***
The next morning, as Shem got ready for the day’s affairs, an inscrutable sense of dread began to overwhelm him. An emotional murkiness rolled in. Earlier that week he’d actually entered the temple to hear the prophet speak. His thoughts scurried from one side of his head to the other with annoying pinpricks.
But what could he do now? He was part of Eber’s gang and did what was expected of him. After careful consideration, he promised himself that this was to be his last stint with Eber. He would just walk away, no matter the consequences, and do what needed to be done to settle his emotional quandary.
Those few moments he’d spent listening to the prophet and the whispered comments he’d overheard others make about him had quickened Shem’s curiosity. He was determined to go and speak with the man.
“But for now, let’s get this job done,” he mumbled. “Then I’ll go listen to what the holy man has to say.”
The Theft
Eber casually reconnoitered the area, never taking his eyes off the old merchant and pretending to be busy so as to not draw attention to himself. Success depended on precise execution; nothing could be left to chance.
He glanced one more time around the corner to make sure all was clear.
An alley, great! he thought.
The structures were higher in this area, creating shadows in the narrow passageways which made it easier to elude prying eyes. He preferred the darker ally and wished he could extinguish the light even more. The pandemonium in the market place would coat any sound made by the old fellow.
Assured that no one was in close proximity, Eber decided to move.
“I’ll push him over,” he told Shem with quiet authority. “You grab the money bag and run.”
Before Shem could gather his thoughts, Eber suddenly jumped from behind the wall and ran rapidly, shouldering the unsuspecting victim. The old man toppled against the stone, striking his head hard enough to draw blood. Shem grabbed the money bag when it fell out of the man’s hand and ran down the narrow street.
Shem looked back to make sure that Eber was behind him. In that precise instant, he turned a corner and unintentionally ran smack into some Roman soldiers who were making their rounds at the marketplace. The blow sent him sprawling to the ground, dazed.
When he managed, moments later, to focus on his surroundings again, his eyes moved from a cloudless sky to six Roman soldiers brandishing swords and spears, all aimed at his neck. Shem glanced to his side and saw Eber lying nearby, bleeding from the forehead. A soldier had struck him with the butt of his sword when Eber had tried to run away from the fiasco.
Shem slowly, painfully turned his face towards the narrow passageway whence they’d come. There was the old vendor, bloody and screaming obscenities, standing unsteadily with one hand on the wall and the other pointing a shaking, crooked finger at them.
As the vendor wobbled over and picked up the fallen coins dropped by Shem he screamed: “I will see you two hanged, you miserable thieves!”
The soldiers tied up Shem and Eber with leather straps and jostled them roughly to their feet. The two thieves walked unsteadily; the bands on their hands made their predicament painfully apparent. It was difficult to stay on their feet as they walked towards the prison, goaded by sharp spears and bouncing painfully off the guards’ shields.
It was surreal.
Prison
After being pushed up the prison steps, falling, tripping, bruised and bloodied in the process, the two were thrown into a dark cell. The thick wooden door slammed shut and the sound of the locks clicking sent uncontrollable shivers down Shem’s back.
After a while, his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Glancing around slowly, he took in the surroundings – a truly revolting environment. Other miserable looking prisoners sat, lay on the floor, or leaned against the wall in what seemed to be only twenty or twenty-five square cubits of gloom and hopelessness.
It gradually dawned on the new captives that any hope they had of seeing themselves free again had evaporated like haze in the heat of the sun. They’d been ushered into a world of sorrow and trouble.
Shem was lost in brooding loneliness, reflecting upon previous conversations he’d had with ex-convicts who had spent time in this prison. He remembered how they shuddered when relating their frightening and miserable ordeal with him. He’d been shaken when he heard of the atrocious treatment the prisoners received in this ghastly place. It was a time they wanted to put out of their minds.
And now, he and Eber were guests here!
Eber began screaming, banging on the door and asserting his innocence until he was hoarse, but to no avail. Any guard that walked by the cell was a victim of his interminable harangue. One prisoner left Eber’s ears ringing after a vicious slap; another one punched him in the stomach, bending him over and down to the ground.
