Dismas Crucified aka The Good Thief

By Peter George Foster

“Truly I say to you, this day thou shalt be with me in Paradise.” Jesus gave to only one person such a promise. So who was he? Was he a follower of Jesus? No! Was he one of the Sanhedrin? No! Was he a rabbi? No. he was none of them. Instead, those words were addressed to a thief dying on a cross alongside Jesus. From his cross of death, Dismas spoke up in defence of Jesus, stating that they deserved their punishment, but that Jesus had done nothing wrong. Dismas then asked Jesus to remember him when he came into His kingdom. Jesus responded promising Paradise to Dismas that very day with those wonderful words, “Truly I say unto you, this day thou shalt be with me in Paradise.” Dismas, what do we know of him? ln truth, not much. We know his name, Dismas, that he was a thief being executed for his crimes, and that he spoke up in defence of Jesus and was greatly rewarded for it. With so little known about him, it has enabled me to explore his life as I have imagined him to be. This is a work of fiction, but based on historical fact. Read it, be as one with Dismas. You may shed a tear or two as you read it. I did as I wrote it. Enjoy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Mar 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9781398465411

Peter George Foster

Peter, one of four children, is an identical twin. He was born on the day of the Napier earthquake. He did his stint in CMT (Compulsory Military Training). Peter worked for the Inland Revenue Department of New Zealand as an income tax inspector. At age 49, single, he married a widow with six children; the best thing he ever did. Those children returned his love in abundance. As a past-time, he liked playing with words and has written many short stories, but hasn’t tried publishing them. Many are good and should be published.

Book preview

About the Author

Peter, one of four children, is an identical twin. He was born on the day of the Napier earthquake. He did his stint in CMT (Compulsory Military Training). Peter worked for the Inland Revenue Department of New Zealand as an income tax inspector. At age 49, single, he married a widow with six children; the best thing he ever did. Those children returned his love in abundance. As a past-time, he liked playing with words and has written many short stories, but hasn’t tried publishing them. Many are good and should be published.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my parents, my wife, our children and grandchildren. Thank you for your love, your hugs, your respect, your tenderness, your joy. May God bless each and every one of you.

Copyright Information ©

Peter George Foster 2023

The right of Peter George Foster to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or

used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781398465404 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398465411 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2023

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

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E14 5AA

Prologue

Who was Dismas? What do we know about him? In fact, we know very little about him, but what we do know is significant. We know that he was a thief and that he was crucified next to Jesus. But the most important thing we know about him is that he is the only one in the whole of the New Testament to whom Christ promised that salvation would come to him that very day.

Dismas asked Jesus to remember him when he came into his kingdom. The reply Jesus made must have been a great consolation to this thief, dying on his cross, because Christ’s words were not condemnation, but hope, This day you will be with me in Paradise.

What sort of a person was Dismas? What sort of a life did he live? How come his soul should be saved at the last hour and in such a spectacular fashion?

As little is known of him, it has allowed me to portray Dismas as I see him. Whether this bears any resemblance to the truth, I don’t know, but if it doesn’t, I feel sure Dismas will forgive me.

I have used a modern idiom, the better to portray those moderns of their time.

With these few short words, I offer The Good Thief to you with the hope that well before you finish reading this book, Dismas will have blasted forth from these pages to become the vibrant being that he is to me. You may even shed a few tears: I did and I wrote it.

Peter Foster

The Author

Part One

A Fateful Meeting

Chapter 1

Dismas, Thief

Dismas came from a family of thieves, himself a thief, yet the stealing of that donkey was one of the most fateful events to occur in his life. From it began a horrifying sequence of events, eventually culminating in his death on the cross.

His father had sent him to deliver a message to another gang of thieves, some miles away. Now he was returning. Night was fast approaching. He would soon have to make camp. Desert-bred, his family would not worry.

Just as he was thinking of stopping for the night, he spotted their camp; a husband, a wife and their little baby. He saw their donkey and decided to take it, so he did. They never noticed. It was child’s play. Stealing was easy. He’d rather ride than walk and now he could ride wherever he chose.

A mile or two away, well clear of any pursuit, Dismas tethered the donkey so it wouldn’t stray and lying down, he was soon fast asleep.

