Avenger of Blood (50 page)

Peter must have hired every delivery wagon in Ephesus to accomplish the move. With another shipping season just ending, he had put all the stevedores to work loading furniture at the villa and at Antony's house and transferring it here. In a few days Helena and Priscilla would move in; until then, Rebecca and Antony would have the place to themselves.

The month since Antony had first returned from Smyrna had flown by. He'd come back with Jacob, who had been injured. Looking haggard and harried himself, Antony had broken down and wept when he apologized to Rebecca for worrying her. He'd gone back to Smyrna briefly for the trial, which resulted in an acquittal for the accused church member, and then he had returned home for good.

Now Antony gave her hand a squeeze and said, “Excuse me while I speak to our guests from Smyrna.”

She remembered Verus and Sergius from the time they'd helped rescue Victor. Sergius had told her earlier that his brother, Plautius, was expected to make a full recovery from his chest wound, but was not able to travel yet or he would have been there as well. The inn-keeper,

Tarquinius, had also come. He walked with a pronounced limp, but it didn't seem to slow him down much.

Rebecca looked over at her brother and caught his eye. Jacob lifted his goblet in a salute and grinned broadly. He mouthed something, but Rebecca couldn't make out his words over the noise of the celebration. She looked around for her other brother and found Peter sitting with Aurora in his lap. Quintus stood nearby, cradling Dorinda in his arms. The new baby was thriving, and as he'd promised, Quintus still searched the dump daily for other abandoned children.

Quintus was retiring from the shipping business, and Jacob would be taking his place. Rebecca was thrilled that her two brothers would finally be working together; how proud her father would have been.

Helena stopped long enough to kiss Rebecca on the cheek again. “You look lovely, dear. Such a beautiful bride,” Helena said, then she was off. Rebecca's mother-in-law seemed to be in a footrace with Agatha to see who could flit around the atrium the fastest, each woman determined to make sure every guest was well fed and having a good time.

Priscilla was wagging Victor around; the baby's mouth was smeared with something sticky, and he was squealing with pleasure. Rebecca laughed at the sight.

Marcellus beamed with pride as he stood next to Livia. Rebecca knew the first few weeks in Ephesus had been rocky for her new sister-in-law, but Livia was adapting marvelously to her new home and her newfound father. She had even started referring to Marcellus that way. “I was blessed with a papa,” she had told Rebecca, “and now I'm blessed with a father.”

Rebecca was very grateful for John's presence. It would have been a far less joyous celebration if the Apostle had not been able to attend. John seldom left his house anymore; unable to walk more than a few steps, someone had to carry him wherever he went.

The booming, raspy voice was now feeble and tremulous. He no longer preached, and when he did address the church, his words were few but powerful. Two Sundays ago the deacons had carried John to the front of the congregation. The Apostle had looked at the people for a long time, then finally said, “Little children, love one another.” That was all, but the simple words had been spoken with such pleading that people had begun to weep.

Rebecca saw that Theodorus and Polycarp were having a lively discussion. They were probably analyzing the finer points of theology; both men loved to dissect Scripture and glean every kernel of truth from it. When someone approached and asked Theodorus a question, Rebecca took the opportunity to go over and speak to Polycarp.

“We're so honored you came,” Rebecca told him.

“Thank you for inviting me,” the bishop said. “I'm deeply indebted to Antony for his service to our congregation. Attending your wedding seemed the least I could do to thank him.”

“He's talked a lot about the students you disciple . . .” Rebecca instinctively looked around for Victor, then continued when she saw that Priscilla was still carting him around. “You know the prophecy John gave about my son before he was born.”

Polycarp nodded. “I certainly do. When John was in Smyrna a year ago, he talked to me at length about you and Victor.”

“I don't know exactly what the prophecy signifies,” she said, “but I was wondering if you would train Victor. Someday, I mean.”

“When you think he's ready,” Polycarp said, “send him to me. I'll impart to your son all that I learned from John.”

Relieved, Rebecca thanked the bishop. For some reason, Victor's future had been weighing on her mind lately.

