Avenger of Blood (43 page)

Livia nodded, and he continued. “At first you thought the purpose was simply to convince me to give up my obsession with Damian. Then you dared to believe that it was because you and I were meant to be together. Well, what if you and I were meant to be together, in part, so you could be reunited with Marcellus?

“Think about it. John, my family, Marcellus, the church here,

Polycarp and the church in Smyrna—they were all praying for my safety. Marcellus and John, and even Rebecca, were praying for you to be found. Gregory was concerned about your future and praying up a husband for you. And what happens? Damian leads me to the one spot in the world where God could answer all those prayers at one time. There's just no way that can be a coincidence.”

Livia didn't respond, but Jacob could tell that she was weighing what he'd said.

“You should get to know Marcellus. He's a good man, Livia. Compassionate in the midst of brutality—that's how we came to know him. If it weren't for Marcellus, Rebecca and John would not have survived Devil's Island. You should be proud to have him for your father.”

“I
had
a father,” she protested, but her earlier vehemence was gone.

“And now you have another one. You've been blessed with two good fathers. That's something you should be grateful for.”

Livia walked back to the window and stared out for a moment. “I'll give him a chance,” she finally said. Then she asked, “Will you take me to the harbor today? I want to see the ocean.”

“Tomorrow, I promise. I need to go see John this afternoon.” Jacob both anticipated and dreaded the visit with his former mentor. “I have some fences to mend.”

Though Marcellus had tried to warn him, Jacob was not prepared to see John looking so frail. Even from a distance Jacob could see the changes. John had been old all of Jacob's life, but the Apostle had always been robust; now he looked his age.

John was sitting outside his house, on the old leather camp stool he had brought home from Patmos. His eyes were closed, and when Jacob approached, he thought the old man was napping. But without opening his eyes, John said, “It's about time you showed up, Jacob, my boy.”

“How did you know it was me?”

“I recognized your step. Besides, I was expecting you. Marcellus came to see me early this morning, and he told me you were back. And if I'd guessed wrong, and it hadn't been you walking up the path to my house—well, who could blame a very old man for being wrong?”

“No one.” Jacob couldn't help laughing. “It's good to see you, John.”

“Come closer so I can get a good look at you,” John said in return.

Jacob sat on the ground in front of John, who put a bony hand to Jacob's face. “There were times,” the Apostle said, “I doubted I would ever live long enough to see you again.”

“I'm awfully glad you did.”

“I am too, son. I am too.”

There was no trace of condemnation in John's voice, and Jacob was relieved and grateful.

“Help me up.” John extended a hand, and Jacob stood to offer assistance. He folded the camp stool and carried it under one arm; John held on to Jacob's other arm as they went inside. The proud old man would never have done that a year ago, Jacob thought. He noticed that John was so hunched over that he appeared to have shrunk a few inches.

“Are you by yourself?” Jacob asked, worried that John shouldn't be left to fend for himself.

“Goodness, no. Marcellus has made sure there's always someone here—usually more than one person at a time. The fussbudget even made a duty roster and posted it.” His laugh was low and raspy. “It gets so crowded in my own house, I have to go outside for some privacy.”

John's house was a very modest, four-room structure that was as old as the man himself. But it was cozy and neat, and Jacob had spent many pleasant hours there. Sure enough, two ladies who were members of the congregation were inside, cleaning and cooking.

It was not that cold outside, but there was a small fire burning in the fireplace. When they had sat down on the short benches in front of the hearth, John asked, “So what did you learn on this grand adventure of yours?”

“I learned that vengeance belongs to the Lord, just as you tried to tell me. And that He is merciful to fools.”

John grinned. “I had to learn that lesson the hard way too, I'm afraid.”

Jacob paused, searching for the right words. “I know I disappointed you, John, and I'm sorry for that. I disappointed myself.”

“I'll admit that I had high hopes for you, and that I was very disappointed when you went away without so much as a farewell. But I came to realize that my hopes for you might not equate with God's plan.”

