Avenger of Blood (11 page)

Antony noticed her distress. They were sitting so close that it would have been hard for him
not
to notice. He leaned over and reassured her. “We'll find Victor,” he said. “And we'll get him back.”

The carriage began to slow and Rebecca realized they must be entering the city. When they had stopped earlier, John had given the driver directions to Polycarp's house. Rebecca wondered now how much longer it would take them; she was more than ready to climb out of the coach and sit on a real chair, one that was cushioned and, above all, stationary.

She felt Antony's eyes on her and glanced to the side. He smiled, and it softened the hard lines of his sometimes-stern face. He wasn't really stern, she had learned; he was simply a man with many responsibilities, and he tended to carry the weight of those burdens in the lines of his face. She knew from what Helena had said that Antony's father had died seven years ago, when he was seventeen, and that he had taken quite seriously his new role as the head of the family, which also included a younger brother and sister. Helena's husband had not been a good money manager, and while far from destitute, the family had had to be careful with their finances. Helena was proud not only of the way Antony had assumed his new responsibilities, but of the fact that, over the next few years, Antony had worked hard to put them in a much better financial position.

Without reflecting on the reason for her thoughts, Rebecca began to compare Antony to Galen. The two men shared somewhat similar circumstances and ideals: each had lost his father at a relatively young age, each was a man of principle. However, they were very different in temperament and appearance. Antony was as quick thinking as Galen was deliberative; Antony was also as transparent and open as Galen was silent and private. Rebecca surmised that she would never have to wonder what was on Antony's mind; he would speak it directly and clearly, without any emotional upheaval.

The two were also very different physically. Galen's sculpted good looks and finely chiseled features gave the young artist the appearance of being a work of art himself. Antony was not nearly so striking, yet he had a very strong face, framed by a full head of dark hair with a slight natural wave. Unlike Galen, no long, straight shock of hair ever fell over Antony's forehead; he kept his hair trimmed fashionably short, and his clothes were meticulously groomed as well.

It's silly to make such comparisons,
she told herself. Galen was part of her past, a past she wanted to forget. And it didn't matter that Antony was handsome; she wasn't attracted to him in that way. He was her family's lawyer, and now a friend. That's all. She told herself to be careful not to encourage him to think there could be anything more between them, if that's what was motivating his attention. Helena certainly seemed to be pushing them in that direction; however, Rebecca had no intention of being drawn into another intense relationship.

She closed her mind to such thoughts and tried to concentrate on enduring the final portion of what had seemed an almost interminable ride. Rebecca had sailed to Rome with her family before, but she had never been on such a long trip by carriage. She wondered what Smyrna was like. It was smaller than Ephesus, but still one of the leading cities in Asia, and another prominent seaport for the region.

As they exited the highway, the carriage suddenly lurched to one side. The driver reined in the horses and quickly stopped. The passengers were whipped from side to side, but no one was hurt, and Antony jumped out of the coach to see what had happened.

Moments later he stuck his head back through the door and said, “One of the fellies has worn through and partially slipped off the wheel. We'll have to find a wainwright to repair the rim before we can go any farther.”

“What next?” Rebecca wondered aloud.

Jacob mounted his horse and threaded his way back through the hills toward the southern suburbs of Smyrna. He had been stunned to learn that Tullia, the witch whom he suspected of harboring Damian, lived no more than a half-mile from her brother's inn, where Jacob had spent the night. It was mind-boggling to think he had possibly been that close to Victor without even knowing it. Jacob was furious with himself for not paying more attention, for somehow not figuring things out sooner.

But it wasn't certain, he warned himself. It was just a hunch, based on a few comments by a harping woman; still, the more Jacob thought about it, the more he became convinced it was true. He knew that Damian had spent time in Smyrna the previous year. In fact, when Jacob had been sentenced to serve on a Roman warship, he had been sent from Patmos to Smyrna, where he was transferred to the
Jupiter
. Damian had been on the same boat from Patmos, and Jacob recalled that the tribune had stayed in Smyrna after disembarking. Damian could easily have met the woman named Tullia then, and while he was in the area persecuting the Christians it would be just like Damian to take up with a woman who was either a prostitute or a pagan priestess, depending on your definition. Jacob was inclined to agree with the innkeeper's wife when it came to that assessment.

