The Centurion and the Crown of Thorns Page 2

  As people around him screamed in panic, Marcus felt something happen within his soul. He couldn’t hold back any longer, but he didn’t want his men to see the tears forming in his eyes. So he turned away from them while trying to control himself. Although he had been in charge of this type of execution before, and seen others nailed to a cross just like today, this execution was different. When he saw and heard this man called Jesus utter a loud cry and take His last breath, His words were not quiet as a whisper, but the voice was strong and loud -- loud enough for many to hear.

  'It is finished,' Marcus heard, knowing that the words meant paid in full. ‘It is finished’ was what was written on a contract when it was paid off. He wondered what it meant at this moment.

  The words Marcus had spoken, he could not take back even if he wanted to. Why he had said, 'Truly this man was the Son of God,' he was not sure.

  He wondered if any of his men had heard. Or even worse, if they had seen the tears rolling down his cheeks. When his best friend Ametrius walked over to him and motioned for him to be careful, he had quickly turned away, not wanting even his friend to see the tears that were now flowing.

  But it was too late. When he turned around, the look of bewilderment on Ametrius’ face told him that his tears had been noticed. They had been friends most of their lives; joined the Roman army together, and became centurions just a few weeks apart. They were both up for promotion. The only competition between them was who would get the promotion first. It was all done in fun, for they respected each other and loved each other as if they were brothers.

  They were married and each had one child. Ametrius’ daughter was eight years old and Marcus’ son was ten. They talked many times about their children growing up together and eventually marrying each other. They thought that would be the greatest thing, but agreed it would not be an arranged marriage as theirs had been, but the choice of their children in love.

  They had talked about the marriage many times and confided to each other many secrets. They knew just about everything about each other’s lives. They always said they were closer than brothers and kept no secrets from each other. And no matter what the other person did or what they told each other, it would go no further than the two of them. They also agreed that they would follow each other even to death.

  *

  It was getting late. Most of the onlookers had departed. Marcus’ men were doing their duty of cleaning up the mess that was usually left by the people who came to watch these executions. Ametrius had already left, urging Marcus to leave with him, saying that they had a lot to talk about. Marcus knew it would be mostly about the events of the day, and why he had reacted the way he did. Marcus needed to make sure his men did a proper job of removing the crosses and bodies, but he and Ametrius made plans to meet later after each had dinner with their wives and children.

  As Ametrius walked away, Marcus noticed that his friend was shaking his head, and he was sure that Ametrius was wondering what was happening to him. Marcus was having the same thoughts about himself.

  After Ametrius was out of sight, Marcus felt safer. He moved closer to the man called Jesus who was still hanging on the cross. Through the gloom of the black clouds that shut out much of the daylight, Marcus stared up at Him for a long time, wondering what this man was really like. He had heard about Him of course, but what was He truly like? He stood there gazing up at the cross and the man who was nailed to it, with the crown of many thorns imbedded into His scalp.

  All of a sudden another earthquake shook the ground. Marcus was looking at the man Jesus just at that moment. He saw His head drop and the crown of thorns slide down His body. It rolled to the ground and stopped when it reached the feet of Marcus.

  Chapter 2

  Marcus looked down at the crown of thorns at his feet with amazement, hardly believing that the wreath was lying there.

  He knelt down and examined it. In spite of the darkness, almost like night, he could see beads of blood on the thorns. The blood looked fresh, even though it had been several hours now since the crown was forced onto the man’s head.

  All of a sudden he began having flashbacks of how the crown was made. Some of the men who were under his command had helped to make the crown that was to be put on Jesus’ head in mockery. He saw himself watching the soldiers as they began weaving the thorns into a crown.

  He could visualize so clearly the men fetching the stems from one of the thorn bushes growing on the outskirts of Jerusalem. He could see himself watching and smiling with a look of approval on his face.

  The branches they were using were pliable, and the long, stiff thorns made their job easier for braiding the wreath that would soon be worn by the man whom His followers called the Messiah, the chosen one.

