Devil's Island

by John Hagee

  If Father repents, will God forgive him and restore him? Jacob wondered. Even for this sacrilege? He would have to remember to ask John about that. For now, the Apostle had his eyes closed, and Jacob guessed he was either sleeping or praying. John often did that in the afternoons—started praying or meditating and then nodded off. Jacob offered a silent prayer for his father’s soul and listened to the sounds of the old ship as it plowed steadily through the rolling sea.

  It was late afternoon, Jacob estimated—he couldn’t see the sun from the cargo hold—when they approached Patmos. Jacob could tell they were nearing land by the decrease in speed and the increase in activity above. He heard sailors scrambling over the deck and the sound of heavy ropes being readied for mooring.

  He nudged Rebecca. “Wake up,” he said. “We’re almost there.”

  “Where?” she said sleepily. “Oh, Devil’s Island,” she added as she yawned and then wrinkled her nose. “At least we’ll get off this smelly old barge. I can’t believe I fell asleep.”

  In a few minutes several soldiers marched down the wooden steps into the hold and ordered the prisoners to disembark. “Single file up the steps,” one of them said. “Assemble in rows of ten on the main deck.”

  Jacob stood and stretched, then helped Rebecca and John to their feet. With their legs and wrists shackled, it was awkward getting a sure footing, especially after sitting for hours in a cramped space.

  Seeing the sunlight was a welcome relief, Jacob thought as they shuffled down the gangplank. Once they were on land, one of the prison guards unlocked their leg irons and handcuffs. Rebecca sighed with relief as the chains dropped to the ground. With anger, Jacob noticed her swollen ankles and the red streaks flashing up her legs. How could these barbarians expect a delicate young woman to survive such treatment?

  “Stay in formation,” a soldier ordered, brandishing his spear to reinforce the instruction.

  Two men, whom Jacob later identified as the camp commander and the medical officer, strolled up and down the four rows of prisoners. “You!” the medical officer shouted at Rebecca. “Over here.” He motioned Rebecca to a shallow inlet and told her to stand in the water.

  “Why?” she asked, looking at Jacob as if afraid to be separated from her brother.

  The officer’s face softened momentarily as he leaned toward her. “Because you can’t work on infected legs. The salt water will dry up those gashes.” He straightened and then added sternly, “Now, do as you’re told.”

  Rebecca took off her sandals and stepped into the water. She winced as the salt stung the cuts on her legs. Jacob listened to the camp commander’s instructions while he tried to keep an eye on his sister.

  “You’ve arrived too late in the day to work,” the commander said. “So today you’ll find a cave, which will serve as your living quarters. Tomorrow at daybreak you will report to the main camp for morning rations. You’ll begin work an hour after daybreak. If you don’t report for work, you will be flogged. Your work crew will have an overseer, and any violation of his orders will bring swift and severe punishment. An hour before sundown, work will stop and you’ll receive your evening rations. Then you’ll return promptly to your cave. No loitering around the camp.”

  After the commander barked, “You’re dismissed,” the soldiers distributed one blanket and a loaf of bread to each prisoner.

  Rebecca stepped out of the water and into her sandals. “Thank you,” she said with a tentative smile to the soldier who handed her the evening ration of bread.

  “Don’t get happy just yet, girl,” he said with a snarl. “This place is not called Devil’s Island without reason.”

  The prisoners began to disperse and one of the soldiers pointed them in the directions they were likely to find open caves. Jacob noted that most of the group, including Servius and the other household servants who had been banished with them, headed north or west to search out living space.

  John made no move to leave, so Jacob prodded him gently. “Not so fast,” the Apostle said. “Let’s look around a minute.”

  John, Jacob, and Rebecca stood and surveyed the island. Jacob knew from his father’s maps that Patmos was a small, rocky island about ten miles long and six miles wide, approximately thirty miles off the coast of Ephesus in the Aegean Sea. Because of its desolate and barren nature, Rome used it as a place to banish criminals. No need for shackles here, Jacob thought wryly. There would be no daring escapes from Devil’s Island.