The horse picked its way carefully down a steep portion of the gravel road. When the road leveled out again, Jacob took a good look around. The inn was not much farther now; he was supposed to turn off on another road just before reaching it. Polycarp had given him the landmarks so he could find the way to Tullia's house.

Of course, Polycarp had also asked Jacob to wait until he returned with some of the deacons before going to Tullia's, and he had seemed quite adamant about it. The bishop had said he wanted to call the church leadership to prayer and to anoint Jacob with oil before he tried to find Damian and the baby.

But Jacob had grown impatient. If Damian had brought Victor specifically to this witch, then his intent could only be ominous, and the sooner Jacob found out what that intent was, the better.
I'll simply scout out the situation,
Jacob told himself,
then I'll go back to Polycarp's and get help. I just want to know if that's where Victor is.

When he approached the inn, Jacob took the road Polycarp had indicated, and before long he spotted the small stone house he was looking for. The road went through a large thicket that lay between the inn and Tullia's. While he was still a good distance away, Jacob dismounted and tied his horse to a tree, deciding to approach the house on foot in order not to be so conspicuous. He could not exactly knock on the door and inquire whether the household was sheltering a kidnapper with a young infant. But he could look to see if Damian's carriage was there, and listen for any signs that a baby was in the house.

Jacob entered the thicket and crept through the trees until he was at the edge that ran along the side of the house. There was no sign of a carriage there or at the front, which was the only side of the house that opened into a clearing and was accessible from the road. He moved further toward the back of the house; nothing there. Jacob didn't think a carriage would be on the far side of the house; it didn't appear there was enough room to maneuver a pair of horses and a coach between the house and the woods. But he couldn't be sure, so he decided to investigate.

It took Jacob almost a quarter-hour to move stealthily through the woods until he had passed the back of the house and reached the other side.
No carriage.
Perhaps Damian had left for a while, or perhaps Jacob had drawn the wrong conclusion and Damian wasn't here at all. Jacob began to slowly work his way behind the house again, keeping well inside the thicket to lessen the chances of being seen.

He was about halfway back to his starting point when he heard a door close and then heard footsteps. Jacob stopped suddenly, his senses immediately alert.

9

ANTONY HELPED THE OTHER three passengers out of the carriage, now crippled by a bent wheel. He could see only a few buildings up ahead, which meant they were just at the edge of the city.

“How far are we from Polycarp's house?” Marcellus asked John. “Is it too far to walk?”

“Close to an hour on foot,” John said. “It's uphill most of the way.”

Antony looked at Rebecca, and she answered before he could ask the question. “I'll gladly walk.” She turned to the Apostle. “But what about you? Could you make it that far?”

“Probably,” he said. “But I might slow the rest of you down. Maybe I should wait here with the carriage.”

“No need,” Antony said. “We'll take one of the horses with us and leave one for the driver to use while he finds a wainwright. Later, Marcellus or I can bring the horse back.”

It took both Marcellus and Antony to hoist John astride the powerful animal, but soon they were climbing through the hills of Smyrna at a steady pace. John had offered to share the ride with Rebecca, but she declined; her backside was sore enough from the long carriage ride, and she actually welcomed the long walk.

At midafternoon they finally arrived at Polycarp's house, only to discover that the bishop was not at home. John introduced himself to the young man who greeted them at the door and informed them that Polycarp was away.

“My name is Linus,” the lad told them, “and I'm a student of Polycarp.” He stared openly at John. “It's a great honor to meet you, sir. A great honor.”

John smiled broadly. “Would that honor extend to letting a weary apostle and his companions inside?”