At midnight he awoke, cold, frozen to the bone, numbed right to the heart. Vigorously he exercised but it was to no avail. It was then that he thought of the family and their plight. Without their donkey, the mother would have to walk. She would also have to carry her baby as she walked.

For the first time in his young life, Dismas had pangs of conscience, not that he knew what they were, as pangs of any sort, other than hunger, had previously never troubled him. He was annoyed with himself for wasting time thinking about anyone he’d robbed. He picked up a stone, weighed it in his hand and tossed it down the bank.

He picked up another stone and did the same thing again. Suddenly he turned, grabbed the bridle and headed back to their camp. He could not understand it, but some mysterious force was compelling him to return the donkey. It seemed to be the most important thing he’d ever done, yet he didn’t know why.

He hurried back up the gully leading to their camp. The closer he came, the faster he ran and that donkey seemed quite content to trot alongside him. Together Dismas and the donkey burst into their camp, his breathing laboured, yet now he felt deliciously warm. That cold feeling had vanished. Instead, it had been replaced by a warm, precious and soothing feeling.

The mother hurried forward to greet him. He wondered at her beauty and her youth.

Thank you for finding our little donkey, she said smiling at him. Thank you so very much! I don’t know what we would have done without him.

I—I— Dismas mumbled, I didn’t—

Dismas tried to tell her, that far from finding the donkey, he’d stolen it, but somehow he wasn’t able to frame the words he needed. As he stood there motionless, her smile vanished. A frown took its place. What was troubling her?

Have you seen Joseph, my husband? she asked. Dismas shook his head. He hadn’t noticed her husband was missing. She continued, He went to look for our donkey. That was about an hour ago and he hasn’t returned. I’m worried! I hope nothing has happened to him. He’s not used to the desert.

Dismas didn’t know what to say. He was at a loss for words. He looked intently at her for several seconds, before blurting out, I’ll find him! So saying, he turned and raced away.

As he hurried away on his self-appointed mission, he wondered if he wasn’t going mad. He’d spent valuable time stealing the donkey in the first place, only to return it and having returned it, he was now set to find her husband. He definitely was getting soft in the head.

Then he thought he heard a voice speaking. He wasn’t sure where the voice came from, but the sounds were crystal clear to him.

I command you to watch over these people.

Now, I know I’m going crazy! he muttered to himself.

Earlier on in the night the wind had been near a gale, but it had since changed to a gentle breeze. The moon shone brilliantly. Joseph’s tracks were easy to follow. Dismas set out after him.

Gradually the way became rougher, sand giving way to rocks and as it did, the track became more difficult to follow, often disappearing completely, meandering without meaning. Obviously, Joseph, that woman’s husband, had lost his sense of direction.

Dismas climbed a nearby rock to survey the surrounding countryside, the moon helping visibility. Carefully he examined every inch from his advantage point. Just as he was about to give up, he noticed something moving in the distance among the rocks. Was it Joseph? It had to be. Dismas set out in pursuit. As he drew near, he saw that indeed it was Joseph. Dismas walked up to him and tapped him on the shoulder.

Joseph, come with me, he said.

So saying, Dismas turned and started walking back the way he’d come. He glanced back once to confirm that Joseph was following. He waited for Joseph to catch up to him, then together, they walked back to camp, neither speaking a word.

Joseph didn’t seem in the least bit surprised or bewildered, when a complete stranger should suddenly pop out of the night, tap him on the shoulder and tell him to come with him or that the stranger should even know his name.

Twenty minutes later the dull glow of a campfire hove into view. In some uncanny way, a mystery to Joseph, this lad had found his way back to their camp, moonlight being the only light available.

The woman looked up and saw them approaching. She hurried forward. Tenderly she embraced her husband. When they looked around to thank their young preserver, he’d disappeared, swallowed up in the night, his arrival mysterious, his departure just as mysterious.

The first light of dawn was just starting to tinge the eastern horizon. It was too late to retire, so instead, they ate an early breakfast, before continuing on their way.

She sat on the donkey, the little babe in her arms. Her husband walked ahead leading the donkey. Progress was slow, the country unfamiliar to them.

