Avenger of Blood (49 page)

“Looks like you spent too much time in Cappadocia,” Damian yelled. “You picked up their peculiar ways.”

“Better for riding,” Jacob said, guessing the reference was to the trousers he'd worn for the ride from Ephesus.

He slowly took a couple of steps forward. Damian was not holding his bow. Was he out of ammunition?

“I want to talk to you, Damian.”

“You have nothing to say that I want to hear.”

“I have an offer to make.”

Damian didn't reply. Jacob walked out two more steps and stopped. He wasn't out quite far enough yet for Antony to make a break for it, but Jacob didn't want to rush things. He had no idea where Damian's accomplice was.

“I'm the one you want. Let Polycarp and the others go.”

“I want you all,” Damian shouted. “Especially you—I owe you. But I want the so-called bishop too.”

Jacob took another step forward. “Leave him alone, and I'll make it worth your while.”

There would be no reasoning with Damian, of course. Jacob couldn't appeal to his conscience or moral sensibilities; the brute had none. But Jacob thought there was a possibility he could tempt Damian in one area where he was particularly susceptible.

“I'll give you money,” Jacob said, “and passage to Rome.”

“There's nothing there for me now.”

“The money, then. Name your price.”

Damian hesistated, and Jacob walked forward again.

“I don't believe you,” Damian said.

“
Ride
into town with me, and I'll make the arrangements.”

Antony picked up on the clue and burst through the open gate. As he spurred the horse into a gallop, Damian scrambled for his bow and fired, but he wasn't quick enough; the shot went wide.

Jacob ran a few steps toward the other side of the street, then saw an arrow flying toward him. He lunged to the left and hit the gravel. The arrow grazed his right leg, just above the ankle.

Damian had not fired the arrow that hit him, Jacob realized. He'd seen Damian get off a second shot at Antony, which meant that the other man had fired at Jacob. He looked up at the house and saw the accomplice leaning out of the window.

Jacob heard mocking laughter as he stood up and brushed himself off, and he felt a flash of his old anger then, and with it, a flicker of fear. But the emotions vanished as he heard the voice of the Spirit.

Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace.

His ankle burned, and a trickle of blood ran onto his sandal, but Jacob stood firm.

“I'm coming over there, Damian. I'm not armed.”

Damian laughed again. “You're a fool if you think I believe that— and if you really are unarmed, then you're an even bigger fool.”

Jacob continued speaking as he slowly inched forward. “I could have killed you several times but didn't, and for a long time I was angry with myself for not doing it.”

“You didn't kill me because you're a coward.”

“No, I didn't kill you because I'm not a murderer.”

Damian was silent as he fit an arrow into his bow. He raised the weapon and aimed it at Jacob.

Jacob stopped where he was, possessed of a calmness he could not have imagined.

“You're
the coward, Damian. You don't have the courage to face an opponent who's as strong as you. All you can do is prey on the weak and vulnerable. You'll beat an elderly preacher. You'll rape a frightened, defenseless woman. You'll kidnap a baby and burn down buildings. But you're afraid of me right now because I have power—real power—of a kind you can't even conceive. My
weakness
is my power.”

“That's nonsense.”

“It makes perfect sense when you know the One who is all-powerful.” “You're talking in riddles.”

Without turning his head, Jacob cut his eyes to the right. The man who had shot him was no longer visible in the window. Had Tarquinius and Sergius managed to reach the house already?

Jacob looked back at the roof. Damian held the bow pointed directly at Jacob's chest, but still did not shoot.

“You can't kill me, Damian.”

“You think not?”

Damian fired then, and although Jacob was less than a hundred feet away, the shot veered to the side and missed him by several inches.

Jacob remembered the earlier discussion with Verus. Maybe Damian wasn't a very good marksman after all. As a tribune, he had primarily held administrative posts; if Damian had ever seen a day of combat, it would have been many years ago.

“You can't kill me,” Jacob repeated. “Oh, you can destroy my body—if God allows it. But you cannot kill my soul.”