“I let so many others down too,” Jacob said sadly. “I never went to Rome to work for the release of prisoners. Marcellus told me the Senate finally got around to voiding their sentences and most of them are home from Devil's Island now. They might have been home sooner, though, if I hadn't gone chasing after Damian instead of following through with my original plan.”

John said nothing at Jacob's admission of failure, so he began to tell the story of his sojourn. “If I'd had any doubts that you were praying for me, they were dispelled the night I arrived in Cappadocia. I wound up in the home of a Christian who didn't even know me, but he told me the same things you'd already said.”

Jacob recounted Gregory's prophecy, and John laughed until he had to wipe tears from his rheumy eyes. “You traveled hundreds of miles,” he said, “just to hear someone else preach my sermon.”

“That's the gist of it.” Jacob relished John's laughter and the opportunity to share another lighthearted moment with his old friend and teacher. And he was grateful to God that their fellowship could be restored so quickly.

For over an hour, Jacob talked about everything that had happened since he'd last seen John.

“You did the right thing,” John assured Jacob, when he told how he had let Damian ride off without following him. “The Lord will avenge the blood of His servants, in due time.”

“Every now and then,” Jacob said, “I wonder where Damian is. But I'm able to put it out of my mind. I know the Lord will bring him to justice, either in this life or the next—and I'm comfortable leaving it in His hands.”

Antony and Tarquinius parted ways in the square outside the imposing three-story structure that housed the administrative offices for the city of Smyrna. The courthouse, library, and other public buildings were located around three sides of the square; a bath and gymnasium occupied the fourth side.

“I'll talk to the magistrate first,” Antony said, “then I'll come get you if he wants to hear the story directly from you.”

It would be a case of Tarquinius's word against Tullia's and Damian's, and Antony was not hopeful that the magistrate would even consider the scanty evidence against the conspirators. Still, he had to try.

He climbed the marble steps and pushed open the heavy door. The magistrate's office was on the ground floor, at the end of the long central corridor. Antony was deep in thought as he proceeded down the corridor. It was late afternoon and most of the day's business had been completed, so few people were around at this hour. He was surprised, therefore, when someone slipped out of the shadows and stepped in front of him, blocking his way.

A sudden chill tingled down Antony's spine. He had never laid eyes on Damian before, but Antony instinctively identified the man with the menacing stance and the glower on his face. Damian looked exactly as Jacob had once described him: short, scrappy, and sleazy.

Damian's florid features bore the evidence of advanced dissipation, but he appeared sober and his voice was steady as he said, “I thought you would have given up and gone back to Ephesus by now. Lawyering is not a very profitable profession, especially not with the kind of clients you've been meeting with at Polycarp's house.”

Antony drew in a sharp breath. Damian knew who Antony was, where he was staying, and what he was doing in Smyrna. Had Damian even known the purpose of today's visit to the magistrate?

“I'm not in this for the money,” Antony said slowly, attempting to hide his surprise both at Damian's sudden appearance and at his knowledge of Antony's whereabouts and business. “And I'm not leaving— not as long as Polycarp and his friends need my help.”

“Perhaps Polycarp won't be around much longer . . . and perhaps you won't either, if you insist on staying. Haven't you noticed how bad things—really bad things—keep happening to the people around Polycarp?”

The implied threat was unmistakable, and while Antony couldn't completely suppress a shiver, he kept his face impassive. “What do you have against Polycarp? He's never done anything to harm you.”

Damian spat out his answer. “He's a Christian. And Christians are vermin—the source of every evil that plagues the Empire. They deserve to be exterminated.”

It was an argument Antony had heard before. Even as an unbeliever he'd known it was unfounded. Unfortunately, however, much of society held a similar opinion.

“As if that weren't enough,” Damian continued, “Polycarp and his ilk are a threat to my son.” Damian's face broke into an oily smile. “I'm sure your friend Tarquinius has reported to you about my newborn son. Sebastian is destined to be a great spiritual leader.”

“That's odd. I wouldn't peg you for a religious person, or the father of one.”