  He remembered the men laughing even though the tips of their fingers were pricked and bleeding by the sharp thorns.

  His best friend Ametrius was there also, joining in the laughter. He was bringing the men more thorns and brush so they could complete their task of making the crown of mockery.

  Coming back to the present, Marcus looked at his hand, the one he used to pick up the crown. He didn’t wipe the fresh blood from his fingertip, but instead had a sudden urge to touch it to his tongue. When he did, he felt another surge of power come over him. He knew instantly that at that moment he had become completely clean. He felt like a new creation. It was as though a bolt of lightning had gone through his body.

  He fell on his knees, looking up at the cross. Words of praise and worship flowed from his mouth. For the second time that day he had no control over what he was saying. He didn’t care. Whatever this feeling was, he was enjoying it, and didn’t want it to end.

  Over in the city, fires had broken out in some of the houses that were damaged in the earthquake, smoke from the ruins rising to meet the black clouds overhead.

  He could picture his men putting the crown on the man’s head a few hours earlier. To make sure it would stay, they had taken a heavy reed to beat it down.

  That same wreath now lay at his feet.

  He stood back to allow a wealthy-looking man, with authority signed by Pilate, take the body of Jesus away with the help of his friends. Marcus ordered his soldiers to remove the other two bodies, take the three crosses down, and finish what they had come to do. When their work was complete, Marcus thanked them and told them to return to their barracks.

  When he was alone, chills went through him as he knelt down again and leaned closer to the crown which he had been guarding. Reaching out carefully he picked it up. Why? He simply knew he had to do it. As he touched the crown, he felt a power come over him like nothing he had felt before.

  He drew his sword from his belt, and running it through the crown he slung it over his shoulder and walked slowly to his home in the city, wondering what was happening to him. Whatever it was, he wanted more of it and was hoping it would last forever. He couldn’t wait to tell his son Antony about the crown of thorns.

  Marcus knew his boy would be excited to hear what had happened, as Antony always waited for his father to come home with a detailed account of his military activities.

  But telling his wife Romana would be difficult. She was one of the people in the crowd who had been mocking and shouting out, 'Crucify this man. He is nothing but trouble to the Jewish people and to us Romans.'

  Marcus shuddered, just thinking about it. His steps became slower and slower as he got closer to home. He had to try to forget his thoughts of Romana and her likely reaction, and concentrate on the reaction of his only child. As he reached back and touched the crown, he again could feel the power flowing through his body.

  He still didn’t understand what was happening, but he was savoring every moment and was willing and ready to face whatever his new Lord wanted him to do.

  When he reached his home, he was relieved to see that it was undamaged. The earthquake had not affected this side of Jerusalem, although on his way home he had heard a rumor that some damage had been ca
used inside the Temple. Something about a heavy curtain being torn from the top to the bottom -- a curtain that kept ordinary people away from the dwelling of their God. Was that a sign of something?

  He opened the door of his house and walked in, feeling like a new person. He was ready for a new beginning … whatever that was.

  Chapter 3

  One step through the door and Antony ran into Marcus’ outstretched arms. 'Father, Father, I’m so happy you’re home. We had a terrible storm this afternoon, and a friend told me that some houses were badly damaged. I’ve never seen such darkness in the middle of the day. I thought it must be time for bed! Please come and tell me everything that’s happened to you today.'

  As Antony took a long look at his father, Marcus wondered if his son saw something different in him.

  Marcus smiled at his son. 'Before I tell you of today’s events, Antony, I want your mother to come in and listen also.'

  Looking at his father, Antony had a puzzled expression on his face. 'Why, Father? You’ve never asked Mother to listen as you tell your daily activities.' Then his eyes brightened and he said, 'Oh, something exciting must have happened to you today. Did you get your promotion in the army? Will you be working in Rome as a special guard to Caesar? Or does it have something to do with that thing over your shoulder? Please, Father, tell me.'