Keeping his eyes on Jacob, Damian knelt down and felt the rooftop for another arrow. He slowly stood, reloaded his bow, and leveled it at Jacob.

It's his last arrow.
The thought came unbidden to Jacob's mind, along with a Scripture.

Take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.

Power surged through Jacob. He felt it in every fiber of his body as he spoke. “That's what you couldn't understand about all the Christians who refused to sacrifice to Caesar. You couldn't scare them into it because they knew you couldn't kill them—not forever. They loved God more than they loved their lives. You made their lives a living hell on Devil's Island, and some of them died there. Yet they're alive today, Damian. Alive!

“You killed my mother, yet she lives. Your father sent mine to his death, yet my father lives. Their spirits are alive by the power of Jesus Christ. He has won the victory over death!”

Jacob's entire body trembled from the force that propelled his words. “You have tormented and persecuted the body of Christ, but you cannot defeat the church triumphant. The gates of hell will not prevail against it. No matter what you've gotten away with in
this
world, Lucius Mallus Damianus, you will pay for your sins in the next. You will burn eternally in a lake of fire.”

Damian released the arrow, and this one struck Jacob in the side. He felt a sharp pain as the shot ripped through his clothing and opened the skin. But the thickness of his long coat kept the arrow from completely embedding itself in his flesh. Jacob gritted his teeth and pulled the arrow out, then he held it up in front of him and snapped it in two.

Damian shook his fist and let loose a stream of vile curses. “I'll destroy you,” he screamed. “And my son will destroy your sons. My seed will always be against yours.”

He had stepped closer to the edge of the roof while continuing his tirade, and as Damian delivered his prophecy of destruction, he lost his footing and plummeted to the ground below. He landed in the weeds with a thud.

Jacob raced the remaining few yards across the street and through the yard of the vacant house toward Damian, feeling his side as he ran. Jacob was bleeding, but not profusely.

Falling ten feet hadn't killed Damian. He pulled up to his hands and knees, then struggled to his feet and stumbled toward the front door of the house. Jacob caught up with Damian and lunged for him, knocking him off balance. Both men went down.

Jacob grabbed Damian by the ankle but didn't have a firm enough hold to keep him down. In the process of getting up, Damian dragged Jacob a few feet before Jacob let go. His ribs were still bruised from his earlier falls, and the pain exploded in his side where he'd been shot.

He took a couple of deep breaths and got up, making it inside the house not far behind Damian, who ran toward the back, arriving in the kitchen only a few paces ahead of his pursuer.

Suddenly weak, Jacob leaned against the doorjamb for support. The fading light made the room dim, and he blinked to bring it in focus. Tarquinius and Sergius had made it through the back entrance, but Tarquinius was wounded. He was sitting on the floor, leaning back against the wall, with a broken arrow sticking up from his thigh. He was conscious, though, and he grinned at Jacob briefly. Sergius had knocked the accomplice out and was tying him with a rope.

Damian stood by the kitchen table. Several torches had been laid out there, and a small clay lamp had been lit. They had definitely been preparing to commit arson after dark.

He picked up one of the torches. “If I'm to burn in a lake of fire,” Damian said, “you'll all burn with me.”

With his other hand Damian reached for a jar on the table.

Oil!
Jacob thought.
It's a jar of oil.
Damian was going to torch the place with all of them inside. With his last bit of strength, Jacob pushed away from the doorjamb and charged.

He fell into Damian, pushing him back against the table. When Damian raised up, he knocked Jacob to the floor. Jacob blacked out for a moment, then looked up and saw Damian tip the container of oil and pour it over the torch.

Jacob tried to get up but couldn't, then suddenly he was moving backwards and realized that Sergius was dragging him away. As Damian reached for the lamp to light the torch, an object sailed through the air toward him.

The hatchet, Jacob realized. That's what Tarquinius had been holding by his side when Jacob got there.