“I'm not religious, but the child's mother is. Power is my only god.” Damian's eyes narrowed as he declared his allegiance. “Sebastian will worship at that altar as well. The oracles have spoken—my son will be a spiritual
and
political leader, and his influence will extend throughout Asia.”

When Damian paused in his pronouncement, Antony offered no congratulations. He could foresee nothing but trouble from this child, the offspring of a witch and a notorious persecutor, and Damian confirmed Antony's fears as he continued, “And when my son rises to power, he will get rid of all the atheists—including the Christian ones.”

Antony was quite familiar with the fine legal distinction. While being a Christian wasn't a crime per se, atheism was, and because Christians believed in none of the gods of Rome, they were often accused of atheism. For that reason, Antony was careful not to mention a client's religious beliefs in any legal proceeding. He never lied about it; he simply avoided the issue if at all possible so as not to subject the client to an official charge of
impietas
.

Apprehension overcame the anger that seethed inside Antony. Damian had waylaid him for the sole purpose of intimidation. But knowing what the man was capable of, Antony had to fight back a growing fear for his physical safety. The last thing he needed was to be involved in a public brawl, but he certainly intended to defend himself if necessary.

Antony swallowed dryly, trying to loosen the knot in his throat as he forced himself to speak calmly. “What do you want with me, Damian?”

“I want you to leave town—now. If you don't . . .” Damian shrugged, as if he couldn't be held responsible for the consequences.

“If I don't leave, then what?”

“Your career will simply . . . evaporate. Pffff!” Damian made a blowing sound, then laughed as if he'd made an uproarious joke. He lowered his voice and leaned closer to Antony. “Things are going to get very hot at Polycarp's house—blazing hot.”

Hearing firsthand the threat of a fire at Polycarp's raised prickles on the back of Antony's neck. He had to get out of this place, had to get some air—now. He quickly stepped to the side, but Damian shifted with him.

Before Antony could move again, he heard a door open behind him. He turned to see the magistrate leaving his office.

Damian suddenly clapped Antony on the shoulder. “It was good to see you again,” Damian said loudly as the magistrate approached. “Give my regards to our mutual friends in Ephesus.”

With a friendly smile and wave to Antony, Damian turned and walked out with the magistrate, calling him by name. A moment later, when Antony's knees unlocked, he followed them down the corridor and out into the public square.

Tarquinius was still waiting outside, and his eyes widened in surprise as he watched Damian, who was laughing about something with the magistrate, exit the building, then Antony. “What? . . . how . . .?” Tarquinius stuttered.

“Damian accosted me in the corridor,” Antony said. “He was waiting for me.”

Tarquinius swore and then quickly apologized. “I'm sorry. I should have gone inside with you.”

“It wouldn't have mattered. I didn't get to see the magistrate.”

“I meant that I should have been there to protect you.”

When he wasn't trying to gather information on Damian's plans, Tarquinius had taken to accompanying Antony around town. Without being asked, the innkeeper had appointed himself as the lawyer's companion and bodyguard. Up until now, Antony had been more concerned that Polycarp needed protecting, but then Antony had never imagined that Damian would threaten him personally.

“He didn't try to hit you or anything?” Tarquinius asked.

“No,” Antony reassured him. “Damian just wanted to rattle me.”

As they walked back to Polycarp's, Antony filled Tarquinius in on the details of the encounter. Every time they turned onto another street, Antony caught himself looking over his shoulder to make sure they weren't being followed. Damian had accomplished his purpose; Antony was rattled.

That night he slept little. As he tossed and turned, he decided to meet with the church leaders the following day. Antony knew now that trying to get the authorities involved was probably a lost cause, so he would ask the deacons and elders to help persuade Polycarp to leave Smyrna for a while. Polycarp would not like the idea of going into hiding. In fact, the only place Polycarp would be even remotely interested in visiting right now might be Ephesus, in order to see John. But Antony didn't much like that idea; he would worry about Rebecca and Victor in the event Damian managed to follow Polycarp . . .