Chapter 17

In the morning, just as dawn crept over the edge of the hills, the soldiers roused the five surviving Christians with a few placed kicks. All looked haggard with unkempt hair and stained clothing, damp with dew. The two women tried to run fingers through their hair to smooth out tangles, but with no success.

“Come on,” a guard kicked Caiapus, who was slowly rising. “You should have been kept in Mamertine Prison. You wouldn’t have been oversleeping there.” The young man stumbled away, obviously limping from the blow to the back of his right leg.

Longus arose with the others. He could see how bedraggled the prisoners appeared, and yet how much they comforted each other. They were all especially solicitous of Lukas. One woman licked her sleeve and used it to erase a smudge on the old man’s cheek.

The large soldier watched the byplay and chuckled. “Yeah,” he said, “make sure he looks good before they throw him off the Stairs of Mourning.”