Devil's Island

by John Hagee

  “I know it’s sudden, but please be happy for me, Father.”

  “You just met this man, Naomi. What do you really know about him?”

  “Enough to know he’s everything I wanted.”

  “So, tell me about him.”

  It was a command, not a request, and Naomi reminded herself to curb her tongue. She was determined not to let her father get her riled on what could be the most important night of her life. “He’s a widower,” she said. “He’s older than I am—much older, actually. But I like that. He’s very stable, and very influential.”

  “He’s unscrupulous.”

  Abraham’s eyes flashed as he spat out the word, and Naomi nearly snapped back at him. But she kept her voice level as she said, “You haven’t even met him yet, how can you judge him?”

  “I know who he is, and I know what he is . . .”

  “Let me introduce you to him. You may change your mind.” Naomi started to lead him into the banquet hall, but he stopped her.

  “Not yet,” Abraham said. “I want to finish our conversation first. Please.”

  He appeared to make an effort to control himself, so she agreed.

  “Does your husband have any children?” he asked.

  “A son. I haven’t met him yet.”

  “And what is his son’s name?”

  “I don’t remember. He’s in the military, off serving the emperor somewhere in the East.” Naomi had no idea why he was questioning her like this, and her patience was wearing thin. “Father, I have guests to attend to. Won’t you join me in—”

  “I said, what is his son’s name?” Her father shouted the question.

  “I don’t know! And I don’t know why you’re so upset.”

  Lucius suddenly stepped into the alcove. “Naomi, darling, I heard voices . . .”

  “Lucius, this is my father, Abraham.”

  Abraham refused the hand Lucius extended, and his eyes continued to bore into Naomi as he spoke. “Tell her who your son is, Senator.”

  “My son? What has Damian got to do with this?”

  “Everything! He has everything to do with this!”

  Damian? That’s his son’s name? Naomi couldn’t remember if Lucius had ever called his son by name. But that was the name of—

  “His son is the homicidal maniac who killed your mother!”

  Lucius took a step back as her father shouted and pointed a finger in his face.

  This isn’t happening, Naomi thought. My father and my husband are about to come to blows at my wedding reception.

  “His son is the one who sent your brother and sister into exile.”

  “Father, please—”

  “Did you know that when you married him, Naomi? Did you?”

  She put a hand on her father’s arm. “No, I didn’t know that.” Her touch diverted his attention away from Lucius. “But now that I know,” she said, “it doesn’t change anything. I married Lucius, not his son.”

  “Your husband’s son—your stepson—tore our family apart, and it doesn’t matter to you?” The veins in his neck bulged until Naomi feared he would explode.

  Lucius stepped forward. “Now, look here—”

  This time Naomi put a hand on her husband’s arm, telling him, “Damian had no choice, really. Mother attacked one of his officers—”

  “He didn’t have to murder her on the streets of Ephesus,” Abraham said. “He could have formally sentenced Elizabeth instead of running her through with his sword. But that’s not his style, is it, Senator? It wasn’t his style twenty-five years ago, either, was it?”

  Lucius’s mouth dropped open. “Elizabeth . . . Ephesus.” He turned to Naomi. “When you told me about your family,” he said slowly, “I didn’t realize who your mother was. She was engaged to my son at one time, but her father broke it off.”

  “Tell her why Rufus broke it off,” Abraham demanded.

  “How could it possibly matter now—”

  Abraham interrupted the senator. “He broke the engagement because Elizabeth was frightened of Damian, and because Rufus had received firsthand information that Damian had murdered a fellow officer.”

  “That was a preposterous story, and I don’t know why Rufus concocted it—”

  “It’s a true story, and I know it’s true, because I’m the one who saw Damian murder the tribune in cold blood. Damian was a murderer then, and he’s a murderer now!”

  Naomi’s head was spinning. She heard voices and looked around to see that people had gathered around the alcove. She was morti-fied that they had heard the commotion. Just then, a trumpet fanfare sounded from the portico outside, announcing Caesar’s arrival.

