The cell was three steps long and two wide. Jakob knew because he'd been counting steps for five months.
Walls — stone. Floor — stone. Ceiling — stone. Window — a palm-wide slit, high up, through which snow came in winter and a strip of sky in summer. Now it was February 1693, and the snow had stopped. Spring was coming.
What For
Baptizing Ulrich Müller, 22, in a stream outside Steffisburg village. Not an infant — an adult who chose for himself. For the Zurich Council, this was heresy. For Jakob — the only right path.
The judge said: 'Renounce rebaptism and you'll go free.' Jakob said: 'I cannot renounce what is true.' The judge said: 'Then sit.' Jakob sat.
The Letter
In March the guard — Hans, quiet, red-bearded — brought bread larger than usual. Inside — paper. Jakob unfolded it by moonlight. His wife Anna's handwriting:
'Jakob. Children are well. Cow calved. Community prays. Ammann is gathering people. Says we must leave. Not the prison. Switzerland. Forever. What say you?'
Jakob sat in darkness and thought. Leave. Forever. Abandon the house where his father was born. Land his grandfather cleared from forest. Graves. Mountains. Language (the same German, but this one, their own). For what? For the right to baptize adults in a stream?
Yes. For that.
He wrote one word on the back: 'We go.'