Only then, as a soldier, I should never have forgiven myself, for how could I stand still while my comrades fought for me?
No, no, I was glad I had led the charge and led it well, though my life must pay its price.

Nor was this so.

I must die, not because I had lifted sword against Irene's troops, but for the sin of loving Heliodore.
After all, what was life as we knew it?
A passing breath! Well, as the body breathes many million times between the cradle and the grave, so I believed the soul must breathe out its countless lives, each ending in a form of death.

And beyond these, what?
I did not know, yet my new-found faith gave me much comfort.
In such meditations and in sleep I passed my hours, waiting always until the door of my cell should open and through it appear, not the jailer with my food, which I noted was plentiful and delicate, but the executioners or mayhap the tormentors.
At length it did open, somewhat late at night, just as I was about to lay myself down to rest, and through it came a veiled woman.

I bowed and motioned to my visitor to be seated on the stool that was in the cell, then waited in silence.