Part One

“He that has light within his own clear breast may sit in the center, and enjoy bright day: But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts benighted walks under the mid-day sun; Himself his own dungeon.” John Milton

The man shifted, hearing in his half-sleep the clink of chains. Pain shot up from his hips as he moved. His back hurt, too, and he knew if he walked, his feet would scream at him. It seemed everything hurt these days.

The man next to him moved, too, and grunted. The chain clanked against the cold cement floor. Fully awake now, the Apostle Paul raised himself to a sitting position, careful not to disturb the two guards who were shackled to him at the ankles.

He rubbed his face and drank from the flask at his elbow. Peering around, he wished for his writing implements, but they sat on the table across the room from the bed which he shared with his Roman guards.

No, he couldn’t write. It was too dark, anyway, and lighting a candle would certainly awaken these two boys.