Devil's Island

by John Hagee

  “Yes,” she said finally. “I promise.”

  “Let’s go inside,” he suggested. “Someplace a little more private.”

  Elizabeth led Abraham from the atrium into the adjoining dining room. “We’ll be comfortable in here,” she said. “And we can talk freely.” They arranged themselves on the long sofas, and Elizabeth dried her eyes on one of the large linen napkins draped over the edge. Then she related the story of her engagement.

  She had just turned sixteen when she accompanied her father, Rufus, on a business trip to Rome. It was by far the most thrilling adventure of her life—a whirlwind of exciting new places and people—and she had loved every minute of it.

  Well, almost every minute. While in the capital they made frequent visits to the home of Senator Lucius Mallus Balbus. Elizabeth had found the senator pompous and boring, and she thought even less of his eighteen-year-old son, who had quickly become infatuated with her and wanted to monopolize her time. As much as she disliked the boy, she was unfailingly polite; his father was a valuable business associate.

  “Young Mallus is quite taken with you, Elizabeth,” her father said one night as they returned from a dinner party at the senator’s home. Rufus seemed pleased.

  “The feeling is not mutual.” Elizabeth frowned but quickly added. “Don’t worry. I’ll continue to be nice. I know his father is a very influential man.”

  It was not easy to be nice, however, especially after the day she and Drusilla, the wife of Senator Mallus, had returned early from a shopping excursion. From an upstairs window of the villa, Elizabeth had observed a disturbing scene: the senator’s son had kicked a dog for no reason, sending the poor, defenseless creature halfway across the courtyard. The sight had sickened her, and she confronted him about it after dinner that night.

  He denied the incident. “It wasn’t me,” he said. “Must have been someone else.”

  “I was upstairs,” she said. “I saw you.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you think you saw,” he said. “I did no such thing.”

  His defiant look intimidated Elizabeth. She knew he was lying simply because he could get away with it; no one challenged the senator’s son.

  As much as she had loved Rome, she hated her visits to the Mallus family, and Elizabeth was both disappointed and relieved when it was time to depart.

  In spite of several hints from her father, Elizabeth had remained oblivious to what was going on behind the scenes. It wasn’t until their ship was almost to Ephesus that she learned her father had concluded more than one business deal in Rome: he had signed a marriage agreement with Senator Mallus and had promised a spring wedding for his daughter and the senator’s son.

  “I can’t believe you did it without consulting me,” Elizabeth said when Rufus finally told her. Distraught, she paced the deck of the ship.

  “And I can’t believe you’re so upset about it,” her father replied. “It’s a good match, with a good family. A powerful family.”

  “Is that all that matters to you? Marrying me off to a powerful family to advance your career?”

  “Elizabeth, you’re of marriageable age. It’s my responsibility to find a suitable husband for you. Young Mallus is a fine young man, and he—”

  “He’s perfectly dreadful, that’s what he is!”

  “Now, Elizabeth—”

  “Well, he is. I can’t stand to be in the same room with him, let alone spend the rest of my life with him. How could you do this to me?”

  “Tell me, daughter, just what you find so objectionable about him.”

  Her father sounded as if he was losing patience with her, but she didn’t care; too much was at stake to hold her feelings inside. “What about him isn’t objectionable?” she shot back. “He’s rude and arrogant. Swaggers around like everyone should be in awe of him.”

  “Perhaps the boy is still somewhat immature and full of himself, but he’ll settle down. He has an excellent military and political career ahead of him.”

  “He’s cruel. And he lies.”

  Rufus sighed with annoyance. “Elizabeth, what are you talking about?”

  “He hurts helpless animals.” She shuddered, recalling what she’d witnessed from the window, and she told her father about the dog.

  “Not everyone loves animals as much as you do, child. I’m sure he didn’t mean any harm by it.”

  “Then why would he lie about it? And if he’ll lie about kicking a dog, what else would he lie about? You’ve taught me to value honesty and integrity, Father. And now you want me to marry a man who has none.”