The woman was grateful for the assistance given by the young lad. He had found their donkey, which was lost. He’d found Joseph, her husband, who was also lost. Gratefully she offered up a prayer.

Lord, she said, looking at the babe in her arms, watch over this lad. Protect him.

Chapter 2

Herod’s Butchery

Dismas sneaked into the village. It was a small village, its people of peasant stock, hardy, industrious. Dismas was hungry but he knew that if he bided his time, his breakfast would come to him. She would be baking bread today. He heard the movement as the shutters started to open. Quickly he ducked back out of sight. It wouldn’t do to be seen, well at least not just yet.

With the shutters now wide open, the smell of freshly baked bread assailed his nostrils. How good that smell was!

She pulled a batch from the oven and placed the loaves on the window-ledge to cool. Grinning from ear to ear, Dismas silently moved forward. He looked them over. Yes, he decided, that was the best one. So he snatched it and with a laugh, he was off.

Hearing his laugh, she raced to the door, her face red with anger. Once again that boy had tricked her. One of these days that Dismas would go too far. Scum, that’s what he was, his family as well. Time they were run out of the district.

Travellers on the open road were forced to pay a toll before they could pass his village. That pack of thieves was a disgrace, not only to their village but also to the whole countryside. She couldn’t understand why their fellow villagers tolerated them.

And that lad, he seemed to always know when she would be baking bread. He would come sneaking around, up to his old tricks.

Try though she might, she was never able to catch him. A plague on him, a plague on his whole tribe, thieves every one of them! Angrily she shook her fist and hurled invectives after him. All he did was laugh, poke out his tongue, then race away bread in hand.

Once more Dismas laughed. Stealing bread from her was easy. Would she ever learn? He glanced back towards her place, but she was no longer in sight.

Dismas wandered on picking bits from the bread, before eating them. He reached the village square and sat down. He then proceeded to demolish the rest of that loaf of stolen bread. Oh, that bread was delicious. She certainly was the finest baker for miles around. There was one thing he enjoyed above all else and that was freshly baked bread, especially if he’d stolen it. Strangely enough, he found bread always tasted just that much better when he had stolen it.

Dismas was just swallowing the last tasty crumbs, when that act, that diabolical act of a murderous king, happened. The events that followed and the ordeals of the next day or two would be forever etched in his mind.

Long before he saw them, he heard them, the pounding of many hooves coming his way. The sounds increased in intensity as riders approached at full gallop. They burst into the square, soldiers, King Herod’s soldiers. What did it mean? What could it portend? Would it herald good news? Was Dismas in danger? He thought of running but the square was already cordoned off. Their leader, an ugly brute of a man, still astride his horse, having got the attention of the crowd, then read a proclamation to all. His piercing voice rang through the square. His name was Glavas. His voice presaged death. His message confirmed it.

"Proclamation of King Herod to be read to the people of Judea:

’It has come to my knowledge that a usurper to

my throne has been born among you, one

who would dare to call himself king. He is a

traitor to this realm. I have sworn to destroy him

no matter what the cost. To ensure that this usurper

dies, every male child under the age of two is to be

put to death. Anyone who tries to stop this royal

command being carried out will also die!’"

Cries of horror rent the air at this proclamation.

No! No! Fiend! Vile spawn of humanity! A curse on Herod! A curse on his soldiers!

Silence! Glavas barked angrily at them. Silence!

Just then a cry rent the air.

My baby! My baby!

A mother, clutching desperately to her baby, tried to rush past the soldiers. Roughly they grabbed her, yanked the babe from her arms and, in a trice, the child was dead. Contemptuously, they threw the bloodied body back to her. She fell to the ground sobbing bitterly.

Her husband goaded to fury, threw himself at the soldiers. Glavas, with a laugh, drove his sword straight through the poor man’s chest. With barely a sound, the loving husband and father sank to the ground right next to his wife and child. Grinning from ear to ear, Glavas pulled back on the reins of his horse. The horse stood up on its hind legs and then came crashing down on the back of the poor mother. She let out one piercing cry. Seconds later she too was dead. Mother, father and child, all dead, brutally murdered, murdered at the whim of a bestial king.

The crowd, which up till then had been hurling invectives at the soldiers, stopped. Sheer horror at the unwarranted sadism stunned them. The fight quickly left them.