  As the trio scanned the arc-shaped island, they noted that a very narrow isthmus divided it into two nearly equal parts, a northern and a southern. On the east side, on a stretch of level ground, were the harbor where they had arrived and the Roman encampment.

  “This way, I think,” John said, turning to the south.

  “The steepest hills are in that direction,” Jacob protested. He was concerned about the aged Apostle having to walk up and down the mountain every day. But then he didn’t know how John could survive even a few days of carrying heavy rocks from the quarries in the hills to the harbor and back, regardless of where their cave was located.

  “Humor an old man,” John said. He smiled and clapped Jacob on the shoulder. “I have a feeling the cave we’re supposed to have is that way.”

  They started up the southern slopes, and John stumbled a time or two over the rocky terrain. Soon Jacob spotted a strong, straight stick about five feet long. He picked it up and brushed it off, then gave it to the Apostle to help him walk across the volcanic wasteland.

  About a mile from the harbor the Apostle finally stopped. “See that cave?” He pointed to an opening in the rock a dozen yards away. “Does it look as if anyone is living there?”

  “I’ll go see,” Jacob said. He walked inside the cave and looked around. “Hello!” he called into the interior. The sound of his voice bounced off the rocks. There was no reply and no sign anyone had ever occupied the cave.

  After a few moments Jacob went back outside and waved the others over. “It appears empty.”

  As John and Rebecca joined him, he turned to look where they had come from. The harbor and camp lay in the distance below them; the mouth of the cave had a commanding view of the entire island and the sea. We’re facing Ephesus, Jacob realized. Home. Perhaps that was why John had wanted to come in this direction.

  The mouth of the cave was wide and shaped like a funnel, gathering the breeze blowing in from the sea, which would be a welcome blessing during the heat of the summer but a burden in the colder weather. Jacob clutched the coarse woolen blanket he’d been issued; two months from now, when winter arrived, one blanket would not be much protection against the damp cold of the cave.

  “I take it back,” Jacob said as they walked into the cave and several large rats scurried across their feet and out into the fading sunlight. “It appears the place was occupied after all.”

  Rebecca screamed and Jacob couldn’t help laughing. He reached for a rock and threw it at the rodents fleeing from their home’s invaders.

  “Not exactly the mansion you grew up in,” the Apostle said to Rebecca, “but we’ll try to make the best of it.”

  They walked deeper into the interior. About ten feet from the funneled mouth, the cave turned sharply left, forming a narrow passage wide enough for only one person to walk. The passage emptied into an almost perfectly shaped rectangular room of about 150 square feet.

  Jacob was the first to enter the rectangular structure. John followed with a wide-eyed Rebecca, still searching for rats. Standing in the indirect light shining from the mouth of the cave, the Apostle spoke first. “I think we’ve found the perfect cave. Why other prisoners on this island haven’t taken it long ago, I’ll never know. Maybe God saved it just for us,” he said thoughtfully. He paused and then said in a strong voice, “I feel something special is going to happen in this room. I feel it in my soul.”

  Rebecca seemed to perk up at his enthusiastic announcement. “This can be our bedroom,” she said. “The soil is soft, and if
we can find another blanket or a piece of fabric, we can curtain off the passage for warmth. It’s not home, but it’s bearable.”

  “Correction, Rebecca. This is home,” John said softly. “You are not who you used to be, the privileged daughter of a wealthy and powerful man. Now you are a criminal for confessing Christ, an enemy of the State.”

  “And all three of us will die on this island for our confession of faith,” Jacob added soberly. That thought had been nagging him since they arrived: they would never get off Devil’s Island.

  “Apostle, do you think God will let us die here?” Rebecca asked in a small voice.

  John did not answer right away. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “It’s possible. But we shouldn’t worry about that. Our lives are in His hands, and only He knows the number of our days.” He smiled broadly. “I never thought I’d live this long to begin with.

  “I don’t know about you,” John continued, “but I’m starving. Let’s go back to the mouth of the cave and have our evening meal as we watch the sunset.” He held up his round loaf of bread. “Looks like Rome has spared no expense for a delicious dinner for its newest prisoners.”