  Lucius signaled two servants who had approached with the crowd. He pointed to Abraham and told them, “Escort this man off my property, and do not allow him to return under any circumstances.”

  “Now,” Lucius said to his wife and their guests, “let’s greet the emperor.” Naomi pasted a smile on her face, took her husband’s arm, and turned her back on her father.

  30

  REBECCA SET THE QUILL PEN DOWN and flexed her fingers. Time for a break, she decided. Whenever her hand or her eyes grew tired, she took a break; she did not want to make any mistakes as she painstakingly copied John’s account of the revelation he’d received four months ago.

  She took pride in her work, believing it was her purpose for being on Devil’s Island. And without the work, she most certainly would have gone crazy by now. Rebecca hadn’t been off the mountain in all those months, and the isolation had taken a toll on her.

  Carefully, she picked up the makeshift writing desk—a piece of scrap lumber Marcellus had salvaged—that was resting on her lap. Then she stood and placed the desk on the folding stool she’d been sitting on. The stool was another contribution from Marcellus. The medical officer visited her and John at least twice a week, sometimes more, and he never came empty-handed. He not only brought food supplies, he tried to bring useful items that would make their harsh living conditions at least a bit more tolerable.

  As Rebecca walked out of the cave, the brisk wind whipped her long hair across her face, and she reached up to tuck it securely behind her ears. It was cold outside, yet the sunshine felt good, and she blinked as her eyes adjusted to the change. No matter how bright the daylight, the interior of the cave remained dim. Even with the stool placed just inside the mouth of the cave, there were only a few hours each day she could work without lighting a lamp; by midafter-noon there was not enough natural illumination for writing.

  She tried to recall what day it was but couldn’t. Sometime in early March—she’d have to ask Marcellus when he came. His visits were the only way she had of tracking time.

  If I were home, I would be planning my wedding now, she thought as she looked out over the sea in the direction of Ephesus. She and Galen had planned to be married in the spring—probably in April, although they hadn’t had time to set the date.

  Thinking about Galen hurt too much, and she tried to shut him out of her mind. As always, she couldn’t. Whenever she closed her eyes, he was there. Sitting on their favorite bench in the garden, the one by the fountain. Running across the hills with her, laughing together and holding hands.

  The memories squeezed her heart until her chest ached. All her dreams were gone now. They’d been as fleeting as a glimpse of fireflies at twilight.

  Such simple little dreams, but they were hers. Naomi had always had big dreams—marrying a senator, being the most beautiful, the wealthiest, the most powerful woman in the world. Rebecca had simply wanted to marry, make a home, raise children.

  Children. That part of her dream was coming true, but it was more of a nightmare.

  She ran a hand over her abdomen. She was pregnant, and it was finally beginning to show; her waistline had thickened slightly now that she was able to keep food down. For several weeks she had been so nauseated, she could barely think about eating.

  Rebecca wanted to feel love for the child she was c
arrying, but it was difficult to disassociate the life inside her from the brutal manner in which that life had been conceived.

  “I know the answer to the question, Naomi,” she said softly, recalling the day Naomi had teased Rebecca for being ignorant of the relationships between men and women, and had asked if what Galen felt for Rebecca was love or merely lust.

  Rebecca understood the difference now. Galen’s desire for her had been pure and sweet. He had wanted her as his wife, and his love would have protected her, cherished her, satisfied her. Damian had been driven by an animalistic urge. He had wanted to use Rebecca and then discard her, even destroy her.

  And now she was carrying Damian’s child. The child of his lust.

  The thought had terrified her at first. At times, it still did. But John had helped her accept the fact of her pregnancy, if not embrace it.

  The dear old Apostle prayed for her daily, and one day he had prophesied over her and the baby. Rebecca recalled his words: “God has a message of comfort for you. The child you are carrying, a son, will become a great servant of the Lord. Satan has tried to destroy you, but God will preserve you, and in His time, He will exalt you.”