Carry on! Glavas yelled to his men.

They needed no second bidding. This was work they enjoyed, all the blood and gore of war with none of its dangers.

Quickly the soldiers drew their swords already bloodied from visits to other villages, then crashed their way into home after home. Screams of anguish rent the air, mothers begging for mercy, fathers pleading, brothers and sisters staring aghast unable to believe their eyes.

Many strove valiantly to defend their little ones, but against organised brutality, it was impossible. The soldiers revelled at their task. After all, it wasn’t every day they had such an enjoyable job to perform. Usually, their blood-lust could not be satisfied without incurring the direst of penalties, but this time they had free rein and they intended making the most of it, as an opportunity like this might never again present itself.

Naturally, as was to be expected, there were one or two who were squeamish, who didn’t revel at the task. Those ones had been left behind, but the others, the majority, rushed to carry out the royal decree.

Many a father was cruelly lacerated with blows as he fought to protect his offspring, the hope of his loins, but it was not to be. The soldiers, cruel and malicious as they were, would not be stopped. Rivers of innocent blood flowed as babe after babe was cruelly butchered. They didn’t bother checking the age. A few over the age also died. So did their families as they fought to protect their loved ones.

Dismas was a hardy youngster, used to the seamy side of life, but this was too much for him. He sank down by the well and retched his heart out. Glavas, from his horse, smiled down at him. Pity, he thought to himself, the lad’s definitely a lot older than two.

Horrible screams, hideous wailing, curses and ear-splitting shrieks echoed through that village, a peaceful little hamlet, its peace forever shattered, mothers and fathers inconsolable.

Dismas couldn’t stand it any more. He leapt to his feet and darted away down the road. Half a dozen soldiers tried to stop him but he was too quick for them. Deftly he dodged them, fingers clutching at him, but all they caught was air.

Stop him! Glavas yelled. Stop him! He’ll warn others!

Dismas raced out of the square. It’d take better men than Herod’s soldiers to catch him when he had a mind to it, but Glavas saw his chance. He put spurs to his horse. He’d stop this one, have his ounce of fun and if the lad died in the process, so be it.

The streets were narrow, better suited to a runner than to a horseman as Glavas soon found out. Nevertheless, he was slowly overtaking Dismas. It wouldn’t be long now. He smiled and lowered his lance. Time he had some target practice. Skewering a running boy at full gallop would be just the thing.

Dismas could hear the pounding of hooves behind him. He glanced momentarily over his shoulder to see Glavas lowering his lance. Another second and it would be all over. What could he do? There weren’t any alleyways he could dive into. There weren’t any places he could hide, no walls to slide over. He was done for.

Just then a man appeared on the roof of his home. His arms raised, his eyes ablaze with hatred. He was mad, crazed, past all reasoning. No longer could he be called human. He had passed the narrow margin separating the sane from the insane. He’d fought with all his strength to save his loved ones, but it had been in vain.

That terrible vision passed before his eyes, a soldier plunging his sword through both mother and child. She’d raced to protect her little Simon. She’d grabbed him from his cot and clutched him tenderly to her breast. Let them dare to touch him now, she thought. Maliciously, that soldier drove his sword through both mother and child. Right to the hilt it went and to think that just a little while ago, that mother and child had been bouncing with the joys of life.

She’d had her husband in fits of laughter as she told how that rapscallion Dismas had once more stolen her freshly-baked bread. And with her husband laughing, it wasn’t long before a smile creased her face and she also finished up laughing. He wasn’t such a bad lad after all and he certainly knew who baked the best bread in town. A tear slipped from his eye; never again would she bake bread for her loved ones.

And so the father stood on the roof of his house, crazed with hate. One of those soldiers was below. It wasn’t the one, but he’d do for a start. He’d kill them all, one at a time. He carefully measured his leap as the rider approached. Feet first he crashed down onto Glavas. They rolled to the ground together. The madman leapt to his feet, grabbed the fallen lance and plunged it with all his might deep into that vile breast. A gasp of pain rang out, a cry, a moan and Glavas was dead.