“I should tell the Apostle good-bye,” she told Polycarp. “I'm sure he'll be going home soon.”

“I'm surprised he's stayed this long,” the bishop said, “but he has always loved being around God's people. I'll say my good-byes too.”

Later, Rebecca would think how significant that exchange had been. When she and Polycarp went to say farewell to John, she found

Marcellus and Gregory kneeling at the spot where John had been sitting.

A sudden knot in Rebecca's stomach told her that something was wrong, terribly wrong. She ran toward them and found John crumpled in a heap on the floor.

“He suddenly collapsed,” Gregory told her.

At first Rebecca thought John was dead, then the old man opened his eyes. The left side of his face sagged, distorting his features.

“He's had a stroke,” Marcellus said. “A major one this time.”

John had had a series of small strokes over the last few months. There had been residual damage from each one, but it had been minimal. Marcellus had warned Rebecca that eventually John would have a massive stroke, and that one would kill him.

She knelt down beside John and touched his face. He looked up at her and blinked, and the right corner of his mouth twitched. She knew he was trying to call forth a smile, but the paralyzed muscles of his face would not let the smile break to the surface.

Fighting back tears, Rebecca said, “I love you, Apostle.”

John blinked again and said something. It was only one word, and Rebecca didn't understand it at first. Then she choked out a small sound that was a cross between a laugh and a sob. He'd called her Scribe.

“We need to get him home,” Marcellus said. “I've got some medicine there that will help relax him.” He stood and waved Jacob over. “We'll make him as comfortable as we can,” the doctor told Rebecca.

Antony was at her side now, and he helped Rebecca to her feet. As she watched Jacob lift John and carry him out, she let the tears fall, but they were tears of joy and gratitude as well as sorrow. God had allowed Rebecca to have John with her at every major event in her life. He'd been there for her birth and the birth of her child. He'd baptized Rebecca, had outlived both her parents, had lived to see Jacob's return, and now her wedding.

For a long time Rebecca had known this day was coming, but she'd been unable to accept it. Now, on her wedding day, she found the strength she needed.

“I can't keep John forever,” she told Antony. “I have to let him go home. He'll be with Jesus soon.”

John lingered for almost three months. Even as his strength ebbed, he stubbornly clung to life with the ingrained tenacity that had seen him through decades of adversity.

As news of the Apostle's failing health spread throughout Asia, a steady stream of pilgrims flowed into Ephesus to pay their respects. With the final stroke, John had lost much of his capacity for speech, but his eyes lit up whenever he had a visitor.

Along with the pilgrims, other news reached Ephesus. In January, Rome crowned a new emperor when the elderly Nerva died, and his adopted son, Trajan, was elevated to the throne. Jacob prayed that the Empire would remain as stable under the son's leadership as it had the father's.

Toward the end of February, Jacob visited the elderly apostle, as he did most days. It was a cold but clear morning, and John indicated that he wanted to sit outside in the sunshine “one last time.”

Jacob started to argue that it was too cold. But he'd never won an argument with the old man yet—and would probably lose this one, even though John could only say a few halting words at a time.

Giving in without a fight, Jacob took the old camp stool outside and placed it against the wall of the house; that way John would have some support to his back. Then Jacob went back inside to fetch the Apostle and carry “these old bones,” as John had so often referred to his body, outside. It was not difficult; the old man weighed next to nothing.

When Jacob propped him up on the stool and bundled a blanket around him, John grinned his appreciation. For a while the dying man looked around at the bleak landscape; the trees, still bare from winter frosts, nevertheless held the promise of spring. Then John leaned his head back against the house, closed his eyes, and basked in the sunshine.

Jacob couldn't help smiling at the sight. He was glad he had honored the request. What harm could it do? John had precious little time left; he might as well enjoy it.

It was almost impossible for John to sit up unassisted; he tended to fall to the left. So Jacob stood at John's side, letting the Apostle lean against him. Within minutes John dozed off.