  'First, Antony, you must run and get your mother. Tell her to come quickly. I have some special news from the God.'

  'From the God? What god is that, Father?'

  Not waiting for an answer, Antony ran off to find his mother, shouting all the way, 'Mother, Mother, come quickly. Father has news for us from a god!'

  They both came running back with questioning looks on their faces. Romana shouted, 'A message from a god! Quick, Marcus, tell us which one has granted you this privilege? Was it Mercury, the messenger? Or my favorite, Venus, the goddess of love? Or maybe Jupiter, the greatest of the gods? I can hardly wait. A message from the gods. How excited and special you must feel.'

  Marcus shook his head. 'No, I don’t feel special, but I do feel privileged and excited.'

  With that, he stretched his left arm over his right shoulder and carefully swung his sword in front of him, sliding the crown of thorns onto the only table in the room.

  'Oh, that is disgusting,' Romana shouted. 'Get that thing off the table! It’s dripping with blood!'

  She ran into the cooking area and returned with a sack. 'Here, put it in this and take it outside. I don’t want that thing in my house.'

  'No,' Marcus said firmly, 'this is my house also, and this thing as you call it, is staying.'

  With those words, Marcus walked over to the entrance door. To the right of the door hung a carved image of the god Mars, the god of war. He took it down and in its place put the crown of thorns on the large nail sticking from the wall.

  Romana walked quickly to the door, shouting out with much anger in her voice, 'I will not allow that thing to be hanging in my house. Take it down, or I will. I recognize it now. It’s the crown they put on that man you crucified today. Is He your God now?'

  Marcus stood between his wife and the crown. Antony watched, tears forming in his eyes. He had seen his mother angry like this many times, but never his father. Whenever they argued before, eventually his father would give in and his mother would have her way. Many times she threw things at him. Once he got in the way of a pot, putting a scar on his forehead. But not this time. Antony could see the determination in his father’s eyes and on his face. This time he knew his father was not going to back down.

  Even though Antony felt frightened, he was proud of his father. But inside he was scared, not knowing what his mother would do. To himself he was thinking, 'Father, please let Mother have her own way.'

  Marcus stayed firm. Turning to his son, he could see fear in the boy’s young eyes. He looked at his wife. She had hate in her eyes. He tried to stay calm.

  'Please, Romana, sit down and let me tell you and Antony what happened today at the execution, and why I brought home the crown that was on the head of the one some Jews call the Messiah -- their God who was crucified this day.'

  'No,' Romana shouted back, 'I want no part of it. I’m going to the authorities. I’m going to tell them you’ve become a traitor to Rome. For twelve years I’ve been looking for a way out of this arranged marriage. I’ve never loved you and I never will. This union has brought me nothing but grief and frustration. The only time I’ve ever found some happiness is when you are gone. That’s when I sneak out and meet my lover. Yes, Marcus, I have a lover. In fact, I’ve had many lovers over the years.' There was laughter in her voice as if she was proud of the way she was living.

  Marcus felt startled. Even though he had never really loved her, he had always been faithful. But unlike Romana, the union had brought him something special -- their son. He could understand now why Venus was Romana’s favorite, the patron goddess of prostitutes. He wouldn’t be surprised if his wife had visited the temple dedicated to Venus and taken part in the sex ceremonies.

  Marcus looked over at his son, who was now sobbing loudly. He knelt down and opened his arms. Without hesitation, the boy ran into them.

  The next thing he heard was Romana shouting, 'Your career is over, Marcus. I’ll see to that. No one will expect me to stay married to a traitor. I’m going to the authorities to report you.'

  The door slammed shut.

  Marcus sat his son down, and said, 'Before the soldiers come to take me away, I must tell you about the events of today and why I brought the crown home.'

  He told his boy about the words that had tumbled out of his mouth at the cross. And how the crown fell from the man who had been crucified, and rolled until it stopped at his feet. And how, when he touched the crown, he felt a surge of power go through his body.