  The elderly Apostle’s infectious laughter echoed in the cavern and Jacob found himself smiling in spite of his worried exhaustion. “It occurs to me, John, that I have given my life—perhaps quite literally— to Someone I’ve never seen.” His voice caught with a sudden emotion. “If I’m condemned to spend the rest of my life working as a slave for the Empire, at least I’m blessed to share the experience with the last eyewitness to His life.”

  “I’ve always loved hearing you talk about Jesus,” Rebecca added. “And now I want to hear the stories all over again.”

  “After you,” John said, indicating he would follow Jacob and Rebecca down the narrow passage back to the entrance. “I want to see the sea . . . that’s where I met the Master, you know.”

  16

  “YOU POOR THING,” Julia cooed when Naomi met her at the entrance to the stadium. “I wasn’t sure you’d be here . . . I mean, after what happened this morning.”

  Naomi wondered about the sincerity of Julia’s sympathy. Although they were friends, Julia might not want to be seen with someone whose family had just been hauled before the authorities for being traitors to the Empire. Perhaps I shouldn’t have come, Naomi thought briefly. It was coldhearted to leave her father and Peter alone with their grief, but she had been paralyzed with fear that the stigma of her fanatical family would attach itself to her, and attending a popular cultural event such as the games would prevent that from happening.

  “What have you heard?” Naomi asked cautiously.

  “That you and your father proved your loyalty to the emperor but that the rest of your family was sent to Devil’s Island.” Julia lowered her voice, and her thin, pinched face assumed a pained expression. “And that your mother was killed for attacking a soldier.”

  Naomi acknowledged the accuracy of Julia’s brief report. “That’s true.”

  “How perfectly awful for you.”

  “Yes, it was.” Naomi’s eyes were busy sizing up the crowd as she spoke, looking for friends and admirers and, as always, potential conquests. As several people nodded or waved in greeting, she began to relax. “I wasn’t that close to my mother, you know. But it was unfortunate that she lost control of herself like that. What else could the commander do?”

  “I suppose nothing. An attack like that could not go unpunished.”

  “Let’s go inside,” Naomi said. She did not want to talk about the morning’s events, and now that she was here and had decided no one was going to ostracize her for her family’s bizarre behavior, she wanted to find her seat and enjoy the program.

  Naomi and Julia joined the throng of holiday enthusiasts jamming the arched entrances on either end of the elliptical stadium. They handed over their bronze tokens at the gate, and as they inched their way inside the arena, Naomi read the poster painted on the wall. It listed the occasion; the name of the editor, or manager, of the games; the program of events; and the pairs of gladiators in order of their appearance.

  “He’s not fighting today,” Julia said, leaning close to Naomi’s ear so she could be heard.

  “What?” Naomi was startled by the comment.

  “Gordius. That’s whose name you were looking for, isn’t it?” Julia smiled slyly.

  Naomi nodded. She hated it when Julia read her mind—not that she cared if Julia knew about her attraction to the powerfully built, enormously popular gladiator. Naomi simply preferred to reveal her thoughts in her own words, when she chose to do so.

  “You really should have an affair with him,” Julia said as they finally broke through the arched stone passage and into the main part of the stadium. The sun was high overhead, but the temperature was mild—a lovely fall day, perfect weather for the games.

  “I’ve thought about it,” Naomi admitted. “But I wouldn’t want it to distract me from my long-range plans.”

  “I know—Rome, a husband, untold wealth, influence.” Julia wagged her carefully coifed head from side to side as she enumerated Naomi’s well-known plans. “But it doesn’t have to interfere. An affair is just a temporary way to satisfy an urge. It might do you a world of good—get your mind off . . . things,” she said pointedly.

  Naomi shrugged in reply. She knew Julia was referring to her family. That topic was closed, as far as she was concerned.

  They passed the raised podium where the editor and dignitaries would sit and headed for the steps. “It makes me mad,” Naomi said, “that the women’s section is way up in the top tier.”

