Avenger of Blood (20 page)

Avenge our blood.
The phrase startled Jacob.
Avenger of blood
was the thought he kept coming back to.

It was the only way Damian would ever be brought to justice. The authorities would never bring charges against him. Damian was from a very prominent, very wealthy family; he could buy his own justice. As for the charge that he had raped Rebecca, there were no witnesses, so Damian would never be prosecuted. And on the charge that he had murdered Elizabeth, Damian could claim it was an unfortunate consequence of performing his duty: he was under imperial orders to enforce the mandatory sacrifice, and she had interfered.

The same thing could be said about his beating John with the whip: John was a prisoner who had not obeyed a direct order to carry a load of rocks. Damian had oversight of the prison camp, so he was acting within his responsibilities. Never mind the injustice of expecting an eighty-four-year-old man to lift a load of rocks that weighed almost as much as he did—and to do it over and over and over again.

Jacob wished he had killed Damian with the rock he'd thrown in the quarry that day. Of course, if he had, Jacob would have been executed on the spot, but he almost thought it would have been worth it. At least Rebecca would not have had to suffer as she had.

I won't miss another opportunity to take you down,
Jacob silently vowed to his adversary.
I'm the closest male relative to my mother and my sister. I will be the avenger of blood, as the law of Moses decrees.

When John finally concluded his reading, Polycarp led the congregation in prayer, then the attendees began to disperse. Plautius and Sergius, who had helped rescue Victor, spoke to Jacob as they donned their work aprons, then they left to open their blacksmith shop. Verus, who had helped Marcellus discover Jacob's would-be grave, also exchanged greetings with him, then quickly departed.

It was the first day of another week, and people had businesses to tend, jobs to perform. Everyone had someplace to go, something to do. Everyone else, that is.

Jacob watched the worshipers leave, feeling at loose ends, then he thought of Damian again.
I have something to do too,
Jacob told himself.
And the sooner I do it, the better.

15

AT MIDDAY JACOB STOOD IN THE COURTYARD of Polycarp's house, debating whether to tell anyone that he was leaving. Once he had defined his mission, Jacob had seen no reason to linger at Polycarp's, and he'd had no lengthy preparations to make for his departure other than fetching his cloak and saddling his horse.

It would be rude to leave without saying good-bye to the bishop and thanking him, but Polycarp was not at home. He was off somewhere attending to church business, no doubt. Jacob also wanted to say good-bye to John, because it might be a long time before he saw the Apostle again. But after speaking in church that morning, John had been tired, and he was resting now. Jacob did not want to disturb him, and besides, Jacob did not want to hear any more arguments about vengeance. He was not out to seek revenge, he told himself; only justice. And justice had already been delayed too long.

No time for good-byes, he decided. Anyway, he might not be gone very long. In fact, it could all be over this afternoon, depending on how quickly he found Damian. It was possible that Damian had left Smyrna, yet Jacob had a feeling the murdering, raping, kidnapping brute was still in town. But if Damian had left, he had probably not returned to Ephesus; having been unable to complete their extortion attempt, he would not want to face Naomi anytime soon.

When Jacob walked outside, Marcellus was standing by the sorrel Jacob had ridden to Smyrna. The medical officer looked at the animal, which had been saddled and tied just outside the entrance, and then at Jacob. “Are you going back to Ephesus?” Marcellus asked.

Jacob met his gaze and knew there was something more behind the simple question. He didn't want to lie, but wasn't sure he wanted to tell Marcellus what he was about to do. Instead, he asked Marcellus to tell John good-bye. “Take good care of the crotchety old man,” Jacob added with a smile. “I may not get to see him for a while.”

“You didn't answer my question.” Marcellus was unsmiling and resolute. “Are you going home?”

Again Jacob hedged. “Not right away,” he said. “I have some business to take care of first.”

Marcellus didn't say anything for a moment. “You don't need me giving you advice; you've had plenty of it.” His voice had a gruff note in it, perhaps a fatherly note, Jacob thought. Two days ago the man had dug him out of a premature grave, and Jacob didn't know which of them had been more relieved. The austere military man had almost wept as he brushed the dirt off Jacob's face and helped him breathe normally.

