Free Faith of My Fathers by Lynn Austin

many blasphemies do you require in order to convict him, Your Majesty?”
    “The Torah requires two witnesses for the death penalty. But find three, an extra one for good measure.”
    “Very well, Your Majesty.”
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    “ ‘I cry to you, O Lord . . . Listen to my cry, for I am in desperate need.’ ” Joshua paused to shift positions. His back and neck ached from standing bent in the cramped cistern, but if he stood straight, he would hit his head on the stone lid that sealed him in. He needed to rest his legs for a while. He lowered himself into the water, careful not to slip on the slimy stone floor as he had done earlier that night. When first lowered into the cistern, Joshua had panicked and, with his hands tied behind his back, had nearly drowned before righting himself in the water.
    Joshua knelt, the icy water reaching to his chin. But if he sat down, it would cover his head. He shivered in the darkness. “ ‘Set me free from my prison that I may praise your name.’ ” He finished reciting the psalm of David for the forty-second time. Or was it the fortythird? He had lost count.
    Would this long night never end? He tried to doze to help pass the time, but his shivering always awakened him, along with the continual struggle to breathe. His air passages had swollen shut, allowing only a thin stream of air in and out. Each breath whistled like the night wind through tree branches. He recited to stay calm, aware that panicking would only make the breathing attack worse.
    “ ‘I cry aloud to the Lord,’ ” he prayed, starting at the beginning again. “ ‘I lift up my voice to the Lord for mercy.’ ” He twisted his hands, trying in vain to untie himself so he could push the stone lid off. His wrists chafed from rope burns. Maki had tied his hands too tightly. Joshua had tried repeatedly to push the lid off with his back and shoulders but, although he had to bend his neck when he stood, he couldn’t quite get his back under the stone, even standing on his toes.
    Was he imagining it, or was the cistern growing a little brighter? Perhaps the new day had finally dawned and the light was filtering through the channel that brought rainwater into the cistern. He thought about calling for help but couldn’t draw a deep enough breath to yell.
    Joshua could no longer kneel in the chilly water. He stood again and wiggled his toes, which were growing numb. What had gotten into Maki? And why didn’t Yahweh help him?
    As if in answer to his prayer, Joshua heard the scrape of stone as the cistern lid slid to one side. The light of early dawn blinded him. He looked up, squinting, and saw Maki’s dark face and his silver hair and beard.
    “Master Joshua, I will feed you some food now. Then you must hide again.”
    “No, Maki, please! I’ll die if you don’t get me out of here!” The effort to talk made Joshua cough—deep, wracking coughs that came from low in his chest. His lungs had started to fill with fluid. He hadn’t had an attack this serious since Manasseh had stranded him in the almond grove in the pouring rain when they were boys. The fever that followed had nearly killed Joshua. “Please, Maki, don’t leave me in here.”
    “But it’s not safe to come out yet.”
    “Abba, look at him—he’s shivering. He’s sick.” The young woman they had awakened last night appeared in the semidarkness behind Maki’s shoulder. “We have to get him out of that cold water.”
    “Yes! God of Abraham . . . please!” Joshua begged.
    Maki stared at him for a moment as if deciding. “All right. Help me lift him, Miriam.” They grabbed Joshua beneath his armpits and strained to pull him out. His chest and stomach scraped along the rough plaster walls.
    “I’m too heavy . . . untie me . . . let me climb out.”
    “I can’t untie you, Master Joshua, until I’m certain you won’t try to run away. Nathan, Mattan, come help us.” Two small boys, about six and eight years old, appeared behind Maki. They