  “I think you’re exaggerating the situation, Elizabeth.”

  She knew she wasn’t exaggerating, and she knew this marriage would be a horrible mistake. What she didn’t know was how to convince her father of that fact. She stared over the rail at the ocean, thinking she might as well throw herself overboard; it would be preferable to a lifetime with a man she detested.

  “You have to trust me to do what’s best for you,” Rufus said.

  “Is it really best for me to marry a man I don’t love or respect?”

  “After you’re married, you’ll grow to love your husband. Wait and see.”

  For the first time in her life, Elizabeth did not believe her father. She felt as if she had received a death sentence, and she couldn’t shake the feeling no matter what she did.

  By the time they got home, she could not eat at all and could barely sleep. Day after day she stayed in her room and cried, thinking that if her mother had still been alive, she would never have agreed to this marriage. Mother would have seen “young Mallus” for what he was, Elizabeth told herself. And she would never make me go through with this.

  Rufus prepared for the impending nuptials, but Elizabeth couldn’t bring herself to cooperate. Justina, Servius’s wife, started sewing a wedding dress, but by the time she was finished with it, the dress hung loosely on Elizabeth because she’d lost so much weight.

  She could not talk her father out of it, but she did finally persuade him to postpone the wedding for a year. “I’m too young,” she told him, “and not ready to be a wife. Surely you can give me one year to get used to the idea. Just one year. Then the Mallus family can have the rest of my life.”

  Reluctantly, Rufus wrote Senator Mallus and told him. The senator wrote back and said that he was not at all happy about the postponement but that his son, now a tribune, had just received a commission. He was being sent to Palestine, where a rebellion had broken out. The senator said the army would quash the uprising quickly—in no more than a few months—and that they could delay the marriage until then.

  But the war in Palestine was not over in a few months. Instead, it dragged on and on, and for the next four years, Elizabeth felt as if she’d been given a reprieve. She put the engagement completely out of her mind and went on with her life.

  Then one day the letter had arrived. “Jerusalem has finally fallen,” her fiancé wrote. “We have some minor cleanup to take care of, then the troops will return to Rome with General Titus by the spring.”

  And then he would come to Ephesus for the wedding, he said.

  The tone of the letter was repugnant. “Tell Elizabeth she’d better be ready this time. She’s not a little girl any longer.”

  Elizabeth nearly fell apart as she read and reread the letter. It was the news she had been dreading for four years.

  “You’re lucky he still wants you,” her father said. “There will be no arguments this time—no more delays.”

  As they reclined comfortably in the dining room, Elizabeth finished telling Abraham the story of her engagement. This time, he was the one who listened intently.

  “I used to pray the war in Palestine would never end,” she told him with an apologetic look. “I’m ashamed to admit that, especially after you told me about all the suffering.

  “Can you believe I did that? I knew it meant more people would die, but I prayed for the war to continue.”

  “I think Go
d understood your heart,” Abraham said gently. “You didn’t want to have to face a future you couldn’t fathom.”

  “All that time, I put the engagement out of my mind. As long as the war was going on, I didn’t have to think about it. Then, the day you arrived, my father received the letter from Damian.”

  “Damian.” Abraham frowned. “That’s his name? Your fiancé?”

  “Yes, Damian. Lucius Mallus Damianus.” She pronounced the full name with disgust, noticing that Abraham had a strange look on his face.

  Just then Justina entered the room, carrying a tray. “I had the cook prepare a light lunch for you and your guest,” she said.

  “Thank you.” Elizabeth rose as Justina placed the tray on the table between the sofas. “I’ll serve,” Elizabeth told her, wanting to continue her conversation with Abraham in privacy.

  When the servant left, Elizabeth poured the wine and filled a plate with cold cuts for Abraham, who attacked the meal with relish. It gladdened Elizabeth to know that he had fully recovered his appetite; he bore little resemblance now to the half-starved stranger she had met at John’s house.

  “Tell me what this Damian looks like,” Abraham said after a few bites.

