He didn’t have time to think over exactly WHY he found himself where he was. But one thing was clear; it was a Roman soul opening and walking through that door. His sprinting began with a weak, painful limp at the first three steps; then it gathered momentum to crash the heavy opening door back the opposite direction in good timing. He snickered at the sound of a painful grunt at the other side of the door. When gloating at the sound of cursing, that proved that his enemy did not anticipate an offensive, he quickly considered moving himself away from the door.
A little too late. His victory was very short-lived as momentum twice his jolted him sharply against the floor, almost to the middle of the cell. His head thumped and pulsated painfully, causing him to crouch his temples in his arms, ignorant of the three Roman guards that walked into the cell. The victim of his futile offensive, easily identified as the soldier with his fingertips laced with blood, made his way to a distracted Barabbas and inflicted a vengeful kick into his abdomen.
In the midst of pain, veins pulsating on his dirty caked skin, he regretted his foolish action. He was roughly huddled in between the other two guards as chains were bound around his wrists. He then started a painful, dreary journey in dark corridors and stairs, each side with a Roman, with the third guard behind him; probably waiting for another opportunity to exact revenge.
The afternoon sunlight pierced his eyes as he was roughly ushered through stone stairs upward onto a platform. His ears were beaten by the roars of the Jewish crowds as the shrills of their screams tunneled its way to his temples.
Then, he saw him! The pilot called Pilate. He slowly burned inside; not because of the bruises bestowed upon on him for resisting to come outside; but of hatred: burning, waiting for the opportunity to be uncontrollable. If only he could have the prefect’s blood on his hands…
‘Oh…’ was all he could say, as the memories of the day before his blackout were now complete. The rebellion had failed! The mixed emotions of anger, shame and discouragement were seeping… tears almost filled his good and bad eye, making them sting all the more. And seeing the minions of Rome before him increased the flame within, almost to the point of blacking out again. Was I the only one who survived? He remembered many, many of his fellow zealots murdered. He was confident that he was not the only one; but he couldn’t see any of his compatriots either. It was supposed to surpass the First Rebellion; but again, the Hebrews were defeated.
Gemali dying was the first indication within him that the rebellion had failed. Now, four young descendants of his brother-in-arms had now been rendered fatherless. Another sting of guilt lashed at his soul, but was quickly dissipated by the chant he constantly offered to his mind’s alter. The chant killed any signs of life from a weakened conscience. Gemali could have lived at the outskirts of Galilee as a fisherman with a peaceful life. But the fire and zeal of following Barabbas, the leader of the Zealots of their time and generation, to overthrow the Romans had made Gemali sacrifice the desire of a peaceful family life.
All blood spilt and sacrificed will be vindicated! They will all be AVENGED! If not by me, by the next generation!
He reiterated the chant… over and over…and its power set his eyes stone cold once again. All memories of Gemali and the fallen in battle evaporated into a void of darkness; even his children, who were yet to know their father was no more.
He begun to survey his new environment. If he was to be crucified, there wouldn’t be the need for this fancy presentation. There was a sizeable crowd. He looked beyond the walls confining the Pilate’s estate and saw smoke from every Jewish household that aroused a gleam in his eyes; THE PASSOVER!
Surely Jehova is with his people!! He could recognize the supporters of zealots from the masses and got the idea of what was going on. They had come to set him free!!! Pilate made it a custom to set one prisoner free on the Passover, per the demand of the people. And he could identify his brethren scattered in the masses! It didn’t take much to know his own; the hardened, set eyes identified them all!
THEY HAD REALLY COME TO SET HIM FREE!! to chant his name, and force Pilate to concede!
But wait – he had murdered a man; a Roman, during the insurrection. Pilate never let death go unpunished. His countenance fell as he realized that his only chance of freedom was compromised. Then, another realization dawned on him also; he suddenly realized…he wasn’t the only prisoner, with the opportunity to be set free, on the platform!