Devil's Island (3 page)

“My prophetic ability is limited to business forecasts.” Abraham smiled wanly. “I'll leave spiritual prophecy to the Apostle.”

Everyone fell silent; the mood had turned somber. “You should have told me John was sick,” Elizabeth said after a long moment. “I would have sent food, and someone to look after him.”

“He's not sick, Mother. Just old and stiff. Still as feisty as ever, but getting rather feeble.” Jacob turned to face Abraham. “I will heed your advice, Father,” he said deliberately. “I cannot promise to stop preaching, but I will promise to be more careful.”

Abraham nodded. “Good enough.” His voice had become husky with emotion and he cleared his throat. “You mentioned something about hiring a carriage so John could go on this trip.”

Jacob's rugged features became instantly animated. “I figured all your wagons would be in service now, making deliveries. But I thought perhaps we could use your personal coach, or maybe you could arrange to hire a carriage for us.”

“I can do better than that. Take the
Mercury
and sail for Smyrna or Pergamum, then hire a carriage to take John wherever he wants to go.”

Jacob sat straight up and gave a jubilant whoop. Naomi's mouth flew open. “The
Mercury
?” She stared at her father for a moment, then turned to her brother. “How long will you be gone?” she asked, her voice frigid.

“What does it matter to you?” Jacob replied.

“I realize sending Jacob in my private cutter spoils your scheme of wheedling me into a trip to Rome,” Abraham said to Naomi. “We'll talk about that later. For now”—he pointed at Jacob—“I want you to leave and tell John as soon as we finish dinner. I'll alert the captain and crew. Make whatever preparations you need, but be at the harbor ready to cast off by daybreak. I'll meet you there to see you off.”

“Daybreak? Why the urgency?” Elizabeth swallowed hard. She was satisfied with Abraham's change of heart toward Jacob's ministry but wary of its suddenness. Now she had a premonition of disaster.

“John himself expressed the urgency,” Abraham said, “and the
Mercury
is stocked and ready to sail. There's no need for delay.” His tone of voice left no room for argument.

After dinner Naomi strolled along the colonnade of the large open peristyle adjoining their villa. Peeved that her father was sending Jacob on some fool's errand to Smyrna when she'd had plans to use their private ship, Naomi thought a walk would be soothing. She loved the peristyle with its spacious, meticulously tended garden and fountains. That is, she liked it now, when it was quiet and dignified; Naomi hated it on Sundays, when as many as a hundred people congregated on the tiled walkways surrounding the garden.

Actually, she did not mind large crowds of people—as long as they were the right people. But the people who gathered in their home on “the Lord's Day,” as they called it, were not the right people; they were an odd mixture of young and old, rich and poor, well-bred and uncouth, and most of them either pitied her or scorned her. Naomi, in turn, pitied their dependence on a childish faith and privately scorned their sermons and hymns to Christ.

Naomi's mood did not improve when she found her sister sitting on a stone bench by the central fountain.

“I like your new dress,” Rebecca said pleasantly. “I've never seen a blue that brilliant before.”

Naomi did not value her sister's opinions on fashion, but at least Rebecca hadn't tried to insult her. Jacob had had the nerve to tell her she looked like a peacock.

“It's quite flattering, don't you think?” Naomi extended her slender arms and made a graceful pirouette, careful not to dislodge the numerous pins and combs that held her dark auburn hair piled high atop her head. She was quite proud of her abundant hair and its rich color, an exotic blend of her mother's fiery red locks and the glossy jet of her father's.

“And I like to wear vivid colors,” Naomi added. “It lifts my spirits.”

“The new dress, the new hairdo . . . are you expecting a visitor?”

“No, I'm just trying out some of the latest styles before I go to Rome.”

“Father said at dinner you wanted to go to Rome, but it's too late in the year for him to take us now.”

“I didn't say anything about the family going.” Naomi's smile faded at the thought of her entire, boringly religious clan accompanying her; she hadn't suggested it to her father. He kept a small villa in the hills of Rome and sometimes took the family with him on business trips, but Naomi had a different purpose in mind for her trip, and she wouldn't be returning anytime soon.