  She couldn’t imagine why Abraham would want to know what his rival looked like, but she complied with his request. “He’s not very tall, maybe three or four inches taller than me. Dark, wavy hair. Rather slight for a soldier, but physically strong and tough. Very intimidating.

  “Just being around him gave me an eerie feeling. He would get this mean look in his eyes, the meanest look I’ve ever seen.”

  “Did he ever do anything to hurt you?” Abraham asked.

  She shook her head. “No, but sometimes I remember hearing that dog yelp and scurry off with his tail between his legs, and I can’t help wondering if Damian will someday kick me.”

  Abraham set his cup of wine down on the table so hard that it splashed over the top.

  “I’m sorry, Abraham. I’ve upset you again.”

  “No, this Damian fellow upset me. If he ever laid a hand on you . . .”

  Elizabeth was surprised at the dark glower that crossed his face. She had never seen Abraham look so fierce, and she didn’t know what to say.

  “You can’t marry him, Elizabeth. You belong with me.” He spoke with such sincerity that it squeezed her heart. She wanted desperately to belong to him but knew she belonged to someone else.

  “I can’t do anything about it,” she said, her voice starting to shake again. “I have to go through with it.”

  “If you were married to someone else, then you couldn’t marry Damian.”

  “Don’t talk that way, Abraham. I can’t go back on my word. I promised.”

  “No, your father promised.”

  “Yes, but I promised my father I would abide by the agreement. I couldn’t break the contract and hurt my father like that. His reputation would be damaged. And Senator Mallus might do something to get back at him.”

  “Let me tell you what it’s like in Rome.” Abraham pushed his plate back and wiped his mouth. “Betrothals are broken all the time; getting engaged and then unengaged is almost a sport among the upper classes. Marriages are dissolved on a whim, and it’s not uncommon for a man, especially a prosperous, powerful man such as a senator—or a senator’s son—to divorce and remarry three or four times.”

  “Even when there’s a marriage contract? You can do that?”

  “Yes.” He smiled. “A lawyer isn’t worth his salt if he can’t come up with a way out of a seemingly ironclad contract. And marriage contracts are not that difficult to get around. I’ve done it before.”

  She gasped in surprise.

  “Not for me,” he quickly amended. “For a client.”

  “Oh, I see.” She was buoyed by his words—she’d prayed for a way out of this marriage from the beginning. But she was also disturbed by the casual attitude toward marriage he had described. “I thought marriage was supposed to last a lifetime,” she said.

  “It is supposed to last a lifetime—and it will with the right person.” His voice rang with conviction. “Damian is not the right person for you, Elizabeth. I’m persuaded of that beyond a shadow of a doubt.”

  “And I suppose you’re going to tell me that you’re the right person?” “I know it as surely as I know my name.”

  Her smile was fleeting, as she thought how happy she would be married to Abraham, then quickly dismissed the idea. “I’ve never broken a promise before, Abraham. My father—”

  “I ordinarily wouldn’t recommend going back on your word. It’s not something I take lightly. But this is . . . Damian is . . . It’s just . . .” He scowled again, so upset that he had trouble finding the right words.

  “Let me talk to your father,” he finally managed. “If I can persuade him that Damian is all wrong for you, if I get him to agree to set aside the marriage contract, then will you marry me?”

  By that time she could have forced the sun to rise in the west more easily than she could have refused Abraham. “Yes,” she said eagerly. “Oh, yes.”

  Over the next three days Abraham was closeted with her father for hour after hour. They also conferred with John. She never knew exactly what transpired in their lengthy discussions, but two weeks later she and Abraham were standing before John to solemnize their wedding covenant. She wore the dress Justina had made four years earlier and was never happier than the moment Abraham slipped a gold band on the third finger of her left hand.

  12

  THE SWEETNESS OF THE MEMORY was palpable, but it was tinged with bitterness now. Elizabeth had just watched her husband make the sacrifice to Caesar, and she couldn’t help thinking she was the reason he had committed the horrendous sin.