  Rebecca clung to the words of the prophecy because it gave her a glimmer of hope. And hope was a scarce commodity on Devil’s Island.

  “There you are, Scribe.” John’s familiar, raspy voice called to her from the mouth of the cave.

  Rebecca turned and smiled at the use of his new nickname for her. “It’s about time you got up from your nap. You’re getting lazy on me,” she teased.

  John was anything but lazy. He had spent weeks writing down his revelation, agonizing as he put into words the inexpressible things he’d seen, and then revising what he’d written to make sure he had not omitted anything. Originally, the Apostle had worried that he would forget the revelation before he could write it down. But then he reasoned that God had specifically told him to write about the supernatural experience, and God had to know that would take time; therefore, John trusted the Holy Spirit would bring it all back to his mind until he’d finished describing it. And He had.

  When John was finally through, Rebecca had neatly written an entire scroll from his notes. Now she was making an additional copy of this important message for the church.

  “I was thinking about what you said yesterday,” John told her. “That was an excellent observation, that the messages to the seven churches each contain both a commendation and a correction.”

  Rebecca was pleased that he had complimented her thinking, but she was modest in her reply. “I’ve copied the seven letters twice now, and I noticed that, each time, Jesus first praised the churches for what they’d done right, then He pointed out something that was wrong.”

  “Prophecy often contains a warning or a corrective measure. Also, when God brings a prophetic message to His people, it usually has both an immediate application and a future application. That’s what I was thinking about just now.”

  “I don’t understand,” Rebecca said. “Please elaborate.” They’d had many discussions about Scripture as they’d recorded John’s apocalypse for posterity, and Rebecca loved learning from the Apostle.

  “Obviously the seven letters are to seven specific churches in Asia. And the letters describe real situations those churches are facing right now—I know that firsthand from visiting some of them.

  “But I also believe that the seven churches describe seven time periods, from the present to the end of the age. So that the last letter, to the church at Laodicea, describes the type of church that will exist just prior to Christ’s return—lukewarm, neither cold nor hot . . .”

  For the next few minutes, John expounded on his interpretation of the revelation while Rebecca listened avidly and asked questions. They were still discussing the topic when Marcellus arrived.

  “Have I missed class again?” he asked with a grin. John had been discipling Marcellus, who often commented that he was learning so much, he felt like a schoolboy.

  “I’ll let you question him for a while,” Rebecca said. “He’s wearing me out.”

  “Actually, I’m worn out from standing out here so long. Let’s go back inside.” John headed for the cave, and the other two followed.

  “I have some news,” Marcellus said after John had positioned himself on the stool. “Some sad news, I’m afraid.” Like Rebecca, he sat on the ground at John’s feet.

  “I’m not sure I can take any more sad news,” Rebecca said.

  “What is it, son?”

  “One of the men who arrived with you from Ephesus—his name is Servius—died last night.”

  Rebecca started crying and John explained, “Servius had been part of Rebecca’s household since before she was born.” He reached out to comfort Rebecca as he asked, “What happened?”

  “It’s been a hard winter,” Marcellus said, “and he was getting up in years. Working outdoors had weakened his body. He got very sick, and by the time they brought him to me, there was nothing I could do.”

  “Why does everybody I love have to die or disappear?” Rebecca asked, her breath ragged from weeping. Jacob had been sent away, her mother was dead, and the last time she’d seen her father, he was lying facedown by the altar at Domitian’s temple; for all she knew, he was dead. Now Servius.

  Rebecca laughed hysterically even as she cried. “For that matter, I’m dead too!” She rocked back and forth, her arms clamped to her chest. “I’ll never get off this island. According to the camp records, I don’t even exist anymore. I’ll grow old and die here, and so will my baby!”

  Marcellus took a minute to calm her down, then he said, “I’ve given that a lot of thought. Reporting you as dead seemed the only thing to do at the time. It kept you safe, but it did create problems.”

  “You did what you thought was best,” John said, “and we’re very grateful.”