“I suppose this is something you feel you have to do,” Marcellus added.

Jacob knew that the other man had guessed the reason for his sudden departure. He offered no explanations or arguments but simply said, “I can't get on with my life until I deal with this.”

After another long moment, Marcellus extended his hand. “Be careful, then. Your family needs you.”

Jacob clasped the offered hand and nodded, a lump rising in his throat. He was grateful that at least one other person understood and accepted—or at least didn't try to restrain—his need to go after Damian.

His good-byes said, Jacob mounted his horse and rode to the center of the city. In the marketplace he bought a sword and a dagger. He also bought two tunics. The one he'd been wearing when Damian buried him had later been washed and mended, but it still looked ready for the rag pile, which is where it was now destined. Jacob changed into one of the new tunics and left his old clothes with the shopkeeper.

Because he had left Ephesus in such a hurry, Jacob had arrived in Smyrna without provisions, and he'd used what coins he'd had on him that first night at the inn. But Antony had arrived with quite a bit of money for Jacob to use in finding Victor, so now Jacob was well funded.

When he left the marketplace, Jacob headed for the southern edge of the city. There were only two places he knew where he might find information on Damian's whereabouts: Tullia's house or the inn her brother, Tarquinius, owned. The thought of going back to the witch's place was daunting, so Jacob decided to make a few inquiries at the inn first. Then he remembered Antony telling about the abandoned mill where they'd found Victor. So he rode past the inn and past the entrance to Tullia's, and kept following the road when it narrowed, just as Antony had described it.

At the mill Jacob found the coach and only one horse, which meant Damian was probably at Tullia's, or at least that he wasn't too far away. It also meant that he would be coming back. All Jacob had to do was wait. Eventually Damian would show up.

Jacob let the horse amble back to the spot where the road narrowed. If Damian were in town, he would have to come down this road to reach Tullia's house or the mill. Or if he happened to be at Tullia's now, he would have to come this way when he left. Jacob purposed to be lying in wait whenever that happened.

He dismounted and walked his horse into the brush at the side of the road. It wasn't as wooded here as the thicket behind Tullia's house, but he could still watch the road from this vantage point without being too visible.

As the hours passed, Jacob had plenty of time to think about what had happened the last few days. He didn't want to go back to the witch's house. It wasn't so much that he was afraid, even though what had happened to him there had been frightening beyond his experience. But Jacob wanted to face Damian alone, in a place where his enemy could not call on anyone—or any power—for assistance.

Jacob had encountered evil in the forest behind Tullia's house. She had tapped into some kind of supernatural force, and it had momentarily paralyzed Jacob, keeping him immobile just long enough for Damian to reach him and deliver the blow that felled him. Thinking about the attack now, Jacob touched the spot at the base of his skull where Damian had struck him. The knot had gone down, but the place was still painful.

Afterward, when Jacob had told the others about his experience, Rebecca had been distraught. “She put a curse on the whole family?” his sister had asked. “Does that mean we're doomed?” Her voice wavered and her eyes grew large.

John had dismissed her worries emphatically. “Absolutely not,” he said. “The witch's curse will not have any effect on a true child of God.”

“But look what happened to Jacob,” Rebecca had protested.

“Yes, look what happened,” John replied. “Jacob is alive because God sent Marcellus and Verus to find him at the appointed moment. Tullia's curse could not kill Jacob—God didn't allow it.”

To prove his point, the apostle quoted one of the proverbs of Solomon: “Like a fluttering sparrow or a darting swallow, an undeserved curse does not come to rest.” Then he had launched into an impromptu sermon on Balaam, whom the ancient Moabites had hired to pronounce a curse on the new nation of Israel. “The Lord would not listen to Balaam,” John said, “and He turned the curse into a blessing.”

A witch might manage to harness a measure of demonic power, John had gone on to explain, but whatever power she possessed was subject to the sovereignty of God. As the Lord had demonstrated through the life of Job, Tullia could not harm a hair on their heads without God's permission.

