Domitius tried to pray, but found the ongoing altercation distracting. He tried repeating the prayer taught by the Lord to his disciples out loud. This only made the madman louder in his dispute and Domitius gave up, and even as he said the words in his head somehow it felt as if the man’s voice was breaking into his thoughts. He wanted to shout, but felt this was un-Christian, even if it was his instinct as a soldier. Apart from that, the chains meant that he could not get close enough to back up any threats with violence.

There were stories of martyrs spending weeks, months, even years in prison, often tortured and knowing that they would be executed with savage ingenuity as an example. Perhaps it was easier for them, knowing the prize awaiting them. Pausanias did not go into detail, but he had heard other preachers speak of golden crowns and other honours waiting in Heaven. Yet he was not a martyr to his faith in any direct way, so lacked that consolation that surely gave them strength. He had been arrested for refusing to recant his beliefs, and deserted because his prospects were not good. The Nicopolitan authorities were not likely to care about that. He told himself that he had stayed in the city because he liked Simon and his family and had nowhere else to go. The truth was as simple as it was absurd; he had fallen in love with Sara, a woman whom he barely knew and whom he would never be permitted to marry. She had such lovely eyes, such beauty of face – and his imagination assured him beauty of everything else. For the absurd dream of being with her, he had stayed and now was in prison, most likely suspected of being a spy, and no one was ever very pleasant to a suspect in those circumstances. The odds were strong that they would kill him at the very least and Domitius doubted anyone would repeat his tale in the way they recounted the last deeds and dreams of martyrs, without explaining how they knew so much of the story.

No one had the power to change the past, so he was here and that was all there was to it. At least the army taught you to put up with what you could not change, even if it was easier when there were comrades around so that you could moan about it all. On balance the cells back at base were a good deal more comfortable than this one, although he was not sure whether or not that should make him proud to be Roman. Domitius laughed out loud at the thought, and the realisation that he was here out of love for a woman who had surely never thought of him in that way, and once he started he could not stop, until the sound echoed around the room. The madman broke off from his debate, and when Domitius got control of himself there was silence for the rest of the night.