The irony of the Gyve is it doesn’t. It is painfully wrapped tight around his ankle and solid enough to give him little purchase to move. The other end is secured to the stone wall behind him. He imagines the bolts go deep, not that he can turn around enough on the short chain to tug and experiment.
His future is as secure as his imprisonment.
The executioner has promised a quick death, “No tongs for you Smitty, just the march to the stump and a single swing of my great blade.”
For this the old thief is grateful, but still he is willing to attempt escape if an opportunity presents itself, but the gyve doesn’t and he is forced to wait and see what happens next. Either he will enter the kingdom of heaven or live to steal another day.
One requires prayer and the other patience.
So he stops trying to pull the chain from the wall and instead clasps his hands together and hopes in the end God feels merciful today.