  His son listened to every word, almost forgetting what his mother had said about not loving his father. Maybe not those explicit words, but saying that nothing good came out of their marriage. He knew that included him. He also knew beyond a doubt that his father loved him and would never leave him. But now he was wondering what would happen to him if his father went to jail. Who would take care of him?

  His thoughts were broken by a flash of lightning instantly followed by a loud crash of thunder outside. The sky lit up and they could hear screams from the women who lived close by.

  Marcus held his son tightly. As if he could read his son’s mind, he stopped telling his story, and said, 'Son, you don’t have to worry if your mother has run away and I go to jail. Ametrius and his wife Diana will take care of you. They will love you as if you were their own.'

  The boy snuggled up closer to his father. 'I know they will, Father, but I want you to take care of me.'

  'Then, my son,' Marcus answered, 'we must flee.'

  He handed Antony the sack Romana had given him to put the crown in. 'Here, fill this up with a few things you’ll need. Nothing heavy. We have a long journey ahead of us.'

  Antony took the sack. But as he got up to fill it, there was a loud knock on the door. They stood perfectly still. Then they heard a voice that was very familiar to them, the voice of Ametrius the centurion, Marcus’ best friend.

  'Marcus, open up come quickly. There’s been an accident.'

  Marcus ran to the door, and when he opened it he was relieved to see that Ametrius was alone. It was good to see the face of his best friend, but his face had a look of much concern.

  'What’s the matter, Ametrius? What kind of accident? Must I put my uniform on? Is something wrong at the palace?'

  'No, no, not the palace. It’s Romana.'

  The father and the son looked at each other, both wondering if Romana had told the authorities, and if his friend had come to help them escape.

  Ametrius continued, 'Romana has been struck by lightning. She’s dead. There was just one bolt of lightning from the heavens, and of all the people in the busy streets she was the only one killed. It seems almost impossible that others w
ere not also killed. I’m sorry, Marcus, but people who saw it are claiming it’s a sign from one of the gods.

  Chapter 4

  Marcus told his son to wait. 'I’ll be right back, Antony. I’m going with Ametrius to see about your mother.'

  Antony hugged his father, and whispered in his ear so only Marcus could hear, 'Be careful, Father. Maybe Mother was returning after reporting you to the authorities.'

  'Yes, I promise to take care. Now be brave. I’ll return shortly.'

  As Marcus followed his friend, he was thinking to himself that when the lightning struck it was almost immediately after Romana left. Could she have reached the Roman barracks to tell them that he was a traitor to Caesar and his army? He was fairly sure he was safe.

  He paused, looked up into the sky and said out loud, 'Was it You, God? Did You cause the bolt of lightning that killed Romana? Were You protecting me? Was this Your miracle?'

  He came out of his thoughts when he heard Ametrius calling out his name.

  'Marcus, here she is.'

  Marcus looked around, aware that they were still not far from his home. He was certain now that Romana could not have reached the authorities to report him. He let out a breath of relief.

  Many of the people had gathered to stare at Marcus. Some said how sorry they were. Others who were close to him reached out and shook his hand. Some of the older women hugged him. Most of them were crying. Marcus wasn’t sure if they were crying for Romana or for him and Antony.

  Marcus knew that unlike Ramona, he was well liked in the community. Oh, there were some who may have liked her, the ones who agreed with her cause, putting down the Jewish people -- especially the followers of the man called Jesus.

  Looking at the body of Romana gave him a feeling of release, freedom. He didn’t like the feeling, but it was there -- especially because of the things she had said that night. He knew his wife’s words had hurt his son deeply, that nothing good came out of their marriage. But now Romana would never be able to hurt him again. The thought made Marcus feel good, in a peculiar way.

  He wanted to run home to Antony, put his arms around his son and assure him of his love and let him know that he was safe from the Roman authorities. He knew Antony would be worried, and Marcus knew that was where he should be.