The Big Fisherman by Lloyd C. Douglas

Peter had not been too uncomfortable here. For one thing, the cell was dry, a welcome change from the perpetual dampness of the Catacombs. Perhaps when winter came--it was August now--the prison would be damp too; but Peter did not expect to be here when winter came, so there was no need to worry about that.

The cot was narrow, but there were two folded blankets on it, kindly provided by Glaucus, the jailor. There was also a bare wooden chair. Throughout the daytime hours a little strip of sunshine penetrated the mere slit of a window near the ceiling; not enough light to read by, but better than the Catacombs, where there was no sunlight at all.