“Of course. Forgive me, sir.” The young student blushed in embarrassment and promptly showed them in. “It's just that I've heard so much about you.”

“Is Polycarp away from the city?” John asked.

“No,” Linus said. “He'll be back sometime this afternoon. At least I think he will. He left in a hurry because we had a bit of excitement here this morning.”

It took only minimal prompting from John for Linus to expound on the excitement. “Polycarp has gone to find some of the deacons and bring them here for prayer. We had another unexpected visitor this morning. In fact, he was from Ephesus too. But he left a couple of hours ago, not long after Polycarp.”

Rebecca exchanged a look with Antony, who asked Linus, “Was the visitor's name Jacob?”

“I didn't get his name,” the lad said, “but I heard the man say that his nephew had been kidnapped, and they think a witch has him.”

“A witch?” Tentacles of fear wrapped around Rebecca's heart. Damian, who was evil through and through, had stolen her baby and brought him to a witch?

Frozen in place, Jacob watched as a man and a woman came out of Tullia's house and walked toward his hiding place in the woods. The woman was carrying a baby—a crying baby—and Jacob immediately recognized the infant's wail. It was Victor!

Jacob crouched down behind a tree as the couple neared, and he noticed something he hadn't paid attention to the first time he'd crossed the thicket. A small area had been cleared at the center edge of the tree line behind the house. On the ground, in the center of the clearing, twelve large flat stones had been laid out in the form of a triangle, four to each side. Symbols had been painted on the stones, perhaps the signs of the zodiac; Jacob was not quite close enough to tell. In the center of the stone triangle stood a bronze bowl, also triangular in shape, perched on a tripod.

The man was definitely Damian. Jacob recognized his swagger even before he saw his face. But the woman was not the wet nurse who had left Ephesus with Damian; Jacob had gotten a good look at her then. This must be Tullia, he decided. The witch.

Jacob's mind reeled.
Dear God, help me,
he silently prayed.
What are they doing with my nephew?

Tullia handed the baby to Damian, then kindled a fire under the odd-shaped bronze bowl. While she worked the sticks of wood into a small blaze, Jacob pondered the possibilities. Could he rush them and manage to take Victor? Damian was not wearing his sword—Jacob was; he had brought the abandoned weapon with him from Ephesus. But no doubt Damian would have a dagger stashed somewhere on his body. And Jacob couldn't attack Damian while he was holding Victor; it was simply too risky.

I should have waited for Polycarp and the others,
Jacob belatedly realized.
I need help.

The witch removed a small pouch from her cloak, poured its contents into the bowl, and watched as a plume of fragrant smoke arose. She held her hands toward the burning incense and spoke a few words in a language Jacob did not understand. Perhaps it was not even a language, Jacob thought, but just religious gibberish.

Then she turned to Damian and took the baby, lifting him high over the bowl of incense. Jacob clearly understood her next words, and they made his blood boil.

“I call upon Hekate, goddess of the underworld and guardian of the portals of death, to witness our prayers and protect us from evil. I call upon Artemis, Lord and Savior, Queen of the Cosmos. Display your power to us now, for we know that you govern all things, and that we possess great power through you.

“Give me your strength, enter into this fire, fill it with the divine light, and show me your might. I conjure you, holy light, holy brightness, breadth, depth, length, and height, by the holy names which I have spoken and am now going to speak.”

The temperature in the thicket suddenly dropped, and the sounds of nature grew strangely quiet as Tullia began to pronounce the names of a string of gods and goddesses. The skin on the back of Jacob's neck crawled as he listened to the witch pronounce her “holy names.” Some of them he recognized, like Helios, god of the sun; Selene, goddess of the moon; Tyche, goddess of fortune; and Ereschigal, a Babylonian goddess. The witch also called on Demeter and Dionysos, Serapis and Isis, and still others whose names Jacob did not recognize. He knew that the practitioners of magic ascribed great power to names, and that the supposed success of their incantations depended on being able to call on the right names and say the right words as they cast spells or invoked divine assistance from the spirits.