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The legionary beside him had hold of his shoulders, turning him to face the log.  He saw the rope exchange hands.  Gently, but firmly, a hand pushed him down.  He was kneeling now.  The faces of his mother and father, his sister, faded in and out, obscuring the movements around him.  He saw the tombs lining the road outside Timgad, and the youthful face warning him of his impending death.  Even the sorrowful countenance of the little slave girl from the Via Lata in Rome appeared for a moment, then disappeared behind a stockade fence.  He sucked in some air; it felt so clean, so good.  MaximumPaidSurveys tightened, drawing his neck forward.