For an almost interminable moment, the hatchet flew end over end. Finally it reached its target, striking Damian in the side of his head with a sickening
thwack
that severed his ear and split open his jaw. Simultaneously with the impact, an arrow pierced Damian's chest. He fell back, hitting the table hard, then slumped to the ground, blood spurting from the gruesome wound to his head and more seeping from his chest.

The table tipped over when Damian landed. Both the lamp and the jar of oil fell on top of him.

Jacob never saw the blaze ignite. He was lying in the yard when he came to and saw that the vacant house had become an inferno.

“We're safe,” Antony assured Jacob as he tried to sit up. “Everybody got out—everybody except Damian.”

“I got shot,” Jacob said thickly. His head was spinning and he felt queasy.

“I know. We need to get you over to Polycarp's.”

“Don't know if I can walk.” Jacob's ankle throbbed and his ribs were so bruised, it hurt to breathe. But his other injuries paled in comparison to the pain from the hole in his side.

“When Verus and Sergius get back,” Antony said, “we'll carry you across the street. They helped Tarquinius over. He insisted on walking, but it took both of them to steady him.”

“How is he?”

“It will probably take a surgeon to get the arrow out of his leg, but I think he'll be all right.”

Antony sat down on the ground beside Jacob, who watched the chaotic scene around him with a certain detachment. Neighbors had poured out of the surrounding houses and were beating the edges of the fire with blankets, trying to keep the flames from spreading.

“Where were they when all this was going on?” Jacob asked.

“Holed up in their houses, afraid. Or unwilling to help their Christian neighbors.”

Willing to save their property, though,
Jacob thought grudgingly. He watched them battle the blaze a minute, then asked, “What took Verus so long to get here, anyway?”

“He couldn't find the constable for a long time, and with all the harassment of Christians that's gone on here, none of the officers would agree to come to our help until they'd cleared it with the constable himself. Verus finally gave up and went to his house to get his bow and arrow, then decided to go back to the constabulary. The second time he persuaded someone to come with him. They had almost made it back here when I met up with them.”

“It was Verus who shot Damian?”

“Yes,” Antony said. “Verus took aim about the same time Tarquinius launched the hatchet.”

Antony told Jacob how the fire had started, and how they had pulled him and Tarquinius out before the house was engulfed. “The officer who came with Verus even managed to drag Damian's accomplice out. Sergius hadn't injured him seriously, just knocked him out cold with the blunt end of the ax.

“Did a fine job of tying him up, too. We tossed the man over your horse, and the officer led him off to jail.”

“You let him take my horse?” Jacob asked in amazement. “I worked for months to pay off that chestnut.”

“Don't worry. I'll go get him tomorrow.”

“Her. It's a her.”

“All right, I'll go get
her
from the constabulary tomorrow.”

Verus and Sergius returned, and they started to pick Jacob up. “I think I can walk now,” he said. His head was clearing and he was beginning to feel a bit stronger.

“Tarquinius thought that too,” Sergius said, “and he collapsed halfway across the street. He was so heavy it took four of us to carry him after that.”

“I'm not that heavy, and I can walk,” Jacob insisted stubbornly. “Just help me stand up.”

They carefully pulled Jacob to his feet, and he surprised them by staying upright and steady.

Before they turned to leave, Jacob took a last long look at the fire. He thought of what John had said a few days earlier: “The Lord will avenge the blood of His servants in due time.”

Damian was dead. He would torment the church no more.

Other persecutions would doubtless arise. But for now, for this place and for this time, the Avenger of Blood had wrought justice.

38

November, A.D. 97

IT RAINED ON REBECCA'S WEDDING DAY, but no amount of precipitation could dampen her spirits as she and Antony stood before Theodorus and exchanged vows. In spite of the inclement weather, the lofty two-story atrium of the new home was packed with people. Rebecca had chosen to get married here rather than at the villa; it seemed appropriate to start her new life with Antony in their new house from the moment they became husband and wife.