Ruthlessly his killer jerked the lance free. He jumped over his victim and went in search of others. Yet just a little while back he was a quiet inoffensive worker, proud of his craft, proud of his wife, proud of his family. Now, he was a blood-crazed madman, intent on one thing and one thing only, vengeance.

Chapter 3

The Great Sacrifice

Dismas had to reach his village before the soldiers. He had to warn his family. He had to alert his village and there was just the one road leading to it and that road went straight through the ravine, the distance being a little over five miles. Could he do it in time? Would he be able to beat the soldiers to his village? He didn’t dare think of failure.

The climb to the start of the ravine was slow and exhausting but he didn’t hesitate. Breathless, he raced up the slope, hurdling anything and everything that got in his path. He slipped and slithered. Several times he tripped, grazing his knees and elbows but he kept going. Each time he tripped, he was back on his feet in an instant.

At the entrance to the ravine, he stopped for several seconds to regain his breath. He looked behind. No sign yet of pursuit. He looked ahead at the ravine, steep sides rising precipitously from the valley, granite rock with scarce any handholds. He couldn’t afford to waste time in the ravine. If the soldiers found him there, he’d be caught like a rat in a trap, with little or no chance to escape. That would be calamitous. Smiling grimly, he shrugged his shoulders, then burst into the ravine at full speed.

Onwards he raced, his bare feet beating a steady rhythm. He didn’t slow for anything, not for boulders, rocks, snakes or unstable sand. Nothing slowed his progress. A second could mean the difference between life and death, life and death of his loved ones, his neighbours and his friends.

As he raced on, he noticed some tracks, obviously very recent, leading through the gorge, going the same way he was. It was a small party with either a horse or donkey, nothing to worry about, definitely not soldiers.

The cries of despair, cries of anguish had long since receded in the distance, but if the sounds had vanished, their memory hadn’t.

The only sounds that could be heard, bar the soughing of the wind, were the pounding of his feet and the labour of his breathing. One mile, two miles, three miles sped by beneath his pounding feet. Only two to go, he thought. Can he do it? How long before the soldiers hove into sight?

At full speed, he flung a glance over his shoulder. Nothing in sight yet, thank goodness. In glancing behind, he didn’t see that jagged rock just ahead. His foot caught the edge and he went sprawling, badly grazing his hands and knees. He gritted his teeth, jumped to his feet and raced on.

Above his laboured breathing and the patter of his feet, he listened for the sound of horses and kept a wary eye out for signs of pursuit, for a dust cloud rising behind him.

Three and a half miles up, one and a half to go. He was getting there. He would make it. For the first time since he’d started, Dismas permitted himself the luxury of hoping he would be in time. A gap showed ahead, well ahead. It signalled the end of the pass.

Dismas flung a glance over his shoulder. This time he saw it. A plume of dust rising. It was heading his way and coming fast, horses at full gallop. It’d be close, too close for comfort. They were gaining rapidly. In a few minutes, they’d be on him.

Up ahead, the gorge veered to the left. Dismas cut over that way under the cliffs. That way was rougher, but it was shorter and that was all that counted. Every inch saved was a victory.

He burst round the bend narrowly missing a slow-moving donkey. A man was leading it. His wife rode the animal. In her arms, she held a baby. Dismas recognised them. He’d stolen their donkey the previous evening.

Run! Dismas gasped as he raced past them. Soldiers! Herod’s men! They’re killing all male children under two years old. They’ll kill your baby! Run!

At the boy’s cry, Joseph grabbed the bridle. Anxiously he tried to hurry the donkey but the poor animal was not up to it. And even if the donkey had been fresh, its speed would be slow in comparison to those horses coming towards them at full gallop.

That one glance told Dismas they couldn’t escape. The soldiers were coming fast. They would be overtaken well before they cleared the ravine. There was one way to save them and one way only, the old track. It was just a few yards ahead, an old disused path, forgotten these many years and extremely well hidden. Even Dismas, who knew the country like the back of his hand, had spent days trying to find it. If the couple took it, they would be able to elude their pursuers and as it led towards the border, it might suit their purpose just as well, that was if they were headed for the border. Dismas surmised they were; they were.