  Now she faced the same choice: sacrifice or exile. Damian was standing in front of her, and Elizabeth forced herself to listen to what he was saying. Something about Rebecca . . . No!

  Elizabeth blanched. She saw the way Damian was looking at her daughter. It was the same lustful way he had looked at her when he’d arrived in Ephesus that spring, a few months after she’d married Abraham. Just now he had touched Rebecca with the same evil intent . . .

  Elizabeth slammed the door of her mind shut on that frightful memory.

  It will all be over today, she told herself. One way or another, Damian would get his revenge—the retribution he’d waited twenty-five years to accomplish—and there was nothing they could do about it. Elizabeth no longer worried what Damian could or would do to her; her only thought was for her daughter.

  Somehow she had to protect Rebecca.

  Abraham instantly knew he had made the wrong choice. He’d felt it the moment he dropped the incense into the fire, felt an indefinable loss, and he knew the presence of God had departed from him. In its place a dense cloud of darkness had descended.

  He caught Jacob’s eye, and the look of deep disappointment on his son’s face pierced Abraham’s soul. Nevertheless he shoved his conscience aside and focused on Damian, who now turned from Elizabeth and offered the incense to Rebecca.

  He’s saving Elizabeth for last, Abraham realized with a chill.

  “It’s your turn, pretty one,” Damian informed Rebecca. “I wonder if you have the same mettle as your spirited sister,” he said with a smile. “I suggest you follow her example and avoid the consequences of breaking the law.”

  Rebecca made no move to take the incense he offered. Abraham did not know if she was paralyzed by shock and incapable of movement or if she intended to defy the emperor’s order.

  “I’m sure you have your father’s permission, since he just made the sacrifice himself.” When Rebecca still did not move, Damian grabbed her hand and led her forward. “Time’s wasting, Rebecca.”

  Elizabeth reached toward Damian, begging for mercy. “Please, don’t do this. Why should her life be ruined because of your hatred for me?”

  “Whatever feelings I might have for you, Elizabeth, have nothing to do with this. I�
�m simply upholding the law. Your daughter must make the sacrifice or pay the consequences, just like everybody else.”

  Damian escorted Rebecca the few remaining steps to the altar. Still, she hesitated, her gaze drawn to the carvings around the base of the huge limestone block. Figures from Roman mythology, she guessed. Symbolic representations of the glory of the Empire. She had walked across the large open pavilion outside the Temple of Domitian before but had never approached close enough to see the altar’s intricate artwork.

  As she stared at the softly glowing coals on the surface of the altar, Damian taunted her. “You won’t fare well on Patmos, you know. You’ve led a spoiled, pampered life, secure in your father’s mansion. I doubt you’ll find the accommodations on Devil’s Island to your liking. And the work in the quarries is backbreaking, lifting heavy rocks and carrying them in a basket strapped to your back. You haul the rocks to the harbor, and then go back to the quarry and start all over again. Lift, carry, haul, lift, carry, haul—from sunrise to sunset. Then you return to the cold dark cave you’ll call home.

  “Is that the kind of life you want, Rebecca? The sweat and pain of hard labor? The terror of being an innocent young woman in a camp full of soldiers? You’ll never recline at a sumptuous meal again. Never marry or have children. Everything you’ve known before will be gone in an instant, unless you make the sacrifice to Caesar—now!”

  Rebecca took a pinch of the incense and held it over the altar. She turned and looked at her father.

  Abraham had never been more anguished in his life. He did not want Rebecca to make the same mistake he had, and yet he couldn’t bear the thought of her punishment. Couldn’t stand to think about the danger and the deprivation she would face on Devil’s Island. Couldn’t bring himself to wonder whether she would be tempted to commit suicide as so many prisoners there did.

  Rebecca closed her eyes and opened her hand. The incense sizzled on the coals.

  “Say the words,” Damian ordered in a guttural tone. “Say it, Rebecca!”

  “Jesus is Lord!” Rebecca shouted the words, then she turned and stared at Damian. “I know no other lord,” she said firmly.