“All that shouting won’t help and will only get us all into more trouble, you dim-witted pile of camel dung!”
Shem, on the other hand, quietly shuffled to a small window and, out of curiosity, struggled to get a glimpse of the notorious yard which was illuminated by torches along its walls.
“So, this is where thrashings are carried out,” he mused,
There was a large stone with leather handcuffs and brackets used to manacle prisoners who were to be whipped, tortured for information or just plain sport by the Roman guards. The stone floor was encrusted with dried blood from innumerable floggings. Even the walls had blood splattered on them and seemed to cry out in Shem’s ears. Chaos and violence covered everything.
It was a depressing sight. After a while, he sat down and tried make sense of the whole wretched affair.
During a miserable and hopeless night, Shem burrowed into a corner, then sat, then propped against the wall and laid down. He finally wrapped his arms around his knees, rocked back and forth on the soiled and foul-smelling floor until he dropped into a fitful sleep.
It seemed like he had just closed his eyes when he was rudely awakened, forced to stand and mercilessly taken in chains to the square to be judged. Eber, bleary eyed and just as despondent, incoherently followed.
The old vendor, his head wrapped with bandages, came forward as the first witness. Regardless of the pain, his ferocity peaked when the two prisoners were brought in. He managed to scream.
“Those are the worthless scoundrels who bloodied me and tried to steal my shekels!”
He used his walking cane to point out the two miserable companions.
“Burn in Hades, swine – filthy dogs!” He added heatedly.
A parade of witnesses came forward, victims of their previous larcenies. They recognized and acknowledged the two. The judges discussed among themselves for a moment. Their ruling was predictable and disconcerting.
“You have been found guilty and are condemned to death by crucifixion.”
Not bothering to look at the prisoners, the judges stood, straightened their tunics, and walked out.
I am to be crucified!
Death’s cold fingers squeezed Shem’s lungs. He grabbed his chest trying to suck in air to relieve the terrible ache.
Eber bellowed obscenities at his accusers while being dragged out of the courtyard and back to the dark cell. Shem, on the other hand, bowed his head and tearfully repented, begging forgiveness over and over.
His voice was lost in the maelstrom of cries and curses. The accusers stood waving fists and throwing whatever was at hand as the condemned men walked back to the cell to await the gloomy end of their existence.
Shem felt dead even though the sentence had not yet been carried out. His life wasn’t supposed to end like this! No farewells, no family, no good memories, no one to miss him.
In their cell, they dropped to the floor and sat back to back – heart throbbing sobs, broken sighs, burning tears. Shaking uncontrollably, a nervous twitch, a cold dread, a prelude of things to come.
A Week Earlier
Guys from around the cit
y and villages were gathered at the town plaza, laughing and drinking, as was their routine. The old wineskin was passed around. Eber, as always, stood in the middle boasting of his exploits.
Just then, a commotion erupted down the street silencing Eber and drawing everyone’s attention. Keturah, Jerah and Salah, Eber’s cousins, wanted to investigate right then and there. Eber quickly took the lead. Shem and the cousins jumped up and ran after him to see what was happening.
The uproar was serious. People were dispersing in every direction as more Roman soldiers arrived from their barracks to put down the disturbance. A soldier lay on the ground bleeding, with his hand holding his side. Two men lay dead; another was fighting fiercely and screaming obscenities until he was bludgeoned into submission and dragged off toward the prison.
“Hey guys, who was that?” Jerah asked.
“That’s Barabbas,” replied Salah. “He was talking up a storm the other day at the plaza trying to get a group to join him in fighting the Romans.”
“Would you have joined the rebellion, Shem?” Eber asked, laughing and punching him on the shoulder.
“I’m not into politics,” Shem answered, rubbing his shoulder.
“Looks like that’s it for Barabbas’ rebellion,” Keturah said. “He’ll be dead before the week is up.”
“The Roman prefect doesn’t like it when rebellions pop up,” commented Jerah. “He’s going to make an example of Barabbas, for sure.”
Eber decided to go back to the plaza.
“I hope you