“I think Rome would be a good place to find a husband,” she announced to her sister.

“You make finding a husband sound like a shopping trip.”

“That's exactly what it is. And Rome has a much better selection of merchandise.” Naomi threw back her head and laughed.

“But Ephesus is a huge city,” Rebecca said, “one of the wealthiest cities in the Empire. Surely you can find a husband here.”

“Rome is the center of the world, and that's where I belong. Perhaps married to a senator—yes, I like that idea.”

For a moment Naomi let her imagination take her all the way to the emperor's palace, seeing herself surrounded by the highest echelon of Roman society. A rich, powerful husband would be her ticket, and she would not even mind if he were old or ugly—or both—as long as he was stupendously wealthy and influential.

“I'm content to stay here and let Father take care of arranging a marriage,” Rebecca said. “And how can you even think about going to Rome when Jacob could be in trouble?”

“He wouldn't be in trouble if he would learn to keep his mouth shut. And you're content only because you assume you'll marry your beloved Galen. What if Father has already struck a bargain with someone else? Perhaps a wealthy acquaintance who can inject fresh capital into the shipping business.”

“We don't need that kind of money, and Father would never do that to me. Never.” Rebecca's large eyes widened, and the contrast of her dark eyes and deep-nut-brown hair against her delicate fair skin gave her the appearance of a startled doe.

“Don't be too sure. Money begets money, dear heart, and money drives the world.”

Rebecca folded her hands in her lap and composed herself. “Father is going to speak to Galen soon. Mother said so.”

“I don't know what you see in him. I suppose Galen is handsome enough, but he's not forceful. And he's poor—a silversmith. If it weren't for his scruples, Galen could make a lucrative business selling charms and amulets and temple souvenirs. He wouldn't have any clients at all if Father hadn't introduced him to some wealthy merchants who can afford silver plates and goblets rather than stoneware.”

“Galen is a very talented artisan, and also a Christian—something you seem to care nothing about in a husband but that is very important to me.”

Naomi resented her younger sister's holier-than-thou attitude, and she couldn't resist goading Rebecca. “Perhaps Galen does not love you as much as you imagine, and that's why he has not asked Father's permission to marry you.”

“That's not true! He does love me. He even wanted to—”

Rebecca suddenly stopped speaking, and Naomi knew she had been about to reveal something. From the crimson flame of Rebecca's cheeks, Naomi guessed what Galen had wanted to do. “He wanted to kiss you,” she said knowingly.

“He is too much of a gentleman to kiss me before we're married.” Rebecca's hands fidgeted nervously in her lap and her voice dropped to a dreamy whisper. “But he did hold my hand.”

“Answer me one question,” Naomi snapped. “Did Galen want to kiss you because of love—or was it lust?”

“Why do you have to talk like that?” Rebecca bolted from the garden bench and ran to the shelter of the colonnade.

The sound of Naomi's laughter echoed off the flagstones.
Poor
lovestruck child,
she mused, almost regretting having provoked her sister, then deciding it was to Rebecca's advantage to have her illusions shattered.
She'll soon learn that love is never what you expect it to
be. And it never lasts.

Abraham's heart was as heavy as his footsteps when he climbed the stairs to the upper level of the villa, where the bedrooms were located— all except Peter's. Elizabeth had converted a small room off the library on the ground floor into a bedroom for him.

Jacob had rushed out shortly after dinner, Elizabeth reminding him to take a torch because it would be dark by the time he reached John's house. Abraham paused at the door of Jacob's bedroom now, wondering if he was doing the right thing by sending Jacob away. But what else could he do? The Tenth Legion was here, with orders from the emperor, and with Damian in command.

He searched the recesses of his mind, trying to recall the monster's face. He'd seen it only twice, and as memorable as his encounters with Damian had been, Abraham wondered why the face was not permanently etched in his memory. But he remembered only bits and pieces of Damian's physical appearance, disjointed elements that he could not quite put together to make a composite. Dark hair, that was easy; he was a Roman. Bony knees—an odd thing to remember; but then Abraham had seen them at close range, looking up at them from the ground. And such cruel eyes. If nothing else, he would recognize Damian again from the hatred in his eyes.

