As he was conveyed through the outer court, those who were awaiting their trial crowded around him, to clasp and kiss his hand, to encourage him to play the man for Christ, and to salute him reverently as a martyr.
“I am no martyr, good brethren,” said the deacon in a feeble voice. “I am not called to suffer for the faith, I have not been asked to sacrifice; I am to be thrown down into the pit, because I cannot reveal what I do not know.”
One man, turning to his fellow, said, in a low tone: “If I were given my choice, I would die by fire rather than linger in the pit.”
“Will he die there of starvation?” asked another, “or will he smother in the mire?”
“If he be sentenced to be retained there till he [pg 163]tells what he does not know, he must die there, it matters not how.”
“God deliver me from such a trial of my faith! I might win the crown through the sword, but a passage to everlasting life through that foul abyss—that would be past endurance.”
As Baudillas was supported through the doorway into the inner prison, he turned his head and looked at the brilliant sky above the yard wall. Then the door was shut and barred behind him. All, however, was not absolutely dark, for there was a gap, through which two fingers could be thrust, under the door, and the sun lay on the threshold and sent a faint reflection through the chamber.
Nevertheless, on entering from the glare of the sun, it seemed to Baudillas at first as though he were plunged in darkness, and it was not for some moments that he could distinguish the ledge that surrounded the well-like opening. The jailer now proceeded to strike a light, and after some trouble and curses, as he grazed his knuckles, he succeeded in kindling a lamp. He now produced a rope, and made a loop at one end about a short crosspole.
“Sit astride on that,” said he curtly.
Baudillas complied, and with his hands grasped the cord.