his feet. The captain’s face
was still troubled. Claude reached down and offered the merchant a hand up.
Then the three stood together and the captain drew a deep breath.
“Surely,”
he said. “This was the Son of God.”
Claude
turned to the merchant. “Do you know what he spoke?” he asked.
The
merchant looked to Claude and his face softened. “He was calling out to God,”
he said.
A
wind was picking up and Claude felt drops of rain, or perhaps hail. “I made
that crown,” he murmured. “I made that crown of thorns he wore when he died.”
Claude felt his voice break.
The
merchant frowned and said nothing. It seemed the connection between them was
done. The man bowed his head. Claude saw his captain raising his spear to the
man with the crown. Claude and the merchant both turned their backs. There was
a cry of shock from the men and women at the cross.
Claude
began to feel tears in his eyes. He did not feel like a soldier of the Roman
Empire then. He felt like someone who had made sure this man died in pain.
“He
said something else,” Claude heard. He looked over to the merchant whose face looked
just as pained. They looked to where the cross was being lowered. Rain was falling
hard and most of the soldiers were busy. Once the cross was low enough, a young
man started to work the crown loose. It took some effort to get it off and the man’s
fingers were bleeding when he finally got it off and flung the crown away.
The
merchant looked at Claude as he watched. “He said this,” he told him. “Father, forgive
them. They don’t know what they are doing.”
The
man had spoken words of forgiveness? Could it be that the horrible thing Claude
had done was forgiven? He would have to think about this.
As
he left the hill, Claude looked in the direction that the crown had been flung.
He couldn’t see it anymore.
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