It's been twenty-five years,
Abraham thought.
Maybe he's bald and
paunchy and toothless now.
No matter if he were. Damian had an entire cohort of soldiers to carry out his orders. Somewhere between four hundred and six hundred men, and they were here to root out Christians.

When Abraham entered their bedroom, Elizabeth was sitting on the side of the bed, her shoulders slumped. “I thought you had to go to the harbor,” she said, “to make sure the captain is prepared to sail in the morning.”

Abraham set the clay lamp he had carried upstairs on the table by the bed. Several lamps were already burning, and a charcoal brazier had been lit to take the chill off the room. “Kaeso is ready. I spoke to him before I left the harbor this afternoon.”

“I don't understand. You mean you already knew you were going to send Jacob and John to Smyrna on the
Mercury
?”

“All I could think of was that I had to get Jacob away from here quickly . . .” He knew that was the wrong place to start, so he let his thought trail off, wondering how much to tell Elizabeth, wishing he could protect her from the truth, and knowing he couldn't.

Her fair skin shimmered in the flickering light, and her green eyes were flecked with gold. Abraham cupped her chin in his massive hand and tilted her face up to his. She looked both puzzled and afraid. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her and that he could never live without her, but he couldn't form the words. Instead, he leaned down and kissed the top of her head.

She wrapped her arms around his waist. “I'm worried about him, Abraham. I'm worried because you're worried, and I don't know
why
you're worried. Please, tell me whatever it is you're keeping from me.”

“Let's talk in bed,” he said. “You're shivering.”

Abraham began extinguishing the lamps while Elizabeth removed her outer tunic and crawled beneath the covers. The wooden bed with a carved headboard and footboard was the first piece of furniture they had ever bought. As they had prospered beyond their dreams and built the villa, Elizabeth had purchased beautiful, costly furnishings for every room. But neither one of them could bear to part with their marriage bed. It had a new wool-stuffed mattress and a luxurious spread now, but it was the same sturdy bed they had loved and argued in, laughed and cried in, for twenty-five years.

Nestled in the shelter of their bed, Abraham began to tell Elizabeth about the arrival of the Roman warships and about his meeting with Publius. She shuddered when he told her about the order requiring a sacrifice to Domitian and how much danger Jacob was in. He held his wife close and told her not to worry, told her that everything would be all right, that he would protect her, and that God would protect Jacob because he was doing the Lord's work. But his words held a confidence he did not feel, and the one thing he could not bring himself to tell her was that Damian was the one in charge of carrying out the emperor's orders. It was just too much at once, he decided.

They lay curled together like spoons, Elizabeth's back pressed against his broad chest, the top of her head resting under his chin. Finally she began to breathe steadily and deeply, falling asleep in his arms.

Sleep eluded Abraham, however, as he alternately relived the day and tried to think of what to do on the morrow. Could the
Mercury
sail before the soldiers discovered the Apostle was aboard? If John knew they were here to arrest him, would he even leave? Or would the Son of Thunder gladly face the might of Rome, whatever the consequences?

John was elderly, and it was one thing for him to play the martyr. But Jacob was young and had his whole life ahead of him. And what if they did make it to Smyrna, or Pergamum, or any other city in Asia? Would Damian try to track them down when he learned they had left? How long would he search for John and Jacob?

Abraham's mind was flooded with questions. And so he stayed awake, groping for answers.
I'll figure out what to do,
he told himself.
There has to be a solution.
Abraham was the kind who wrestled a situation until he conquered it.

“I'll fix this too, Elizabeth,” he whispered into the night. “I promise you. Somehow, I'll fix this.”

3

EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, in the predawn stillness, Abraham listened to the screeching of seagulls and the soft rhythmic slapping of the water against the pier, the familiar sounds lulling his heightened senses. A light fog hovered over the water, and in the faint moonlight he could barely make out the shape of the two warships, still docked at the bend of the harbor. Although the troops had departed, the crews were probably still on board, and he wanted the
Mercury
to sail before too many sailors were stirring on deck. The fewer people who took note of its departure, the better.