The Binding

Chapter Eight

The sun felt too hot. I couldn't see any clouds in the distance. Ezra crossed his arms over the top of the saddle and gazed up at the man in front of him. His dark chestnut horse lowered his head to graze, nuzzling his nose along the tall grass. Ezra had several days' worth of beard growth, and his skin was powdered with a fine layer of dirt. His dark green tunic was frayed and dirty, and his face looked worn and tired. He glared at the man in irritation at having been interrupted on his journey.

   The crucifix made a dark shadow across the grass behind it. Dried blood twisted down the man's feet where the stake had been driven through them, pinning him to the wood. Similar trails of blood had dripped from each wrist, though they had long since dried and clotted. The man was filthy. Sweat had cut a path through dirt and feces covering his skin, and he wreaked of urine. His hair was matted with grime. What patches of skin I could see were baked bright red and blistered from the harsh sun overhead. The man didn't move his head but merely raised his eyes to watch Ezra below him.

   Ezra dipped his head to the left and squinted up at the wretched figure. "Would you like me to get you down?"

   The man nodded weakly, "Yes... please."

   Ezra's legs hung freely down both sides of the horse. He was sitting in a kind of saddle without stirrups with some sort of leather prongs sticking out from each of its four corners. Large leather pouches hung on either side of the horse, draped across its front shoulders. Ezra swung his leg over the horse and slid down.  

   He walked up to the crucifix and placed his hands on the post below the man's feet. He braced with his shoulder and pushed, his feet digging into the soil. I heard a snap as the wood gave way. Louder cracks protested as the post splintered. The crucifix pitched backwards suddenly, and the man crashed onto the ground. The man howled and groaned in pain from the impact. His muscles quivered, and he gasped heavily.

   Ezra reached down and wrapped his hands around the iron stake protruding through the man's feet. He grunted once as he yanked the spike free. He tossed the metal casually aside and pulled the next spike out of the man's left wrist. Ezra stepped over his body and carelessly pulled the last iron stake out of the man's right wrist.

   The man didn't move at first but lay panting on the cross. Eventually, he rolled to the side and sat on the ground, resting his back against the wood. "Thank you."

   Ezra grunted. He walked over to his horse and untied something from the saddle. I walked around the side to get a better look. It was a leather pouch shaped like a kidney. I realized, belatedly, it was probably a stomach. He tossed it to the man who raised it to his lips eagerly. He gulped down the water quickly; a few seconds later, he leaned over and vomited it back up. The man heaved a sigh and wiped his mouth as he sat back up. He raised the water to his lips once more... this time sipping slowly.

   "They accused me of..." the man began.

   "It doesn't matter," Ezra answered brusquely, cutting him off. "How long do you take to heal?"

   The man looked down at his feet and winced. "A few days at least."

    "In that case, I recommend you go that way," he said, pointing toward some grassy hills. "There is a cohort a few hours behind me." The man nodded gravely.

   Ezra reached for his belt as he began walking toward his horse.

   "How can I thank you?" 

   Ezra turned, and his hand flew out. Something glittered as it flew through the air. The man jumped and looked down. A knife slid across the dirt, sending billows of dust around it and stopped next to his thigh.