John neither protested nor tried to fight. He allowed the men to lead him to the cross. Allowed them to lift him and spread his arms along the crossbeam. Closed his eyes as they lashed his wrists, then his ankles to the wood. Vitas watched John’s stoic acceptance of his fate with a degree of admiration. And guilt. Yet, Vitas argued with himself, what could he do? Stepping forward to prevent John’s death would be an act of suicide. He was a man weakened by a prison beating, weakened by fever. Alone on a ship, surrounded by hostile men who had all been toughened by a hazardous life on the seas. Not only would he give futile resistance, but if Vitas died, he would be unable to return to find and help Sophia and the child she carried in her womb. His own death, then, would harm the one person he loved most and the child he desperately wanted to raise. Yet when the crew members moved the cross and the captive bound to it over to the side of the ship, Vitas moved toward them, trying to project a confidence and strength he did not feel.