Without his help, they’d never be able to find the path but to help them, meant he’d have to condemn his own family, his village, his friends, all that he held dear, to the tender mercies of the soldiers. His little brother was just three months old. Why should he worry about these people, these strangers, when his own family was at risk? They were nothing to him. Surely his family meant more to him? Hesitant he stood there. He looked forward; he looked back. A perspiration of indecision broke out on his forehead. What could be more important than his darling little baby brother?

Suddenly, he raced back down the ravine and snatched the bridle from Joseph.

Quick! he gasped. Follow me! I know a way! Your coat, use it to remove our trail! Hurry!

Dismas, pulling hard on the bridle, raced straight towards that solid unbroken surface. Joseph whipped off his coat. At the double, he raced backwards brushing the ground with it. Once he glanced behind but he couldn’t see any sign of a break in the rocks, no sign of a track up ahead, not even a vestige of one. Solid rock met his gaze. He hoped this young boy knew what he was doing, yet strangely enough, he had complete confidence in him.

The sound of pounding hooves grew louder as the soldiers neared. A slight slash appeared in the rocks ahead. It was just a fracture, nothing more. It certainly couldn’t be a path. Yet Joseph saw first Dismas then the donkey with his wife and child on it disappear from sight around that slash. Jubilantly, Joseph brushed the last of their tracks clear before leaping round that slash.

A narrow defile showed. Without a backward glance, Dismas led them straight into it.

Half a minute later they heard the soldiers galloping past. They heard the command to stop being given. Their leader, he who had taken over after Glavas tragically met his death in the line of duty ordered them to find the missing tracks, but despite a vigilant search, they found nothing. One minute they’d been following tracks and the next, those tracks had vanished into thin air. It was incredible. It was impossible, but disappear they had. At last, the command to remount was given. There was a village ahead. Why waste time over a few mysterious tracks.

As the command to remount was given, Dismas turned pale but he said nothing. No sign showed of his inward turmoil. Every now and then a tear would trickle down his cheek and a sob would escape his frame.

A few minutes later the soldiers burst through the ravine and onto that unsuspecting village.

About fifteen minutes later the path brought them into open country directly above Dismas’s village. Dismas dropped on all fours and crawled forward. He looked down on his village. The sights and sounds that assailed his senses were too horrible to contemplate. Scream after scream rent the air.

He tried to drag his eyes away but couldn’t. The soldiers were breaking into his home. They were smashing down the door. Oh no, he gasped, not his little brother. He winked back hot tears. The door burst inwards. He heard his mother’s shrieks, his father’s curses, then a howl of pain followed by a cry of anguish.

Unable to stand it any longer, he turned and crawled away, tears streaming down his cheeks. Strangled cries burst from his agonised soul. Pitiful indeed were those sobs. They racked his whole body.

The woman, who had been watching him, felt the pain in his heart. She climbed down from her donkey. She didn’t need to be told what had happened. Instinctively she knew. Instead of saving his family, he’d chosen to save them, strangers, ones unbeknown to him.

Still cradling her baby, she sat down beside Dismas. Gently she put her hand on his shoulder. Dismas looked up, his eyes wet with hostile tears. He hesitated for a second or two then, with an agonised cry, he dropped his head on her lap, sobbing bitterly as he did.

Slowly the tears ceased; his crying stopped. He looked up, sniffed once or twice, then jumped to his feet. Surely he hadn’t been crying? He’d finished with that foolishness years ago. He was now eleven years old and boys of eleven don’t cry, especially when they are their father’s child. And had he put his head in a stranger’s lap and cried? Oh, the shame of it!

Dismas pointed to the path that wound its way onwards through the hill.

Follow it! he said. It will take you out of Judea!

Before they could reply, before they could thank him, he’d turned and raced away down the track.

A little further on, well away from their sight, he sank to the ground. He cupped his head in his hands and burst into tears, eventually crying himself to sleep.

Joseph gathered up the reins. They had a long way to go.

Lord, the woman said, tenderly looking down at the child in her arms, show this lad Your mercy. He has suffered much for us.

Chapter 4

Rachel’s Ordeal

Hours later Dismas awoke. The sun was just dipping below the horizon. Night would swiftly follow. Sick at heart, dazed by the cruel rays of the sun, which had been beating down on his neck as he’d slept,