  “I know, but look at it this way,” Julia said cheerfully. “As we ascend the heights, it’s an opportunity to parade in front of an entire stadium of appreciative men . . . Just flirt your way to the top.”

  Naomi lifted the skirt of her tunic higher than necessary to climb the steep steps. Heads turned in her direction and she smiled coyly in acknowledgment. She thought about Julia’s advice as they leisurely made their way to the top section of the stadium. Did she want to have an affair with Gordius? He was an auctoratus, one of the voluntary gladiators, and therefore not under strict supervision like the prisoners of war and condemned criminals consigned to the gladiatorial schools. Naomi had not met Gordius personally yet, but she knew she could arrange it if she really wanted to. All she had to do was say the word, and Julia would invite him to one of her dinner parties and make sure Naomi was seated next to him.

  Recently, Naomi had seen him outside the arena and gotten a good look at him up close. Gordius had been entering the baths as she was leaving with Julia. Naomi had been so smitten with the professional fighter, she had almost suggested to Julia that they bathe again, just so she could get another glimpse of his rugged face and muscular body. Some of the women in their circles had had affairs with actors and gladiators. Perhaps Julia was one of them, the way she talked. Naomi had observed that Julia and Terentius, her husband, tended to go their separate ways.

  The hydraulis, the stadium’s large water-organ, had started the music for the opening procession by the time they reached their seats. Naomi loved the pomp and pageantry that began the games. The toga-draped sponsors, the public officials who financed the games, entered the arena preceded by attendants bearing symbols of their political office. Next were musicians playing fanfares on long straight trumpets, followed by four men carrying a platform on which a statue of Victoria, the goddess of victory, rode. The editor of the games entered next, with his assistants and referees trailing behind him. More trumpeters followed, these playing short, curved horns, and finally the afternoon’s combatants marched into the arena in pairs, carrying their helmets under their arms. This was the only time the audience would see the gladiators’ faces; later, the heavy bronze and tin-plated helmets with grated visors would cover them completely.

  The spectators were noisy, as usual, and sitting so high in the stadium, Naomi sometimes had trouble hearing the music ove
r the roar of the crowd. Special music—brass and reed instruments as well as the water-organ—announced the beginning of each fight and was also used to heighten the drama during the gladiatorial contests.

  Today’s program featured several novelty matches: two pairs of dwarf gladiators and a pair of female gladiators from Greece. It was the first time Naomi had seen women fight in the arena, and she applauded the idea, although she couldn’t imagine why they would want to take up such an unusual, not to mention risky, occupation.

  Naomi was bored by the other novelty event, the taurocentae. Several riders on horseback chased an equal number of bulls around the arena. When a taurocenta got close enough to his prey, he grabbed the horns of the bull from behind and swung off his mount onto the bull’s back. The idea was to throw the bull to the ground, and the audience screamed its approval each time a rider felled one of the giant animals. Some of the unarmed sportsmen, however, could not maintain their holds. When they fell off, the powerful beasts charged the fallen riders, goring them and then tossing their bodies into the air until their blood splashed in the sand.

  Also interspersed between the gladiatorial contests were the executions of several criminals condemned ad bestias, the severest form of death penalty that could be imposed by a judge. With no weapons, and naked except for a loincloth, the prisoners never had a chance against the beasts thrown into the arena to devour them.

  Ordinarily Naomi enjoyed the games immensely and often made a small wager with Julia as a pair of gladiators entered the arena. Her enthusiasm waned as the day wore on, however. As the blood continued to spill on the sand of the arena floor, she kept seeing her mother’s face and the blood that had gushed from her chest and saturated her tunic. Every time a stretcher left the arena carrying a dead or severely wounded combatant, Naomi thought of the carriage driving away and leaving her mother’s dead body on the ground at the pavilion. The scene outside the Temple of Domitian had affected her more deeply than she cared to admit. The bloodshed she saw in the stadium was sheer entertainment, but her mother’s blood had been personal, and she grew dizzy with the effort of trying to block it out of her mind.