The familiar sight of John napping outdoors brought back memories for Jacob, and he swallowed a sudden lump in his throat.
I'll let him sleep a few minutes,
Jacob thought
, then I'll carry him back inside
.

Soon, however, he realized that John's breathing had grown too quiet. Jacob put his hand on the old man's shoulder and shook him lightly. “John? . . . John?”

There was no response. The Apostle's face was cold to the touch, and Jacob knew it was not simply from being outdoors. John had slipped into eternity while slumped against Jacob's side.

His heart as chilled as the wintry day, Jacob picked up the Beloved Apostle, carried him inside, and laid him on the bed. Before he realized what he was doing, Jacob pulled the covers over the Apostle's frail frame, as if putting him down for a nap. Then reality hit him: John was gone. He did not need to be taken care of anymore.

Jacob almost lost control of his emotions then, but there was too much to be done before he could allow himself to mourn. Some women from the church were there, and working through their tears, they began to prepare John's body for burial. Jacob left to find Marcellus and Quintus, so they could help him get word to the believers across Ephesus.

Following the Jewish custom, they buried John before sundown on the day he died. Most of the church members had been notified within a few hours, so the funeral was well attended. And the weeping on the hillside was so loud and boisterous that Jacob reckoned it could be heard all the way to the harbor.

The shrouded body was laid to rest in a niche in the inner wall of the private tomb that was adjacent to Abraham's sprawling villa. The rest of the family returned to the house, but Jacob remained in the mausoleum even after the last mourners had left. He couldn't bear to leave John just yet.

Dry-eyed during the funeral, Jacob wept now in private. He hadn't expected to be this emotional, but somehow the loss affected him even more deeply than the death of his father. Perhaps it was because he hadn't witnessed Abraham's death, but Jacob had been with John when he passed into glory. And perhaps it was because Jacob was a different man now, a more mature man, a man who understood more about life and death and faith and friendship.

The sun had not gone down yet, but it was always dim in the inner recesses of the burial chamber. Torches had been lit and placed in iron holders bracketed onto the wall. The cold marble crypt was an eerie place, yet there was comfort here. There was family here. John's funeral bier contained the only intact body tucked away in the crevices, but the bones of Jacob's mother and grandfather resided in carved limestone boxes, as did some of the servants who had worked for the family over the years. Eventually, “these old bones” of John's would be collected and placed in a similar ossuary.

Bleary-eyed from weeping, Jacob looked up at one of the wall sconces where the torches burned brightly, dispelling the gloom.
The last apostle is gone,
Jacob thought.

Did that mean the persecution was over? Would there be no more martyrs?

As Jacob stared into the burning torch, he suddenly saw Polycarp's image. Although it was Polycarp's face he saw in the flames, it was the face of an old man—a very old, white-haired man, like John.

Jacob blinked and looked again; the image was gone. Was his mind playing tricks on him? Or was it a glimpse into the future?

It was too close in the mausoleum. Jacob needed fresh air. He walked outside and sat down on the gently sloping knoll where the family tomb had been built. Sitting cross-legged on the ground, he stared at the sky. It would be a beautiful sunset; streaks of pink and purple had stolen among the clouds, their rich hues bringing a depth of color to the fading daylight.

What a sad day for the church, but what a glorious day for John. In his mind Jacob pictured the Beloved Apostle's reunion with his Master, and almost thought he could hear John's raucous laughter. All of Jacob's life he had heard John's stories of the Rabbi from Galilee. Jesus of Nazareth. Lord and Savior. John had told the tales so vividly that Jacob sometimes felt as if he'd been there with the Twelve.

Now these old stories floated into his memory, drifting through his mind like the clouds scudding over the hills. Jacob also recalled conversations he'd had with John and Polycarp about the lives and deaths of the original apostles. Polycarp had wanted to collect and preserve the accounts of their martyrdom, so he had talked about it extensively with John, and had communicated on the subject with church leaders across the Empire.

Odd, Jacob thought now, that while John had been the last to die, his older brother, James, had been the first. James had been beheaded in Jerusalem by Herod Agrippa, shortly before the king's own death.