  “My twenty-year term is up in late September . . .” Marcellus hesitated for a moment, then plunged ahead with his plan. “The baby will be about two months old then, and I could try to smuggle him off the island when I leave. Maybe take the baby to Ephesus, to your family. I’ve already agreed to carry John’s letter with me. I could carry something for you too,” he told Rebecca.

  “What if Brutus saw you with the baby?” John asked. “Would he try to stop you? Or Damian? What if he found out?”

  “Damian’s visits have tapered off, so it’s not as likely that he’d be here. As for Brutus—well, to begin with, he would be shocked speechless. Nobody has ever seen a baby in this place. And if I were caught, I . . . I thought I would say the baby is mine—if that’s all right with you, Rebecca. Brutus knows you were raped and figures it was Damian. But if I claim the baby is mine, how could he prove otherwise? And if the baby is mine, then Brutus couldn’t legally stop me from taking him with me.”

  “And then Damian wouldn’t be able to claim the child was his,” Rebecca said. “I’ve been worried that perhaps he would try to take the baby away.” She had no idea what she would do when the baby was born, how she would raise a child while living in a cave, shut off from the rest of the world. Yet she certainly didn’t want the child under Damian’s influence.

  “I doubt he would want a living reminder of what he did to you,” Marcellus said, “although with Damian you never know.”

  Rebecca’s maternal instincts were aroused for this child she hadn’t wanted and hadn’t quite grown to love, at least not yet. At the same time, she couldn’t bear to think of something terrible happening to her unborn child—a child John had said would be a great servant of the Lord.

  “But how could he survive?” Rebecca asked Marcellus. “How would you feed the baby?”

  “I couldn’t, except perhaps for a little water. But Ephesus is only about six hours away, and I could find a wet nurse as soon as I got there.” He put a hand on Rebecca’s shoulder. “I’d try to smuggle you off the island, Rebecca, if I could think of a way to disguise you. That would be a great deal riskier,
though.”

  “Of course. How do you disguise a dead woman?” Rebecca smiled wanly. She was beginning to feel a bit better. The very fact that Marcellus was trying to figure something out encouraged her.

  “I haven’t told Brutus that you’re going to have a baby. Actually, I haven’t told him anything about you at all, and he hasn’t asked.”

  “He doesn’t want to be reminded, I’m sure,” John said. “It’s more convenient to forget about us.”

  Marcellus agreed. “But he’s not entirely heartless. And he doesn’t want any more trouble in the camp. I could try to appeal to him on that basis, tell him that if I take you and the baby with me, then he’s rid of a problem.”

  “But that would leave you all alone,” Rebecca said to John, tears suddenly threatening to spill at the thought. “I couldn’t leave you here. I couldn’t.”

  “Well,” Marcellus said quickly, “we’ve got plenty of time to think about it. No need to make a decision right away.”

  “Yes, I have to give birth to this baby first.” Rebecca sighed. She couldn’t imagine having a baby without her mother being there to help.

  “I’m studying up on that too. I have some medical texts in my office, but none of them discusses childbirth. That’s a subject army doctors don’t exactly need to know.”

  “I don’t suppose there are any midwives on the island,” John said.

  Marcellus grinned. “Unless one gets sentenced soon, we’re on our own . . . But how hard could it be?”

  “Easy for you to say,” Rebecca grumbled.

  31

  DISCOURAGEMENT WEIGHED DOWN ABRAHAM’S SOUL like the leather paperweight anchoring the open scroll on his desk. He picked up the lead-filled object and studied it intently, as if it held the answer to all his problems.

  For months he had been trying to get his case before the Senate, but he couldn’t find a sponsor to present it. Senators he had helped over the years, men who had courted his friendship and coveted his financial support, were mysteriously unavailable when he called on them now. Or, if he managed to get a meeting with them, they stuttered an excuse for not being able to help. He had worked through the winter and the spring without any progress; now it was June, and he was no closer to his goal than when he’d washed up on the shore after the hurricane.