The Coronation |
| Posted by Mark (mark) on Mar 31 2008 at 8:23 PM |
A constant winter rain eagerly turned the streets into swamp. Steadily piercing the ice laden mist a lonely procession plunged forward into the night. A solitary coffin labored along, tenuously rocking atop the aching shoulders of the six lone pallbearers. No one led the procession and no one trailed. Passing by thatched roofs and deserted markets the coffin trudged forward.
A man shifted restlessly in the mud, annoyed at yet another icy wet bet. “Damn cold rain!” He muttered thoughtlessly, until the awkward procession arrested his attention.
“Have you heard?” exclaimed another man approaching the first.
“No, but I’ve seen. The coffin just passed by. And where are the people?” His tone was colder than the air and blacker than the night. “What kind of send off is this, and for a king? He was God to the people. And where are they now?”
“You’d know where the people are if you’d heard.”
“Heard what?” said the first man.
“The new king, he’s given the throne to his son.”
“What!” bellowed the man, “He’s done what? Who puts their son on the throne ahead of himself?”
“And it gets even better my friend. The son has decided to share the throne with the entire land. All his brothers and sisters - as he calls us anyway.”
“He’s not my brother.” His words plunging into the soft mud.
“There’s more. He’s preparing a feast for tomorrow night. He’s preparing enough places and food for everyone. All are invited to dine with the king. All who wish to share the throne are to come.”
“So the peasants are out preparing themselves for the feast?” He snickered idly. “They’re fools, the whole lot of them,” wringing his hands now with aggravated loyalty evoked from the coffins recent appearance. “This new king is either mad or brilliant.”
“How so?” questioned his companion.
“If he’s brilliant, then the invitation is a masterful scheme. A way to lure all his enemies into his clutches. He knows their greed outweighs their restraint, so he’s made an offer they can’t refuse. They won’t escape that banquet with their heads. And neither will you if you go.” He paused and drank deeply of the mist, “If he’s mad, then your fate might be even worse.”
“And if he’s genuine? Just because you can’t see beyond those two options doesn’t mean that’s all there is.”
“Tell me old friend,” he snickered disdainfully, “If you were in his place would you share the throne? No, he’s not genuine at all.”
“That’s right, I’d forgotten how you see people.”
“How’s that?”
“You judge others according to your own heart, as if the roles were reversed. Forgive me old friend, but the new king is not you.”
“Ahh,” he said raising his hand in disgust, “I would rather go lie in the cemetery with the old king than dine with the new.”
“If that’s what you choose,” his friend sighed, “I imagine the grass of the cemetery would be more comfortable than this mud. But think carefully, as I don’t see this rain letting up anytime soon. Why not come to the palace and be warm and full in body and soul?”
“I think I will catch up to the procession. You’re a bigger fool than the rest.”
With the exchange over the man slipped into the icy mist, enshrouded by darkness. Entering the graveyard he quickly spotted the pallbearers as they finished their work. It was not hard to find them, as the old king’s tombstone was the largest, most extravagantly ornate piece of work ever formed by the hands of men. Precious jewels and metals, expensive marble and expert craftsmanship adorned the grave. It was breathtaking. It was mesmerizing. It was fit for a king.
“Now this is more like the reception a king deserves,” exclaimed the man.
Approaching the tombstone he read it’s inscription: Here lies the Law. Ruler and accuser of mankind. Comforted by his beautiful surroundings, the night didn’t seem quite so wet and cold. Growing weary he propped himself up against the tombstone, and felt the cushy grass beneath him. “Much better,” he thought, “but I wish the damn rain would stop.” And with that final complaint, he waded into his slumber.