The conversation had calmed any lingering fears Jacob had had. Still, he now thought it prudent to avoid Tullia's house, if possible. No sense in giving her any opportunity to invoke her spirit companions.

Jacob waited so long, he began to think he might have to spend the night by the roadside. Colder weather had arrived the day he'd ridden into Smyrna, and sitting on the ground, his back against a tree, Jacob was getting chilled and damp. He removed his cloak, took the other new tunic from his saddlebag, and put it on over the first one. The extra layer would give him added warmth if he had to sleep outdoors.

The sorrel snorted and stamped, as if signaling her impatience. Jacob had brushed and fed the horse this morning, but he would have to find food and water for the animal before long.

Twilight was falling when Jacob finally heard hoofbeats coming from the direction of Tullia's house. He scrambled to his feet and untied his mount, but stayed out of sight. In a moment, Damian turned onto the road and passed Jacob's hiding spot at an easy lope. He was riding in the direction of the city, not the old mill, Jacob noted as he climbed in the saddle and started to follow. He had hoped Damian would go to the abandoned mill first; it would be an ideal place to ambush an adversary. And it was so isolated, Jacob could bury the body and it was quite likely that no one would ever find it.

Maintaining a good distance between them, Jacob followed Damian, wondering where he was headed. Probably not very far, if he intended to return to Tullia's before dark, yet he didn't seem to be in a hurry. Jacob was, however. He'd been waiting far longer than the hours he had spent watching the road today; he had waited for more than a year.

Time for justice,
he decided now.
Past time.

Jacob dug his heels into the sorrel's side, and she broke into a trot. The quicker gait began to close the gap between him and Damian, and as the horse's hooves struck the ground Jacob silently repeated the ancient legal decree: “The avenger of blood himself shall put the murderer to death.”

But Jacob had waited too long to pick up speed, and before he could overtake his foe, Damian turned off the road. Jacob continued on for a few paces, then reined in his mount and turned around. He hadn't realized they were already that close to the inn; the rundown place wasn't as visible from the back road as it was from the highway.

Jacob nudged the horse into the yard of the inn in time to see Damian slip through the door.

What's my next step?
Jacob asked himself. If Damian were simply stopping for supplies, he would return shortly. Perhaps Damian would ride back to the mill to tend the other horse; that would be a boon to Jacob. But if Damian went back to Tullia's, that was a different story.

Waylaying him on the road before he reached the cutoff to Tullia's seemed to be the best option. Jacob pictured himself killing Damian and dragging his body back to the mill to bury him. Or perhaps he would leave Damian's sorry carcass on the side of the road and pray that wild animals would devour the remains before they could be identified. Jacob intended to be back in Ephesus before anyone knew what had happened to Damian.

Any minute now, Damian would reappear. Jacob did not let his eyes stray from the door of the inn, and he kept a hand near the dagger secured in his belt. He was ready to carry out the scriptural death sentence.

I am the avenger of blood.

Damian did not return promptly, however. When it was almost dark, Jacob decided to go inside. He was mentally prepared to confront his enemy, and could not bear to prolong the inevitable.

After he tied his horse by the watering trough, he stepped inside and surveyed the dim room. Damian was sitting at the far end of one of the long wooden benches placed on either side of a battered trestle table. He had placed himself near the hearth, where an inviting fire blazed. A blackened, dented pot hanging over the flame simmered with a pungent-smelling concoction.

The innkeeper was admonishing his sole patron. “If you stay and drink yourself into a stupor by the fire, I'm not rousing you this time. You can sleep on the cold floor, for all I care.”

“The only thing you should care about, Tarquinius, is keeping my goblet filled.” Without looking at the man, Damian extended a tall earthenware drinking vessel toward him.

The innkeeper upended a terra-cotta amphora and refilled the goblet, then walked away, muttering.

Jacob stepped out of the shadow and walked toward the hearth. When he reached the bench opposite Damian, Jacob hauled one long leg and then the other over the plank and sat down.